“Her soul,” I say.
“Her inner beauty,” Georgia adds.
Blushing slightly, Lily says, “Yeah, it wasn’t shining through. Not even slightly. I don’t know why. My physical appearance is very opaque, in addition to being ugly—an unfortunate combination.”
“So you performed . . . a kind of . . . musical peel?” Penelope asks.
“Yes, exactly.”
“What now? Do you have a plan?” Georgia asks.
“I have a fantasy. One of you will call Strad and offer to set him up on a blind date. He will agree. He and I will have our date at the Barnes & Noble in Union Square, in the coffee shop on the third floor. I will ask the store to play my beauty music on that day, instead of my book music, which they usually play. That’s how the whole thing would begin.”
“The whole thing? So you’re thinking there will be a ‘whole thing’?” Penelope asks.
“Well, that was the point, wasn’t it?” Lily says.
“How can you have a relationship with someone if the music always has to be on?” Peter asks. “What if he wants to take you out where no music is playing? Is this stuff covered in your fantasy?”
“Yes. I’d wear a mask.”
“A mask?”
“Yes. Or just avoid going out. But if I can’t avoid it, I’d wear a mask.”
“Won’t he find that strange?” Peter asks.
“Perhaps. But in my fantasy, he accepts it. And plus, people are often strange.”
“And you wouldn’t mind living your whole life this way?” I ask.
“Maybe not. And that’s an interesting question coming from you, Barb.”
“What if he finds out the truth?” Peter says. “What if you’re at home with him one day and for some reason the music stops and he sees you’re Lily?”
“Maybe his love could survive the truth.”
“What if it couldn’t?” Penelope asks.
“Maybe it won’t be the truth anymore.”
“What do you mean?” Jack asks.
“Maybe by then I will have improved the music to make its effect permanent. Even through silence.”
Georgia claps her hands once. “Okay, who’s going to make the call? I hope it’s not me because the thought of setting you up with that creep is hard to bear.”
“I’m not quite ready yet,” Lily says. “There are two things I have to take care of first.”
AN HOUR AFTER my friends leave, I’m surprised that Lily comes back to my place to speak to me one on one.
She asks me if I could make a mask for her to wear sometimes, if she’s ever out with Strad. She says she wasn’t able to find a nice one that fits her because her eyes are too close together for any normal mask. She says there’s only one she found that fits her, and she pulls it out of her bag. To my horror, it’s a mask of the Wicked Witch of the West, from The Wizard of Oz. The face is hideous green rubber with a hook nose topped by a big mole. The witch is wearing sunglasses—cheap sunglasses attached to the mask. I turn the mask over and see that each eyehole is huge, the size of the entire lens of the sunglasses, which explains why she bought it. Big eyeholes can accommodate a greater variety of distances between people’s eyes.
“You’re right, this is not exactly the kind of mask you want to be wearing when you’re hanging out with Strad,” I say.
“I’m going to wear it at the start of my first date with him.”
“Why?” I ask, stupefied.
“I want to experience what you experience when you take off your disguise at bars.”
I PUT EVERY other project on hold to make the mask. I shouldn’t, but I can’t help it. I’m so excited by what has happened. And it’s all thanks to Peter. Lily will have a chance to taste one of life’s greatest joys: romantic love; unrequited love suddenly requited—something she might never have been able to experience if it hadn’t been for Peter helping her access her greatest powers. He was her source of inspiration. And he wasn’t even trying. He was trying to do the exact opposite—convince her to give up her insane project and unhealthy obsession with Strad. If he’d succeeded at that, it would have been good. But this new outcome is even better. It may not be as healthy, but it’s much more delicious.
I could make a perfectly decent mask in an hour, but I want this mask to be inspired. I want it to be jaw-droppingly beautiful, ethereal, majestic. And most of all, I want it to be white. I have a vision of Lily in a white mask, which doesn’t make it easy for me because white is my weakest color. White masks always come out bland at my hands. Especially the feather ones, which is the kind I want Lily’s to be. I try to talk myself out of that color, but fail.
I work on it all night. Can’t stop. It always makes me feel good to do things for Lily, and she never asks for anything, so the opportunities are rare.
In the morning, I sleep for a few hours and then get back to work on the mask. One reason it’s taking so long is that I keep pausing to daydream about Lily wearing it and taking it off for Strad while the music is playing.
I continue working all day, and by the evening, I’m practically done. This white mask rivals—possibly even surpasses—my most beautiful colored masks. I had to make the eyeholes close to each other, though doing so would reveal Lily’s biggest facial defect. So I made the eyeholes huge, touching in the middle and extending far to the sides, in a sort of infinity symbol, which turns out to be the mask’s most stunning feature. I covered the eyeholes with a mirrored surface (the type of glass used for mirrored sunglasses). It’s essentially the same concept as the mask she already has—but attractive. Lily will be able to look out, but anyone trying to look in will only see themselves.
THE SECOND THING Lily takes care of is asking Barnes & Noble for the special favor she is hoping they’ll do for her. They refuse, claiming a whole day is too long to play her mysterious “other” music instead of her brilliant book music, and that their sales would suffer excessively. But then Marcy Singer, a very kind store manager, succeeds in getting permission to play that “other” music, as a “very special favor,” from two to three o’clock, on any afternoon of Lily’s choice—but only one single afternoon.
Lily is pleased. One hour seems more than adequate to get her fantasy started.
THE TIME HAS come to make the phone call. No one wants to be the one to make it, though everyone wants to listen, including Peter, so we gather at my place to decide who will do it.
But first, I can’t resist showing Lily and the others the white mask I’ve almost completed. When they see it, they gasp.
To my great pleasure, Lily says, “I never expected you to make something this amazing!” She touches it lightly with her fingertips.
They all stand there admiring my mask, which cannot go on long enough for my taste.
“It’s reminiscent of a mask one might find in Venice, only more unusual,” Penelope says.
“It’s your best work,” Jack states.
“Possibly,” I reply, pleased. “I don’t know what possessed me.”
“You don’t? I do,” Georgia says. “What possessed you is the same thing that possessed me last night: inspiration. Caused by Lily, her perseverance, and her magical success. When I got home, after I got over my initial despair that I would never be able to create art that came even close to rivaling hers, I decided to emulate her. Just for the hell of it. Just to see what happened. So I got a bucket and placed it next to my chair in case I needed to throw up, because, as you know, every time I even think of trying to write since I got my laptop back, it makes me want to vomit. I sat there and actually attempted to write.”
“And? Did you succeed?” Peter asks.
“I’m not saying I produced anything on Lily’s level. But it was like before I lost my laptop. As though I’d never lost it. And to me, that feels like magic. It’s all I could hope for.”
“I’m so happy you’re writing again!” Peter exclaims, hugging Georgia, to our surprise. “What a relief! All is right with the world.” His hug lif
ts her off the ground.
Lily thanks me again for the mask. I tell her I can’t give it to her just yet because I need one or two more days to add a couple of finishing touches to it.
“It looks pretty finished to me,” Penelope says. “Be careful not to spoil it. I know that sometimes when I overwork a ceramic piece, it turns out worse rather than better.”
“Really? That’s interesting,” Jack says, strolling over to my shelves. “Where’s that nice ceramic box you made for Barb a few weeks ago? That was such a beautiful example of having not overworked a piece. And it had such a nice clasp.”
“Thanks, but I didn’t make the clasp, remember, only the box.”
We move on to the question of who will call Strad. As expected, they all say they’d rather not, which only leaves me. I’d rather not, too, but I cave in.
On speakerphone, I dial Strad’s number.
“Strad, Barb,” I say, when he picks up.
“Hi Barb,” he says.
“I’m calling to set you up on a blind date.”
“Oh.” A cautious pause. Then, “Who is she? What does she look like?”
His question surprises me, which surprises me.
“She is a knockout,” I tell him.
I give him Lily’s new cell phone number—the one she got for this occasion.
To our pleasure, he calls her just a few minutes after hanging up with me. Lily answers her cell on speakerphone, so that we can all hear. She adopts a slightly deeper voice than her natural pitch.
He asks her a few perfunctory questions. She tells him she’s my new assistant. That’s what we settled on in advance, along with her new name, “Sondra Peterson,” which she picked as an homage to her favorite top model from the sixties.
They make plans to meet on Sunday at two o’clock at the coffee shop on the third floor of Barnes & Noble in Union Square. Just like in Lily’s fantasy.
Before they hang up, he says, “How will I recognize you?”
“I’ll be wearing a mask.”
Silence. “Why?”
“Why not? It’s as good a way as any to be recognized.”
Silence. “And then you’ll take it off? I like being able to see who I’m talking to.”
“Yes, I’ll take it off.”
PART
TWO
Chapter Thirteen
Carrying a shopping bag containing her two masks, Lily goes to Barnes & Noble for her two p.m. blind date with Strad (she tells us all about it later). Customers in the store have already been under the influence of Lily’s “beauty” music for a few minutes, so she gets admiring stares when she enters, which she finds unsettling. It’s the first time in her life she’s out in public and beautiful.
She takes the escalator straight to the third floor and hides behind some bookcases to spy on the coffee shop area. She wants to wait until Strad arrives and seats himself before she makes her appearance.
Three minutes later, she sees him ambling into the coffee shop area. He looks around, searching for someone wearing a mask, sees no one, chooses an empty table, hangs his jacket on the back of the chair, and stands in line to buy a snack.
Lily decides that she will make her entrance when he’s back at his seat. She feels more nervous than she expected.
While she waits, a young man tries to start a conversation with her. No one ever tries to pick her up, so at first she doesn’t realize what he’s doing. When it finally occurs to her that asking her what is her favorite time to come to Barnes & Noble is a weird question, she says, “I’m sorry, I can’t talk right now,” and turns back to her object of interest, who’s paying. Strad carries a hot beverage and a plate with a pastry on it to his table. He looks around again, then at his watch, and sits.
Now is the time. Her apprehension has grown. Trying to calm herself, she takes a deep breath.
She pulls out of her shopping bag the green mask of the Wicked Witch of the West wearing sunglasses. She puts it on.
Before she has a chance to take her first step in Strad’s direction, there is a tap on her shoulder and an “Excuse me” behind her. She turns. It’s the same guy again. He jumps with fright, looking aghast.
She lifts up her mask. “What?”
He holds up a book. “This is my favorite novel. Have you read it?”
She thought she’d made herself perfectly clear to this guy.
“I’m sorry, I’m in a relationship,” she lies, “and in the middle of something important. I’d really be grateful if you would leave me alone. I’m sorry.” She replaces the mask over her face, hoping it’ll frighten him away.
He raises his hands. “Shame. But okay,” he says, and walks off.
Strad is now sipping from his cup and reading a magazine.
Lily steps out from behind the bookcase just as a group of people are walking by, headed toward the coffee shop area. She goes with the flow.
Strad looks up from his paper, scanning his surroundings again. He does a double take. He has spotted her behind the approaching heads. His eyes are locked on her mask and he’s not smiling.
He rises from his chair and gives her a courteous nod as she nears. She nods back and stops in front of him. He mumbles hello, says it’s nice to meet her. He indicates the empty chair. She sits.
The first thing he says when they’re seated is, “Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate your sense of humor. But they do say first impressions are very important.” He laughs. “I guess you haven’t heard that?”
“They’re not that important.”
From the start, the fantasy is not going exactly as she had imagined. There’s a different feel to it. First off, the coffee shop is loud. More so than usual. Her soul-baring music is not easy to hear above all the noise. This worries her. She wonders if her music’s transformative power will be diminished or maybe even canceled.
As a result, the thing she has been looking forward to the most—the removal of the mask—she now begins to dread.
Her anxiety is not helped by what Strad asks her next.
“Do you know Barb well?”
“Not that well. I only started working for her recently,” she says, the first of probably many lies.
“Why do you think she wanted to set us up? I don’t entirely trust her motives. I think it’s a trick to teach me a lesson. She disapproves of a couple of my views. They all do, that bunch.” He shakes his head regretfully. “Too bad, really. I admire them.”
He will certainly feel tricked if she takes off her mask and he sees his ugly former colleague Lily sitting in front of him instead of beautiful Sondra. This could happen because of all the racket masking her music. To make matters worse, children are crying at three different tables around them. Unbelievable. It’s not romantic. What bad luck.
She suddenly wishes she didn’t have to take off her mask. Maybe she’ll simply refuse to take it off. She has a right to change her mind. Perhaps she’ll just arrange to see Strad another time, someplace safer, more familiar, such as Barb’s apartment. These thoughts are calming her. And she decides right then that, in fact, she won’t take off her mask. There. She feels much better now.
“God, it’s so loud here,” he complains.
“I know.”
“This cake is great. Here, have a bite,” he says.
“No thanks, I’m not hungry.”
“It would make me so happy if you would taste it.”
Her anxiety returns. Obviously he’s trying to get her to take off her mask.
She will give in without giving in. “Okay,” she says.
She takes the fork he’s handing her, on which rests a piece of tart, and lifts the bottom of her mask just enough to slide the bite into her mouth.
She chews and releases the mask to where it was. “Mmm. It’s good,” she says.
Lily glances at Strad. He is solemn. Clearly he’s disappointed that she hasn’t removed her mask as she’d promised she would. Well, tough.
Taking it upon herself to get the conversation g
oing again, she says, “So, Barb tells me you’re a musician. What kind of music do you play?”
“Wait,” he says. “I’m still recovering.”
“Recovering?” she asks, puzzled.
“Yes,” he says, gazing down, looking almost pained.
“From what?”
“That glimpse of your chin,” he replies, softly.
She doesn’t respond.
“I think I’d like to get together again, based solely on your chin.”
“Ah.” She doesn’t know what else to say. All she can think about is how relieved she is that the music worked well enough on her chin. And not only that, he wants to see her again. Things could not be better.
They chat about various things. He tells her about the evening he spent having dinner with the Knights of Creation at Barb’s apartment, and how they attacked Jack and then were handcuffed for dinner to a ballet bar and then were sectioned off for dessert by a transparent plastic sheet hanging from the ceiling. Lily tries to react as though she wasn’t there. But conveying amusement and amazement while masked is not easy and has to be done entirely with voice and body language, which she does as best she can by flinging her head around and laughing loudly.
Then Strad moves on to the topic of Lily’s music. “I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s her music playing, right now,” he says, finger pointing up, ear cocked. “That’s if you can hear it above all this howling. God, you’d think we were in a day care center. Anyway, if that’s her music, probably before we leave here today we’ll have bought at least five books each.”
Lily laughs. “Really?”
“Oh yeah, you’ll see. Lily’s got phenomenal talent.”
Suddenly, a floor manager appears at their table.
Lily and Strad stare up at him, wondering what it’s about.
The manager leans toward them and says, in a hushed voice, “Excuse me, your mask is upsetting the children. I’ve had a few complaints from mothers. Would it be too much to ask you to please remove it? I apologize for the inconvenience.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I was the cause of the crying,” Lily says.
The Unfortunate Importance of Beauty: A Novel Page 15
