Page 18 of Meet Mason, the Billionaire

She wore a darling little halter dress with a lively Bohemian floral print, stripes of purple and blue, and cream-colored accents. The maxi skirt flowed behind her as she stepped out into the hallway.

“You still don’t want me to see your apartment?”

“I still haven’t cleaned up.” She flashed me a smile. A red butterfly clasp pinned her long, dark hair back, and she peered out at me through circular rose-hued hippie shades. No hat this time, I noted.

“I still don’t care. You should have seen what my college roommates were like.”

“No, I probably shouldn’t. Besides, whatever you’re imagining my apartment looks like, it’s probably worse.”

Her eyes lit up behind the glasses. “Are those for me?”

I had completely forgotten I was even holding flowers upon first sighting her. I handed them over happily.

“Yes, they are.”

“Thank you. They’re lovely. I’m going to put these in water—no peeking.”

She entered the apartment, and I heard the clink of glass followed by running water. Megan reappeared a moment later, closing the door behind her.

“Shall we?” she asked with a smile.

We walked down the steps to street level, and I took her hand. She gave me a shy smile, which faded when she saw the limo parked by the curb.

“You’re picking me up in a limo?” She whistled. “Are you expecting me to put out?”

I looked at her in horrified confusion, before I noticed her impish grin. She was fucking with me.

“I’m not expecting anything but to have a good time.”

“Oh, good save—unless of course, I were hoping you would say yes.”

She double arched her brows in rapid succession before getting into the back of the limo. I was seized by a rare energy, and looked forward to not only the date, but what might come after.

We rolled through the darkening streets to Staten Island. I had made reservations at a Mediterranean restaurant I thought Megan might enjoy. I offered my hand to assist her out. She took it, her skin warm and soft against my own.

“So, do we have any idea what to expect tonight?” I asked.

“With How Weird? There’s just no telling. One of his performances involved standing in a wooden crate and screaming on stage for twenty minutes.”

“Wow,” I said, trying not to laugh too hard. I didn’t want to make fun of her friend. “What was he screaming?”

“Nothing coherent. Just screaming. Over and over again, and every time we thought that he was done, there was more. There was more.” She giggled girlishly. “Hopefully it won’t be like that this time around.”

I decided to prepare myself for the worst. The community theater had a postage stamp-sized lot. The interior was surprisingly spacious, however, with the stage itself being at least twenty feet below street level. They hadn’t any room to expand on the surface, so they went down.

There were maybe a hundred seats or so set up similar to a movie theater. Only a dozen or so were occupied. We moved to join them, me following Megan’s lead.

“Hey, it’s Megan,” said a young man with facial piercings and braided hair. “And she brought her new boyfriend.”

I glanced over at Megan to see if she was going to correct her friend. She did not, and a little thrill went through me. The fact she hadn’t denied the designation made me happy.

I recognized the pierced young man as Junebug from his voice. The other people were a mystery to me. A plus-sized woman in a black dress with heavy makeup and green hair was known as Golga. A thin man with a beret and a scraggly goatee introduced himself as Prometheus, and spent most of the time rocking back and forth staring at his own hand. There were others whose names I struggled to remember. I soon realized that they all knew Megan—my girlfriend—and were surreptitiously checking me out to make sure I was worthy of her.

“It’s nice to meet you all,” I said, feeling very much overdressed. Nobody looked like they were on a date except for me and Megan. Then, the lights dimmed, and I realized that the show was about to start.

The strains of O Fortuna played over the loudspeaker. Suddenly a brilliantly white spotlight illustrated a man wearing a loincloth, bull’s horns, and gold body paint. He had a huge cardboard tray filled with eggs.

The man—I presumed it was Howard—sashayed along as if he were in great pain, yet determined to do an interpretive dance. His gestures and gyrations matched the stabs of music.

---