The Mask of New Paris ✓

IX. A Party

The evening of the party approaches quickly. As I hear Reed stumble up and down the stairs, I stand in front of my dresser, one hand resting on my hip, the other ticking against my puckered lip.

"Are you almost ready, Belle?" Reed says as he goes down once again. I shake my head. Ever since he tried the nickname, he has made it his mission to use it as often as possible somehow. I catch my barely dressed reflection in the mirror and shout that I need five more minutes. 

What does one wear at a party in New Paris?

I turn around, unable to find anything in my dresser and stare at the two gowns laying on my bed. They are the sole evening gowns I brought with me from Eauville, so perhaps this must do. It's one of these two that is destined to be worn as I make my grand entrance into New Paris' society.

I shake my hair out of my face. It truly comes down to the two dresses laying on the simple white sheets. My fingers linger over the rich fabrics. Both dresses were made by the Mcgoldnick Trade and I remember how it felt seeing them come to live. 

The blue one was a difficult one to get the fabric to fold nicely, but the deep green one was hard to adjust to the design. A sudden decision made, I grab the velvet green dress and squirm myself inside it.

It has a tight bodice and the skirt flows over gently. Three deep folds in the back give the impression of a hidden firm bum beneath the fabric. Across my arms and chest a thin veil, adorned with black diamonds, lets a sheer image of my skin shine through. My shoulders are left bare. This design was something I was so proud of and yet suddenly I fear for the rejection it might get in New Paris. 

I reach for the tiny jewelry box I brought and let the simple emerald raindrops dangle from my ears. I push my hair back, pinning some strands away from my face as I unroll the rest from the curlers.

A simple shade of dark pink lipstick, some rouge and a few layers of mascara later, I glance at my reflection. I feel utterly stupid as if I am trying too hard to fit in.

"Belle, seriously, we have to go!" Reed thunders from downstairs. I tear my eyes away from the small mirror, grab the black tote decorated with similar black beading and head downstairs in a rush, careful not to get my feet twisted in the fabric that's dancing around my ancles. As I descend Reed's about to make another remark but he remains silent as I walk up to him.

"Weren't we in a hurry, Reed?" I ask as I pass him and walk on the jetty towards the skiff that's waiting for us. 

Reed himself is looking dashing in an all-black suit, a freshly pressed, crisp white shirt and a pitch-black vest. A vibrant red bow tie is the only splash of color. His dark hair is neatly combed across his scalp, his chin neatly shaven. A whiff of his heavy scented aftershave lingers as I pass him.

Before I get into the skiff all by myself, the velvet dress crunched in one hand, I manage to let out a last remark.

"Take your time, Mr. Whitacre. It is only a twenty minute ride to New Paris."

Reed chuckles and easily steps behind the steering wheel as I try to sit as comfortable as possible. The skiff rocks to life and soon we find ourselves approaching New Paris.

Dusk is falling and I notice the lights of the port in front of us before I notice anything else. Magical.

Soon we make that familiar turn to the left and I catch a sight of the Promenade in all its glory. It is even better by nighttime than it is in the daylight. Lights are everywhere, illuminating the street as if it were the middle of the day. 

People are roaming the streets in luxurious gowns. Friends are cuddled together at the corners of the streets ending in the Promenade or in front of clubs and restaurants. Women covered with fur coats, too warm for the moist evening air, parade in groups across men who have a hard time keeping their minds to the conversations they're having.