older than her, one of those people you can’t quite tell how much older. Cam’s maturity outweighs Jen’s by at least ten years. Perhaps that’s unfair, Jen likes to live life and screw the consequences. She runs out of money within days of being paid, her wardrobe brimming with clothes, and has no thought for the long-term, whereas I’m all for career paths and superannuation.
“Looking good,” says Cam. “Lucky guy.”
“Guy?”
“The guy you’re going with, he won’t be able to keep his hands off you, I’ll bet.” Jen purses her lips at Cam, increasing my discomfort. “What? She’s stunning, but what chick wouldn’t be dressed up like that.”
“I wish we were going,” says Jen, placing her legs across his lap.
“Yeah, waste of money, babe.”
“The ball is for charity,” I reply.
“We don’t have money to throw at charities.” He nods. “But have fun.”
Guy bought the tickets, with his usual protest that he had the money, and if he was going to take a girl to a ball, he should pay. I relented to his old-fashioned view. Cam’s comment about Guy not wanting to keep his hands off me sticks. Does that concern or excite me? I push the thought away.
The masquerade ball is held at the most expensive hotel in the city, one recently refurbished to rival the most exclusive establishments in Sydney or Melbourne. Their sponsorship of the event ensures this new image will receive a lot of attention. The taxi drops me at the marble-pillared entrance where I make my way through the other arrivals and into the building.
The vast modern lobby is filled with chattering groups, voices amplified by the high ceilings. The hotel is an eclectic mix of traditional and modern, the dark grey painted feature walls at odds with the unusually shaped chandelier above. I agreed to meet Guy close to the entrance; but now I’m here, I wish we’d arrived together.
Finding Guy could prove difficult. Every man here is hidden by a mask and many wear identical dress suits and are only distinguishable by their build. I’ve never seen Guy in a suit and can’t imagine him in one, add in the mask and he’ll be impossible to spot. I should’ve asked him to pick me up from home.
Initially, I take quick glances nearby men in case he’s one of them, but become uncomfortable they’ll think I’m checking them out and using my mask as an excuse. What else can I do but appraise their height and build to figure out if any of them is Guy? I’m not interested in faceless men.
A stressful ten minutes later, and the only solution is to text Guy. A sick worry he might not arrive at all grips me as I begin a message. Half way through typing, my screen flashes with a picture of myself taken recently. The mask fortunately obscures the panic but I’m secretly pleased by how I look. The view in the mirror before left me feeling over-dressed and awkward; the poised girl in the picture stands out amongst the guests around her.
I glance in the direction I imagine the picture was taken from and a group stand in the open doorway to the function room, chatting. No Guy.
A man sidesteps the group and heads toward me. I recognise Guy’s gait but until he reaches me, he’s indiscernible from the crowd. Guy’s white mask obscures half his face, but his strong jaw and full mouth are visible still. The well-cut black suit jacket is unbuttoned, a grey shirt with bow tie beneath.
Guy looks a hell of a lot hotter out of his boardies and the control over my attraction to him loosens further.
A low whistle accompanies Guy’s appraisal of me. “You scrub up well.”
“Nicely put. You’re not quite Prince Charming then?”
“Not if you’re Belle.” He crooks his elbow indicating I should place my arm through his.
“Belle?”
“You’re wearing gold which is closer to yellow. Beauty and the Beast.”
“I’d hardly call you a beast.” I hesitate over whether to take his arm
“Looking good,” says Cam. “Lucky guy.”
“Guy?”
“The guy you’re going with, he won’t be able to keep his hands off you, I’ll bet.” Jen purses her lips at Cam, increasing my discomfort. “What? She’s stunning, but what chick wouldn’t be dressed up like that.”
“I wish we were going,” says Jen, placing her legs across his lap.
“Yeah, waste of money, babe.”
“The ball is for charity,” I reply.
“We don’t have money to throw at charities.” He nods. “But have fun.”
Guy bought the tickets, with his usual protest that he had the money, and if he was going to take a girl to a ball, he should pay. I relented to his old-fashioned view. Cam’s comment about Guy not wanting to keep his hands off me sticks. Does that concern or excite me? I push the thought away.
The masquerade ball is held at the most expensive hotel in the city, one recently refurbished to rival the most exclusive establishments in Sydney or Melbourne. Their sponsorship of the event ensures this new image will receive a lot of attention. The taxi drops me at the marble-pillared entrance where I make my way through the other arrivals and into the building.
The vast modern lobby is filled with chattering groups, voices amplified by the high ceilings. The hotel is an eclectic mix of traditional and modern, the dark grey painted feature walls at odds with the unusually shaped chandelier above. I agreed to meet Guy close to the entrance; but now I’m here, I wish we’d arrived together.
Finding Guy could prove difficult. Every man here is hidden by a mask and many wear identical dress suits and are only distinguishable by their build. I’ve never seen Guy in a suit and can’t imagine him in one, add in the mask and he’ll be impossible to spot. I should’ve asked him to pick me up from home.
Initially, I take quick glances nearby men in case he’s one of them, but become uncomfortable they’ll think I’m checking them out and using my mask as an excuse. What else can I do but appraise their height and build to figure out if any of them is Guy? I’m not interested in faceless men.
A stressful ten minutes later, and the only solution is to text Guy. A sick worry he might not arrive at all grips me as I begin a message. Half way through typing, my screen flashes with a picture of myself taken recently. The mask fortunately obscures the panic but I’m secretly pleased by how I look. The view in the mirror before left me feeling over-dressed and awkward; the poised girl in the picture stands out amongst the guests around her.
I glance in the direction I imagine the picture was taken from and a group stand in the open doorway to the function room, chatting. No Guy.
A man sidesteps the group and heads toward me. I recognise Guy’s gait but until he reaches me, he’s indiscernible from the crowd. Guy’s white mask obscures half his face, but his strong jaw and full mouth are visible still. The well-cut black suit jacket is unbuttoned, a grey shirt with bow tie beneath.
Guy looks a hell of a lot hotter out of his boardies and the control over my attraction to him loosens further.
A low whistle accompanies Guy’s appraisal of me. “You scrub up well.”
“Nicely put. You’re not quite Prince Charming then?”
“Not if you’re Belle.” He crooks his elbow indicating I should place my arm through his.
“Belle?”
“You’re wearing gold which is closer to yellow. Beauty and the Beast.”
“I’d hardly call you a beast.” I hesitate over whether to take his arm
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