19th November 2005
The Masquerade
Short fiction Author: Firecat
Created: 19 November 2004


I was cleaning that horrid space behind the toilet when she appeared. Bold as brass in my bathroom, without even knocking. "You SHALL go to the ball", she said, producing the most gorgeous blue taffeta gown with puff sleeves, that looked as if it might be a little tight about the bodice but a very flattering fit.
Everyone had been talking about the masked ball but tickets were impossible to come by.
I looked lovingly at the dress and then hurled it back at her. This was the social event of the year, but it was tonight! Did she think, was she really so stupid as to think, that just because she had produced the most exquisite electric-blue confection and non-matching shoes I could go to the ball? Just what planet did she come from? I NEEDED, like NOW: a nice long soak in the bath (I was cleaning!), during which I could defuzz (could she not have told me even a couple of days ago so I could have my legs waxed?!); a good night's sleep (too late for that) - or a facial at least! I would have to settle for a quick facepack in the bath; eybrow shaping; make-up and accessories to match the dress and my gray complexion; my hair, for goodness sake; oh-my-god and my underarms!
I rang Sara - my only hope. She looks after those bits no-one should ever have to see but doesn't work Fridays. Luckily she was in. There is no friendship as intimate as that between someone approaching their use-by date and their beautician! It was an emergency so of course she would fit me in. Thank God! But that long soak would have to be a quick splash in a few inches of tepid water, while Sara, bless her, worked out a battle-plan.
Now, that stupid spaced-out fairy. Because she had sprung this on me and I was going to have to throw myself together, no way could I turn up in a horse-drawn carriage; I would have to turn up in a cab and slip in un-noticed. Thankyou for spoiling that! I asked if I could at least have a matching Pashmina instead - and, to her credit, she gave me an exquisite organsa wrap with bijoux blue petit-point flowers to match the patterns in the skirts.
Thank God for Sara, her organising, her magic, and for lending me some of her own jewellery and an evening bag. She sprayed the backs of my knees with some of her own perfume for luck, I was in the taxi and away.

It wasn't quite the Doge's Palace but our town has a beautiful Winter Palace and the Ballroom still shimmers with the treasures of empire. I felt half my age. As I walked in I was offered a mask and I chose the black and gold cat. I made for the row of chairs under the mirrors along the wall, but before I got there a handsome young tiger (his friend called him Wills) stepped out and I happily accompanied him onto the floor.
Have you ever tried dancing in crystal slippers? They're like clogs! And slippery as hell. You try waltzing in them! None-the-less he was a pleasure to follow and I distracted him from my feet by keeping eye contact, pressing up against him, going limp in his arms, whispering in his ear, anything to keep him focussed on me and away from those stupid shoes - and the other girls. My other worry was "what if they break?"! After five waltzes my feet were so sore even without them breaking that I made my excuses and sat down. My partner clearly took all my attention-grabbing as flirting as he kept giving me "little boy lost" looks all evening.

Sitting on the sidelines was no less fun than the dancing, as I found myself sat between two charming ladies and we soon found we had a lot in common; teenage children, a penchant for writing... pretty soon I had almost forgotten about the ball as I immersed myself in my conversations with them, gleaning between the lines morcels of their real lives beyond the masquerade. On the one side was an elegant lady with a fifteen year old daughter who loved buying shoes (anything but these awful things, I thought). The lady on the other side was quite intriguing, as was her appearance, petite in a gypsy-style russet dress with her auburn hair in a ponytail. Very soon in our conversation we started finding strands in common. Being masked I was unusually free with information about myself as no-one could follow the thread back to me. Yet we seemed to have something strangely, almost eerily in common...

Suddenly, disaster! She told me her name and asked me to remove my mask! We weren't in Venice, we were in our local town and I would be sure to be recognised for who I am. "Goodness, is it midnight already?" I asked and dashed for the exit, losing a glass slipper as I ran. "At least it won't slice through my foot when it breaks", I thought, and as I skidded outside I consigned the other to a skip.

REVIEW:Short Fiction: A3298313 - The Masquerade Nov 19, 2004