Page 83 of His Two Hidden Masks

My memories of that spectacular night were a montage of magical moments. A golden ballroom filled with layered, lacy gowns. Half-naked acrobats suspended from the ceiling. Brides and grooms marrying in a group ceremony on the palace steps.Masks so beautiful and valuable, they were only worn in public once a year.

The beat of the music in the club slowed and the volume decreased. The DJ addressed the crowd. “Lovers, we have a special event tonight,” he said, “a surprise artist who needs no introduction. Like all you queens, he, too, should reign in Venice.”

The energy of the room spiked in anticipation of the mystery guest. On stage next to the DJ sat a single chair and a mic stand.

As the crowd clapped, a man wearing a full-faced mask, half black and half gold, stepped onto the stage. Recognition roared through my body. I knew that mask. Strand was at Eros.

He looked out into the crowd, and I couldn’t breathe. The club went wild. Cell phones flashed and glowed in the dark room. Strand bowed and picked up his guitar. I searched for signs of Dylan in the way he moved, the way he stood, but the mask transformed him.

My mouth half-open, breathing shallow and shaking, I thought of my hands running over every inch of that man’s body, but had I ever touched Strand? He strummed his guitar, and in a flash, I saw Dylan’s hands. My heart surged, recognizing those strong, talented fingers that stroked me to climax.

Stand leaned in to the microphone. “Hello, my name is Strand.”

The crowd erupted again, clapping and hollering.

In our booth, Odessa gripped my arm. “Oh, my God.”

“I thought he was dead,” Shea whispered.

“Retired,” I said, unable to tear my eyes away from the stage. “Five years.”

Leo rushed back to the booth and scooted in beside Shea. “So, this is crazy. I love his music. Best Carnival Ever.”

I swear, every cell phone in the room was pointed at that stage. The room glowed with an artificial blue light. I wondered if the Street family would try to control the press from this event.

Strand nodded at the DJ as his strumming formed a melody. The DJ injected a slow beat into Dylan’s song. The acoustic guitar mixed with the electronic pulse in a sorrowful and fucking sexy beat.

The shocked crowd swayed in time, unable to stay still as the music drove them forward. The people in this room wanted Strand. I wanted Dylan, my lover.

Lover, see me

His voice was hypnotic, golden.

Lover, please me

“I don’t know this one,” Leo said. He raised his mask, along with Shea. “Must be new.”

The lights on the stage rotated through the jewel-toned colors of Carnival, bathing Dylan in blue, green, red, and purple light.

The gold side of his mask changed with each shifting shade. The black side of his mask stayed constant. Was his two-sided mask a nod to the two hidden masks he wore every day?

Lover, taste me

Take me into your water

Show me who you are

I’ll ransom my beliefs

I’ll lay bare my soul

Lover, taste me

I’ll never let you go

As the song continued, I realized I knew the tune. Holy shit. Strand’s come-back song was written in the kitchen at Andiamo.

“Let’s get closer,” Shea said, scooting over the top of Leo and standing in the aisle. She held out her hands to Odessa and me. “I have to dance to this. We all do. Come on, come on, come on.”

---