Chapter 10
WHAT IS HALLOWEEN to a man who must wear a mask? A night to blend in. A night to walk about without having to be the victim of stares. Erik never let himself go out unmasked after the events that led him to his current state. As a result, there were precious few times he could go out and simply be another face in the crowd. For a man who grew up frequently calling attention to himself, be it at recitals or college parties, the desire to be indistinguishable was initially something like a novelty. Then it became a necessity. Now, it was a crutch.
He’d done it all—the masquerade gala, Halloween, Carnevale in Venice—even New York Comic Con on one notable occasion. Under the cover of masks, he drank, danced, and took women to bed in furtive couplings that didn’t see the light of day. Reza was frequently his partner in crime on those early outings. That was, until he went and got himself married. After that, the adventures paled. The people close to him were moving on with their lives, and he was stuck grasping with sweaty fingers for those brief moments of make-believe connection.
For the last few years, Erik spent Halloween at Fedora. The decadent SoHo nightclub hosted an exclusive Halloween party for its members. The event was out of the 1940s, with a full swing band and a crowded dance floor. Waitresses brought trays of candy-colored cocktails made with fresh ingredients that went down too easily. The resulting convivial atmosphere was loud with laughter and conversation. Tiffany-style lamps hung around the room, setting off a variety of colors. Red velour-covered chairs with bronze detailing sat at tables covered by jewel-colored brocade tablecloths.
Onstage, the performers wore gangster-style 1940s suits with pinstripes and fedora hats. The female backup singers dressed in the same form-fitting red-and-black beaded satin dresses with identically shaped pompadours, though the third woman’s hair was an outrageous shade of purple. Everyone, including the singers, musicians, waitresses, and guests, wore masks. That was the rule—the club took the requirements of Halloween seriously.
The band was playing a lively cover of “Mack the Knife,” and despite the hour’s earliness, a few couples had already taken to the dance floor. Erik ordered a bourbon while he waited for Christine to arrive.
He was looking forward to hearing her voice again. Having someone to make music with was different but welcome. In recent years, he’d experimented with adding electronic instruments to his compositions. Still, it was different from giving and taking with another person. It made him think about songs he wanted to write but had avoided doing so since he couldn’t imagine them being done justice. Perhaps she could help him in that regard.
He shook his head. He was doing it again, getting carried away in impossibilities. He took a large swallow of his drink and tried to focus on the band, now playing a bluesy rendition of “Summertime.”
“Erik—it’s good to see you again!” Erik didn’t have to force himself to smile at the band’s leader and club owner, Richard French, as he clapped him on the back. Richard was a large man with a loud personality and even louder outfits. Tonight, he wore a ’40s-style pumpkin-colored three-piece suit with a bright-green tie and matching mask. Erik admired him a great deal. He was a talented musician and a good businessman, which was why Erik invested in the club.
“Glad to be here. The band is in good shape tonight. I like the new drummer.” He nodded toward the performers. “Nice turnout, too.”
“Thanks! We gonna see you up there tonight?”
Erik nodded. “Yeah, I’d like that. Could use your help with a favor though.”
“Anything—what can I do for you?”
Christine had agreed to Erik’s invitation but was unaware it would include an ambush that afternoon by a hair stylist, a makeup artist, and a wardrobe consultant. Was this how the one-percenters prepared for Halloween? The three professionals were under express orders to prepare her for a ‘night on the town.’ This wasn’t a homemade costume or Target acquisition evening. She needed to represent. When the two women and one man arrived and commandeered both her apartment and her person, her first reaction was anger.
Did Erik think she wasn’t good enough as she was? Who was he to control her appearance? She shot off an angry text.
Christine: It would’ve been nice of you to ask me before you sent over the squadron to glam me up .
Erik: Is there a problem? I told you this wasn’t your traditional Halloween party. I thought you might enjoy the pampering.
Christine: The problem is you should have asked. What if I was out doing something?
Erik: Were you? Out doing something?
Christine: No, I wasn’t, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t have asked.
She almost texted him impatiently that she had a life before realizing that…she didn’t. How long had it been since she’d done anything that wasn’t work- or school-related? How many months since she’d been on anything resembling a date? Not that this was a date, but it was certainly date-adjacent. Erik was wrong to be so high-handed, but he didn’t have the experience to know it was wrong. And frankly, getting dolled up for a night out had been more fun than she’d had in many months.
Christine: Next time, just clue me in before you decide on my behalf. I’ll see you at 8.
Erik: Noted. See you at 8.
Catching her reflection in a store window as she walked into Fedora, she had to admit the glam squad did their job well. She felt beautiful. Her hair was curled and flowed down her shoulders in Lauren Bacall-style waves. Her dress was an off-the-shoulder A-line in periwinkle-blue satin. The waist was cinched with a black sequined belt set off nicely against her black opera-length gloves and beaded demi mask.
Her anger at Erik and elation at her appearance distracted her from the evening’s main goal. When Erik first suggested a public performance, she’d been on such a high she hadn’t given it the reflection she might have otherwise. As the days went on, her anxiety built up again.
Erik: Focus on your breathing. If you’re focused on your breath, your heart will follow suit.
Christine: What if I fall flat on my face?
Erik: I’ll be there with you the whole time. I’ll catch you.
At least she was outfitted for the occasion. What was it Marie said to her when she wore sneakers to the office? ‘Dress for the job you want, not the job you have.’ Tonight, she was dressed to shine.
Entering the club, she found a seat at the bar, ordered a glass of water, and searched for Erik. She took stock of the club. The band was playing a big band cover of “No Diggity” by Black Street that translated remarkably well. Several couples danced to the bluesy downtempo song, and others watched from tables throughout the establishment. She looked at the band when she realized the piano player was smirking at her.
“Holy shit!” Christine whispered. Erik was playing for the band and looking quite comfortable—and dashing—doing so. Her jaw dropped, and she grinned stupidly before shaking her head and wagging a finger at him. A strand of his dark hair fell in a curl over the white mask he’d chosen to wear to the club. Though his jacket had been removed, he wore a pinstripe suit. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, showing off his well-formed arms. As he resumed his focus on playing, Christine sipped her water. The song was enjoyable, but it was staggering that her Erik, the recluse, was putting himself front and center.
Her smile faded. What must it be like for Erik to cleave to these tiny moments? She wished he would open himself up to the world and not feel the need to hide. Perhaps it was a result of his previous contributions to her life, or maybe it was how they finally met in that darkened elevator. Regardless, she hardly considered what he hid beneath his mask. There was so much more to him. He was funny, insightful, and brilliant. When his fingers touched the piano, she felt overcome with undefinable feelings. She wished they could be closer to each other. She wanted to be a permanent part of Erik’s life, however unlikely that was. This was a temporary arrangement—this spring, or sooner, their time together would end.
Well, forget that. She would enjoy their friendship for what it was.
The song ended, and a round middle-aged man in a bright-orange suit came onstage, soliciting applause from the crowd.
“Wasn’t that great? For those of you who just arrived, I am Dicky French, the owner of this fine establishment and your band leader. Ladies and gentlemen, I’m thrilled to introduce you to two special guest performers. The first is on piano; he’s the OG for us at Fedora. Please, let’s welcome Erik Gardner!” The orange-suited man threw an arm out toward Erik, who responded by playing a complex jaunty tune. She laughed as he played up to the crowd.
“Our next guest is new to Fedora, but I’m told she is an ingenue in the making. She and Erik will serenade you a bit while some of our band members take a fifteen-minute break. Please welcome to the stage, Christine Derring!”
Hearing her name and the polite applause was jarring, and her heart leaped in pace. She took a deep breath and walked to the stage, her eyes on Erik the entire time. His eyes were unreadable, but he gave an encouraging nod.
What if I fall flat on my face?
I’ll be there with you the whole time. I’ll catch you.
She smiled nervously at Dicky French as he lowered the microphone to her height and looked over at Erik. His smile was placid, and he nodded to her while he started playing. She closed her eyes and let the music from the intro envelop her. For a moment, she was alone with Erik in his music room. Centered, she began to sing.
“‘There’s a saying old, says that love is blind, still we’re often told, seek and ye shall find…’”
The couples already on the dance floor drifted into a dreamy waltz. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw one couple holding hands during the romantic melody. The audience easing back into their activities buoyed Christine’s confidence and allowed her to take more liberty with the melody.
Disaster saved itself for the second chorus when she reached for the microphone post. The gloves were unexpectedly slippery, and as she steadied herself, thinking she had staved off embarrassment, she tripped on the cord and nearly fell…flat on her face. Her microphone hit the stage with a discordant clang. Horrified, she looked toward Erik. Her cue was coming up. The crowd gasped.
“‘I’m a little lamb who’s lost in the wood, I know I could always be good, to one who’ll watch over me…’” Erik’s melodious voice picked up the song seamlessly.
Christine looked at him. His eyes were only on hers, willing her to pick up the microphone while he carried the tune. She followed his silent command, and by the time the chorus was done, she was able to take over again, this time with Erik joining in harmony with a low hum.
“‘Although he may not be the man some girls think of as handsome, to my heart, he carries the key.’”
She looked at him through the song’s conclusion, barely noticing the cell phones recording her near catastrophe and rise from the proverbial ashes. Erik might not be handsome in any sense, but he captivated her. She struggled to keep her heart from her eyes as he smiled warmly in her direction .
When the song ended, the audience applauded loudly. However, Christine was unsure if it was because her singing was good or because the interruption made the finish more triumphant. She didn’t care. She would take it. Curtsying, Christine bowed toward Erik so he might take his share of the applause.
Dicky French joined them on stage and placed a hand on Christine’s shoulder.
“Christine, I have to say that was both memorable and wonderful. You can join us anytime, though we might have to fit you for a wireless microphone.” The crowd laughed, and Christine gave a good-natured shrug. She excused herself offstage while Dicky turned to Erik. “Erik, what was that? I had no idea you could sing. Hiding your light under a bushel? This calls for an encore. What do you say, folks?”
The crowd went crazy, charmed by Erik’s heroics, and Christine was one of the loudest among them.
“I don’t appear to have a choice.” Erik sighed with a humored grimace.
“You heard him, folks. I present again, Erik Gardner!”
Christine waited with bated breath. What would Erik choose to sing? Before their unexpected duet, she’d only ever heard him sing one time. When the melody began, she immediately recognized it as a melodic and romantic cover of Weirdo by Social Robot.
“‘You’re too normal for a freak like me, but I want you desperately.’”
His voice cast a spell over the nightclub. It seemed like everyone collectively held their breath. The noise of bartenders and waitresses ceased. The dancers turned to watch Erik’s performance, barely swaying as he serenaded the words of unrequited love and self-loathing .
“‘Cause I’m weird, and I’m strange, but the world’s more deranged. Love, do you want to be a weirdo too?’”
Erik looked up at Christine as he sang, their eyes meeting for long moments of unspoken understanding. She was sure she’d forgotten how to breathe, and her mouth dropped open. She felt his voice all over her body, like a tangible caress. He was singing to her, and he was singing about her.
“‘Rather than losing you, just be a loser too, I could belong to you, we could belong…’”
As if the confession was too intimate, Erik turned away to croon the bridge and final chorus. His voice filled her, her heart pounding and expanding in anticipation and arousal. It was a passion Christine never experienced before. She’d been so concerned her feelings for Erik were more than she wanted them to be. Now that she knew his desires, every hidden, unacknowledged want bloomed within her. She wanted his lips on hers. She wanted to feel those long fingers on her skin. She wanted him desperately.
It was too much to bear. When would this song end?
She’d been so brave, his Christine, as she sang on stage, carried by his will for her to succeed and her own will to triumph over her cowardice. When Richard came to him with the request he perform, Erik’s fingers played the chosen chords, damn the consequences. If she could be brave, so could he. It almost hurt to look at her over at the bar as he sang his feelings to her. Her face was flush and her eyes were wide, but he held her stare as long as he could .
The wait was interminable. He could barely respond to his friend’s congratulations or the crowd’s standing ovation. All that mattered was getting to Christine. All that mattered was hearing her response to his confession. He must have run through ten strangers. Women were fawning to get this attention—all unimportant. When he made it to Christine, he was breathing hard. His body sagged against hers, their foreheads touching.
“Let’s get out of here,” he whispered, grabbing her hand while she nodded. Stubborn as she was, he feared she would resist, but like him, she was holding on as if for dear life.
Garret, God bless him, waited outside with the car for their retreat. Erik ushered Christine in, barely pausing to put up the privacy partition.
“Erik…” she whispered, his name laced with arousal. He stared at her, pressed back against the window, one arm resting wide around the back of the seat. He waited for her to continue, for the sign he could take her in his arms. “That song…” She removed her mask and crossed the distance between them.
Her lips were upon his in an instant. She wasn’t gentle—she was unleashed. He responded enthusiastically, crashing into her, trying to absorb her into his very skin. His lips took hers with a bruising force while one hand went around the back of her neck and into her hair, massaging gently, setting a pace that had her moaning. He darted his tongue into her mouth, tasting her briefly, before journeying to her face, her jaw, her neck.
“Wanted to do this since that night in the elevator,” he whispered in her ear, his lips moving down to caress her pulse point. “Most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
Christine laughed lightly, a throaty sound that foreshadowed the noises she would make as he drove into her. “You did a good job of hiding it.” She captured his lips again, and he groaned as her tongue tasted his. He pressed a hand to her chest, molding around her. She had phenomenal breasts, and the cut of the dress had given him a slight preview as he watched her sing. He wanted to pull the dress down in the back of his car, but he wouldn’t. He would take her home and seduce her slowly. They had all night.
“So much I want to do to you. I’m going to taste you, make you come on my mouth. Then you’ll ride my cock until you’re screaming.” He pulled her onto his lap so that she was straddling him, the length of him hard against her core, and she yelped at the pressure of him there. Christine covered his chin and throat with kisses as she writhed against him. He imagined her wetness and his hands traveled beneath her dress. He pressed her thighs open and let his fingers feel the juncture between them. She was wearing stockings, and there was moisture gathered there already. She’d be slick with wanting, and he’d slide inside her. He bit his lip to keep himself in check and took a deep breath as he often trained her to do. He could wait till they got back but could give her a taste of what would come.
“You feel so good, Erik.” Her hands were in his hair. His hands gripped her thighs, pressing her rhythmically against the length of him. He sensed her desperate search for sensation as he rose against her, driving her wild. He didn’t notice her hands as they moved from his hair to his neck until they finally jostled his mask loose from his face.
Christine didn’t seem to notice. Her lips continued their assault on him even as her face was skin-to-skin with his own. Erik froze. His hands on her stilled, and then she was physically tossed aside as Erik looked for the mask in a panic.
“Erik, what happened?”
“You shouldn’t do that,” he said frantically, his cold anger masking his panic. He found the white leather mask and affixed it in place, facing away from her.
“Do what? I don’t understand. ”
Erik looked at her, trying not to see how beautiful she was. Her lips were swollen, and her dress was askew. Her arousal was still evident, from his touch, his kiss, his song. “I thought I was perfectly clear. You cannot see my face. You cannot touch my mask.” He closed his eyes and forced his gaze away from her. “This was a mistake.”
“I—I’ve already seen your face. It doesn’t bother me.”
He knew she meant it to reassure him. She might even actually want him. But he knew he could never be enough. Perhaps he was enough for a night of passion but never someone who could walk with her in the light of day. Later, he’d be grateful that this brief loss of sanity was stopped before it could go any further.
“I’m glad you seem to tolerate my face. I do not want to be tolerated. We shouldn’t have started this.” Erik sighed deeply. “Let’s get you home.”
She stared at him, her mouth agape.
“No. That won’t be necessary. Drop me off here.”
“I’ll take the subway. It’s not late. I don’t want to be here any more than you want me here.” She was plainly furious. “You don’t get to call all the shots, Erik. You don’t get to decide every aspect of this”—she motioned between them—“relationship. Are we colleagues? Friends? Teacher and student? Lovers?” Her face was red with anger. “Have Garret pull over. Now!”
Erik tapped on the ceiling, and the car came to a stop.
“Thank you for all your help, Erik. This is done. I don’t want to see you anymore. I don’t want a relationship only on your terms.”
She gathered her things and exited the car, the door slamming in his face. Erik knew the enormity of this mistake would haunt him for years.