CHAPTER EIGHT

DREAMS TOO LIVELY

There was a line of costumed people on the street outside thehotel ballroom. We joined the line and stood behind a pair of wings.The three of us were silent as the people in front excitedlyconversed. A honk and obnoxious comment from a passing caroccasionally interrupted their talk. The people with painted facessnorted and resumed talking.

The line moved forward until we were at the front door. A beardedman dressed like a nineteenth century banker was taking tickets.

"No tickets?" he said after we didn't outstretch our hands.

"No tickets," I said as I looked straight back at the bearded man.I wasn't worried about getting into the ballroom. At gatherings likethe Silver Moon Masquerade, I'm a prize catch.

The bearded man turned his eyes to Alexandra. He examined herblack covering, then turned to Layla. She returned a suspicious faceto his gaze.

Finally he said, "You two can come in." Then he pointed at Layla."Her, I don't think so."

"Would it help if I came in through the back door?" Laylasnapped.

The bearded man -- a white guy -- was abruptly flustered. "Hemeans," I said, "that you're not exactly dressed for thisoccasion."

"I'm just sayin' it's lookin' mighty pale around here," shecommented, indicating the other people in the line. I could see herpoint. As far as I could see, the costumed people were white. In myexperience, affairs such as the Silver Moon Masquerade tend to favorCaucasians. Not completely, but it was still mighty white.

"It's a bit more diverse than it first looks," I assured her.

"We let black people inside!" the bearded men suddenlydeclaimed.

"How many?" Layla asked.

"Well...I don't..."

"Three? Four? How many Arabs do you let in? I'm one of those, bythe way."

This had the makings of a pure New York City Incident whenAlexandra intervened. She held up a hand and softly said, "She's withme."

I've mentioned her voice, right? The way she spoke those simplewords created an irresistible force. 'She's with me.' That's all youneed to know.

The bearded man's face turned blank as he nodded and motioned tothe door. Layla, Alexandra and I went inside the ballroom. Wesaw...

...young men with silver hair, blackened eyebrows, tights aroundtheir crotches, and sly smiles; friendly middle-aged men in top hatsand cravats; female teenagers with wings attached to their silkgowns; older women dressed as both queens and barmaids.

And masks; some simple golden ones which only circled the eyes, orlong ones with the faces of animals.

Painted faces -- red, yellow, green; painted bodies with only athin loincloth.

A man's body covered with fur and a face disguised with contactsand fangs. (A bit ironic, that.) And a stark gray costume that lookedlike a walking rock.

These were just some of the things I saw at the Silver MoonMasquerade, including pirates. It was a bedlam of color andanachronism. It was Halloween with a vengeance and a deeper purpose.This wasn't about simply a night of fun. This was about recreatingsomething that only existed in dreams. I had no doubt that a lot ofthe people there never wanted to leave this ballroom.

"Wow," Layla said. I don't know if she meant "wow, this isamazing" or "wow, this is stupid" or both. I shared the sentiment ifshe meant the third option. I had a deep ambivalence toward thesekinds of affairs. The Silver Moon Masquerade looked like an ungainlymix of conscious infantilism and studied decadence -- a parade ofgrown people longing for their childhood innocence but also wantingadult eroticism. There were bulging codpieces, naked chests and tightcorsets mixed with the sparkles and gossamer wings.

On the other hand, there have always been some dirty things goingon in those old fairy tales. Read the original Brothers Grimm, if youdon't believe me.

On yet another hand, this party had less to do with ancient fairytales and more to do with the eighties. A lot of the people at theSilver Moon Masquerade came of age in an era of androgynous rockstars and bong-smoking fantasy novel cults. This masquerade was anabsurd offspring of that culture.

On a fourth hand, it was quite a spectacle. Shouldn't I have justaccepted it as that and enjoyed myself?

Well, no. There's the fifth hand -- I actually lived in a fantasyworld. I actually came from a community that looked like thismasquerade, but not so florid. And to live in that world you had towork and sweat to keep the 'fantasy' going. Occasionally you had tokill. These people had just come to play. I couldn't fault them forthat, but I wondered how long they could actually live in the Tunnelswithout their regular jobs and comforts. Or television.

I suspect that Layla felt something close to what I felt. In fact,she probably leaned a lot more to the negative. She was toohard-nosed to enjoy the Masquerade.

As for Alexandra...she just stood there and looked over the crowd.She spent a whole minute doing this before saying, "Stay here."

Then she went further into the crowd. I almost stopped her butLayla placed a hand on my shoulder. "She'll be fine. Come on. I seefood."

She guided me to a table. The table had been decorated to resemblean eighteenth-century banquet, even though the food was cookies,punch, and deviled eggs. Wreaths of red and yellow flowers surroundedthe plates. The punch could be poured into crystal glasses. Brassstatues of cherubs wagged their naked behinds over the food.

I picked up a cinnamon cookie and started to chew when I heard avoice say, "Hi!" The voice was female, and I recognized the tone.

I turned and saw two young women. Their costumes were relativelysimple. With their green shorts and pointed ears, they wereapparently going for some kind of elf look. They also had nicebreasts. "Are you with somebody right now?" one of them asked.

Before I could answer, Layla put an arm over my shoulder and said,"Yeah, he's with me. Beat it, you twerps."

Their eager smiles turned to scowls. They stomped away as theysnorted "Who does she think is?" and "Robbing the cradle."

"That wasn't necessary," I told Layla.

"I don't want to put up with your fan club all night," sheresponded.

"Or maybe you're defending your territory."

She looked at me as she nibbled on a cracker. Then she said, "Youknow, Jacob, when I first saw you, I thought, 'This is the mostbeautiful young man I've ever seen.'"

"Thank you."

"I also thought, 'He's probably terrible in bed.'"

Layla made me temporarily speechless -- again. She continued, "Oh,I'm sure you can get it up readily enough. And you're as strong asmost full-grown men."

"I'm stronger than most full-grown men," I sputtered.

"Okay. But I bet that Joe in his early fifties was a better loverthan you are."

"I got a long line of women who would tell you otherwise."

"You think so?"

I almost said "Damn right," but then I remembered the words of afamous actress. "You're like something out of a movie, Jacob." Isuddenly realized how very hollow my sex life had been. I had livedan adolescent's dream life, but nothing more substantial than adream.

I had been a dream to these women. I was young and strange andstrong. I knew loads of poetry. I was the kind of boyfriend thosewomen would have wanted in their teens. Sex had just been a way ofgetting close to that fantasy, but what had I been in reality tothem?

"You're advanced in a lot of ways, Jacob," Layla told me. "But inthe most important ways you're still a kid."

Layla's words struck home for me. What if she was right? Had Ireally changed in the past two months? Was I still just a teenagerwith some unusual gifts?

I would have just meditated in silence on her observations, butthen Layla said --

"Alexandra doesn't need a kid for a lover."

"What?"

"Alexandra needs an adult."

"For chrissake, Layla, she's fifteen years old. She's my age."

Layla shook her head. "She has the oldest soul I've ever met."

"What the hell does that..."

"And if you can't be the person she needs, then you should backaway."

I was slightly conscious that my hand was grinding my cookie intobits. I mainly concentrated on Layla's confident expression. A needto wipe off that expression boiled inside me.

"Speaking your mind is one thing, Layla," I said in a low voice."Speaking on things about which you don't know shit is another."

"I know more than..."

"Shut up."

So there we were. As the other people in the ballroom danced andlaughed and posed for photos, a long-haired teenage male and adark-skinned women in her thirties stared at each other like a coupleof cobras.

"Don't you dare to judge the feelings Alexandra and I have foreach other," I told Layla. "Don't you dare to tell me to back awaywhen she is the love of my life. And don't you dare tell me what shefucking needs when you just fucking got here. And if you were a guy,we would be stepping outside right..."

"No need for chivalry, Jacob," Layla said in a cold voice. "I'llstep outside with you."

I paused, then said, "You know what I can do."

"Oh, I know. That's why you won't get the drop on me again."

At that point, I was too mad to remember Alexandra's prophecy. AllI wanted at that point was one clear punch at Layla's face. And shewanted the same for my face. We were both ready to step outside whenI noticed something strange out of the corner of my eye -- strangerthan the costumes in that ballroom.

People had stopped dancing. Their backs were turned to me, forminga multi-colored wall of skin and cloth. I stared at them. So didLayla. A DJ was playing 'gothic' dance music -- techno beats withharpsichords and ethereal female voices. However, the music metresistance in those motionless bodies. As far as I could see,everyone was staring at the center of the ballroom. Eventually the DJturned off the music, knowing that all melodies were ineffectualnow.

Layla and I both realized who was at the center. Who else couldbring this party to a sudden halt? We forgot about our squabble andpushed our way through the crowd. We broke a few wings and masks onthe way.

There was a ten-foot space at the crowd's center. Alexandra wasthere. She was walking up to each person around her. As usual shemoved as if she wasn't quite in the world, but was conscious of everydetail. For the first time, though, I noticed that there was as muchpoetry in how she moved as in how she talked.

She whispered in the ear of a man with antlers. Then she whisperedto a witch, and then to a man with the face of a frog. Each personbecame surprised and awed.

I looked around the room. I saw the same expression on dozens offaces. Alexandra had been moving among the dancers like a ghost. Whathad she been whispering to them? Some secret from the past? Somedesire that they hadn't revealed? Whatever she had said to eachperson, it had been frightening.

And it also excited them. In this place which celebrated magicsomeone had brought the real thing. In a room full of the imagined, atrue representative of the fantastic was walking. Imagine if you hadbeen dreaming about aliens your whole life, and then one showed up atyour doorstep. Alexandra wasn't an elf or a fairy, but she might aswell have been. Even those who didn't receive a whisper fromAlexandra understood that something fantastic was happening. Theycould hear amazed descriptions of what Alexandra was doing. Theycould see her power in the way that she had brought this room to ahalt. They could feel it from the others.

As I said, though, there was fear in that room as well asenchantment. If someone instantly knew your secrets, how would youreact? How would these people react? Layla and I were both tense asstretched wires. We were ready to grab Alexandra and hide her fromthese people. We were held back by...well, we were held back byAlexandra. This slight, tender person seemed to know exactly whatwere doing, despite the risk she was taking. She was deliberatelycalling attention to herself and her gift. Despite what washappening, I wanted to trust her judgment

I wanted to trust her, period.

Alexandra whispered to one more person, then walked to the center.For a few moments she was as motionless and quiet as a farawaystar.

Then she began to uncover her face.

I couldn't hear Layla breathe. I wasn't breathing, either. I wasyelling at myself, "Get her out of here now, she's gone mad, get herout..." But a softer voice seemed to say, "She is in control. Youcannot stop her. This is her moment."

When the scarves were removed, everybody knew what they wereseeing. I could read the collective knowledge on the people's faces.This was no make-up, their expressions said. This was the true faceof a seer. Just as she frightened and amazed them with her gift, shebewitched and disgusted them with her snake eyes.

I have told you about the scared Alexandra, the haughty Alexandra,the murderous Alexandra. The person at the center of the Silver MoonMasquerade was somebody new. Her expression was a cool one, but notdistant. She gazed at the others with a muted kindness. She had aconfidence that no one would raise a hand against her. I was not soconfident. Would fear overcome enchantment in that room?

I had forgotten that sometimes fear and enchantment are the samething.

A part of the crowd moved. Layla and I readied to step betweenthem and Alexandra.

Instead of going toward her, they went to the front of theballroom. At this spot was a set-up for picture taking. The area hadbeen designed to look like ancient ruins. Cardboard facsimiles ofpillars stood in the background. At the center was a throne on araised dais.

Several people gathered around the dais and raised it off theground. The crowd parted so that the dais could be hauled to a cornerat the back of the room. From this corner everyone could see theperson sitting on the throne, and that person could see everyoneelse.

The throne-carriers melted back into the crowd. Then, like sandbeing washed away in the water, a long path was cleared betweenAlexandra and the throne.

Everybody got down on their knees and bowed their heads -- exceptfor Layla and me. She probably felt a little dizzy. I certainlydid.

Alexandra looked at that throne as if she was judging it. Then shewalked over the path -- slowly, but with no fear.

She stepped onto the dais, turned around and sat down on thethrone. I realized that she belonged there. She was the true queen ofthis Masquerade. Her new followers waited for her command.

Alexandra sat on that throne with her hands folded in her lap. Shedidn't move. Nobody else did or would have until she gave theword.

She pointed a finger at the DJ. He immediately started the musicagain. The dancing and laughter resumed, only more joyous thanbefore.

Layla and I kept still for a few seconds. Then Layla said, "Comeon." I followed her, completely forgetting about the fight we almosthad.

We made our way to the dais just as a man approached the throne.Layla quickly stepped in front of him and placed a hand on his chest."You want to talk with her?" she demanded to know.

The man -- another fellow wearing tights and a big wig -- noddedanxiously. Layla turned to Alexandra.

The queen nodded. Layla stepped aside and allowed the supplicantto approach the floor. He got down on his knee and opened hismouth.

"I know of your problem," Alexandra said. "This is what you mustto do." As Alexandra explained the solution, Layla slowlygrinned.

And I just stood and watched the whole thing like a doofus.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

A band took to the stage. As did the attendants of the Masquerade,they accepted Alexandra's status and began to play. They calledthemselves Saint Eve. They dressed in colorful outfits -- ruffledshirts and fishnets, heavy boots and bracelets -- but the mosteye-catching was the beautiful red-haired front singer. She wasdressed in an enormous hoop skirt and a loose blouse. Originally thedress had been white, but it was painted with black-and-red swirls. Asimple black mask covered her eyes as she belted her first number tothe microphone --

"There are no human words for this/ The human mouth cannotexpress."

Normally I would have enjoyed it, but the sound of guitar, drumsand crackling synthesizer only gave me a headache at that moment. Ihad watched Alexandra for the last half-hour listening to onesupplicant after another. As always she knew their problems and theproper solutions. After so many years spent in darkness she had trulyfound a place where she could belong.

No, that wasn't true. She had been accepted in the Tunnels as wellas the Masquerade. In the former she had been a guest. Here she was aqueen.

And who could blame her for wanting to be the latter?

What did that make me then? Her consort? Her knight-in-arms? I hadno answer then. I only stood near the throne, feeling ignored. I wasbeing ignored. As previously in the day, Alexandra didn't seem toknow that I was near her. Layla, on the other hand, would constantlywhisper words in her ear, and Alexandra would nod to her.

Saint Eve began a new song -- less driven than the others, but noless strong. The woman in the black-and-red dress sang calmly yetwith an ache --

"They recognize each other though they have never met..."

Alexandra raised a hand. A new supplicant stopped in her tracksand moved aside as the queen left the throne. Everyone made room asshe walked toward the center of the ballroom. I could see herstanding still and listening to the music alternate between gentleflute-like sounds and sudden snarling guitars.

Then she turned to the throne and held out a hand.

I knew she wasn't motioning to me.

I suddenly knew a lot of things that should have been obvious tome. My love and my pride had blinded me. I had needed a plain visualto clear through the blindness.

I had to see Layla walk over to Alexandra...take her by thehand...allow Alexandra to place her head on her shoulder...and dancewith her.

"One day we're standing in the snow..."

Lovers closed around them in their own pairs like the petals of aflower in winter.

"One day we're waiting in the garden..."

I kept still. I wondered if I could remain on this spotforever.

"Sometimes we wait for you to wave goodbye..."

Eventually I headed for the exit. Nobody tried to stop me. I leftthe color and sound of a dream taken shape in the middle of a grandstone city. And yet as the sound of traffic and the shadow of blacktowers took over my senses, I couldn't help wondering if I had leftreality for a dream -- a dark and narrow dream.

"'Cause we'll be here one day."