Strung (2 page)

I watch, hidden by foliage, shadows, my mask and my plainness.  More than once, the tantalising masculine fragrance of an unfamiliar aftershave drifts by me.  It smells heavenly.  Probably one of the waiters.

Taking another sip of the decent champagne, I feel the light alcohol seep into my blood.  I should have eaten lunch – and breakfast but a morning with police investigators has a way of dampening one’s appetite. 

A silver-haired couple take to the dance floor
, floating, oblivious to the other dancers, completely absorbed in the music and each other.  Their handheld masks, hang loosely over each other’s shoulders, forgotten.  The admiration and love emanating from the pair, is wonderful but a painful reminder, that I will not grow old and grey with my own someone-special.  I sigh.

"They are good dancers aren't they?" 
Deep dulcet tones, over my shoulder, startle me and I spin around.

"Yes they are," I reply, hesitantly, frowning at the intrusion. 

The owner of the pleasant voice is -
wow
!  Leaning back a little, I take him in.  He stands with relaxed ease, gazing out at the revellers, his dark hair combed back, silky and smooth.  A dark velvet mask covers more than half his face, leaving only a perfectly sculptured mouth, glistening damply, above a very alluring cleft chin.

Oh yummy!  And that fragrance...it is him!
  It is intoxicating and I find myself leaning into it, wondering what he looks like under the mask.

"Do you think your date would mind, if I asked you to dance?" he asks
, glancing down at me.  A small smile twitches the ends of his mouth.

"My date?” 
Sheesh,
just how crowded is my secret hide out?
  I glance around wondering whom he could have mistaken to be my date.

"The potted bamboo," he smirks.

"Oh!"  I glance at the towering foliage that should have been protecting me, and giggle.  "Well, I've heard he has an intensely jealous streak, so yes - I suppose he might mind."

"What if I said I could handle a big bully like him?" he responds, and I'm struggling to think as I watch his mouth. 
No more alcohol for me!

"Perhaps it's not the bully you need to be wary of," I murmur.

"The lady doesn't like to dance?"  His head tilts slightly.  I can tell this man is not accustomed to rejection.

"No, the lady doesn't.
  But thank you for asking." 

"So, do you think this is
for a good cause?" he asks gesturing across the room.

"The cause?  I
suppose
the cause is good.”  I shrug.

"But?" he urges gently.

"But, I wonder at the expense that's gone into putting a lavish function like this together."

"What's your point?" he urges, appearing genuinely interested.

"Well, it'll probably cost more than it will raise.  Just another attempt by some socialite, to feed his or her self-inflated ego."  I sip my champagne.  I know these things.  Robert was very good at it, so I am pretty much an expert.

He gazes at me thoughtfully, his lips curving in a slow and sexy smile.  I feel the raw power of masculinity exuding from this mysterious Adonis and I want to stand here all night, basking in his presence.  I long to know what he is thinking but his mask is keeping his expression a firm secret.  Finally, he clears his throat gently and speaks; his previously dulcet tones slightly frosty.

"So you think my ego needs feeding?"

Oh, shit!  Brain to mouth malfunction!  Trust me to make a meal of small talk!

"I don't know.  Does it?”  I snap, mentally punching myself with both fists. 
Okay, snapping is a bit unfair - but he did ask for my opinion and I gave it fair-and-square!

"Truthfully?" he tilts his head again, and then suddenly smiles widely.  "I don't know.  I've never thought about it," he finishes, taking me completely by surprise with this unexpected response.

"But I can assure you, that I never lose.  At anything.  This event
will
make more than it costs."  He raises his glass, taking a generous sip.

I stare, fixated, as his lips part slightly.  Small creases form as the glass presses against his bottom lip.  When the glass is
lowered, his lips are damp again and I squirm, spellbound as his tongue sweeps them clean.  The chiselled outer edges of his mouth tilt slightly up, forming the most adorable dimples on either side.  I lick my own lips.  Only when his smile widens to a full-blown grin, do I realise I have been staring.  He is laughing at me.  Feigning interest in the crowd, I turn away to hide the shades of purple I am sure are visible below my own mask. 

"The real question of the evening is yet to be asked," he speaks softly behind me, his amusement still perceptible.

"Oh?”  I gaze ahead, unseeing, all my senses, finely tuned to the magnetic draw of man behind me and alarm bells that are blaring in the pit of my stomach.

"Why is the most beautiful woman in the room hiding behind a potted plant?"  I sense him lean closer, his warmth caressing my bare shoulder and hear his intake of breath, as if he is about to speak again.  I freeze in anticipation and dread.

"Shit!" he eventually mutters under his breath. 

Nice!  Excellent way to flirt with a girl.
 
Then I spot the object of his curse.  An elegant woman, in her late fifties I think, is making a beeline for us - floating across the dance floor like a ballerina.  She appears engulfed by a cloud of baby blue chiffon, and her slender neck is dripping in diamonds.  Her smile is reflected in her eyes, as she breezes to a halt in front of us.

"Now dear, this will not do!  Hiding behind pretty ladies will not excuse you from our dance," she pouts humorously at my handsome stranger.

"Mavis, where is your mask?" he grins back, his voice laced with a playful fondness, that can only be bred from familiarity.

"I'm wearing it, Darling!  I have spent enough money on this face for it
to be
a mask.  Hell I haven't seen my own face in years!" she laughs a genuine, easy laugh.

"You don't mind if I steal my Toy Boy do you, dear?" she directs her question at me.

Toy Boy!  Christ, is she kidding?

"Excuse me," he says politely, offering me a gallant bow and she takes his hand, pulling him onto the dance floor.  He moves her into a lively spin around the dance floor, guiding her with polished ease.  Every so often, I imagine his eyes on me as he flashes by in a spin and suddenly I'm feeling like a spare part, even more uncomfortable than when I arrived.  My little safe haven, behind my
traitorous potted friend, feels achingly lonely.

At that moment, a waiter knocks a jug of liquid from the banquet table, forcing me to move as a small squad of uniformed personnel, sweep in to clean up.  I drift around the edge of the room, spying another tall plant, which might offer refuge, and reach my goal, un-accosted.

I cannot see the dance floor very well from here and for some reason this irritates me.  I gaze across the ocean of sparkling evening gowns, feathered masks and black ties, feeling more and more out of place as the minutes drag on.  I really just want to go home now, before the speeches start and I am forced to take my seat - wherever it is.  Giving my empty glass to a passing waiter, I plan the best route to the exit, located near the improvised bar.

Then I see him.  His perfectly proportioned body is leaning against the
bar, his eyes probably scanning the crowd.  A steady stream of guests, men and women alike, stop to chat with him before moving on.  Sometimes he smiles, other times he just nods and mutters a few words.  A beefy man, in a 'Jason' hockey mask stops approaches and they embrace warmly.  Together, the two men stroll off, disappearing into a back room. 
Maybe he's part time Toy Boy, part time gay! 

~.~

I give Victoria the abbreviated version of events, omitting the part about me hiding, feeling plain and consciously not putting effort into my appearance, more than well aware of how self-defeating my actions are, without a lecture from my well-meaning therapist.

"Oh my, so Acacia puts her proverbial foot in it – again!" she mocks
almost gleefully.  Victoria is using all her willpower, not to burst into gales of laughter.  I sigh deeply, having suffered my humiliation last night, I am beyond that now.

"So, tell me," she asks, the corners of her mouth still twitching with mirth.  "Do we know who he is?  My invitation didn't mention the name of a host, just the name of the charity."

"No clue," I sigh. 

"What attracted you?"  Victoria leans her chin on her fist, waiting for me to offer an explanation.
  I think back to our encounter. 

"Well, with my heels on he was only a little taller than me.  I know he had very dark, thick hair, possibly quite long; but it was slicked back, so hard to tell.  His mask hid most of his face.  He was well built but graceful, if that makes any sense at all, and he smelled amazing."  I inhale deeply at the memory but get a lungful of lavender
room freshener instead.  "But the most notable thing was his presence."

"What do you mean?" she asks, unfurling her fist to rest her chin on the heel of her hand instead.

"I'm not sure.  It's hard to explain but he gave off this
thing
, this
feeling
- I can't articulate.  Next to him, I felt safe but in danger, calm but alive.  It scared me, but I wanted more.  Anyway...”  I shrug.  "...this much older woman came along and dragged him away. 

“I watched him for a while. 
People gravitated to him the whole evening, but it was not as if he was an exhibitionist.  At least I don't think so.  He was just there, graceful and self contained and people came to him."

"He sounds like the perfect Alfa Male," Victoria states, smiling.

"What?  No!"  I gape at her horrified. 

"Acacia, what?" she asks
, concerned.

"I can't be attracted to that kind of person again?”  I wail, the tears threatening.

"Acacia, calm down.  There is a world of difference between an Alfa Male and a Narcissist!  On the surface, yes - people gravitate toward them both but the reasons are different.  An Alfa Male is in control...
of himself
, and for no other reason than he knows what he wants and what he needs to get it.  He is self-confident and it is a natural, honest thing.  People gravitate toward him, because they trust him.

"A Narcissist
tries
to be an Alfa Male.  His control extends beyond self, often skipping self altogether as he tries to control events and people around him."

"I suppose...but what if I am drawn to a particular personality type?  And how can I be sure that someone I'm attracted to is an Alpha Male and not another Robert?"  I search Victoria's face through a watery haze, looking for answers.

"Acacia, there are no guarantees.  Life is a risk you have to take; getting hurt is bound to happen.  Consider yourself better prepared because of your experience."

I sniff loudly and steal a couple of tissues from the box on the small table. 

~.~

Tense and unsettled
.  The phone shrills; making me jump and bringing me sharply back to the present.

"Hello?"

"Acacia, is that you?"  I groan inwardly as the high-pitched voice cuts through me.

"Hi Susanne
, to what do I owe this honour?"

"You are joking right?  Tell me
you are joking!  Acacia my wedding is tomorrow!  You forgot didn't you?"

Shit, yes I did
.  It's her own fault.  The dress fittings and shoe fittings were so long ago, it feels as if the wedding is already a distant memory.

"No.  Of course I didn't!
We are meeting at your moms in the morning, and then we will all go to the stylist together and so on...  See?  I remember," I lie.

"I don't believe you!  Actually, is there any chance you could come over tonight
and spend the night instead?  I worry about that old lump of junk you drive.  If you leave last minute and it breaks down it would be a disaster.  Pleeeeease?"  I roll my eyes.

“I
never expected my cousin to be such a Bridezilla and don’t knock the Beast!"  I tease, but she has a point.  "Fine!  I'll see you later."

"Thanks hon.  Bye."
  I have never really felt like part of the family and it still irks me that I was only chosen to be one of her bridesmaids at the insistence of her mother.  Having an even number of maids to escort her down the aisle was most likely a convincing factor.

I cat
ch my reflection in a mirror.  The woman looking back at me is paler than usual today, her face puffy and tired.  Sad hazel eyes match my appraisal, still a little red rimmed, from a waterworks display at Victoria's office.  The hair, thankfully, is looking great.  The cold is keeping the moisture in the air frozen and the usual frizz is under control.  For once my long auburn locks are tamed, sleek and shiny and without hours of pampering.  I grab a hair band from my jeans pocket and sweep it back into a high pony and adding a little youth to the face.