Masks
by Elisabeth Leslie 


I just can't figure out what to tell Stephan. The party was scheduled for Lucien's château, in the Alps somewhere. I guess that means it was Switzerland. Our teleport booth has a pressure compensator, so we don't need to worry much about altitude changes any more. That's a real relief. Last year, when I visited my mother in Uruguay, my ears would ache for hours. 

The party was to start around 21 G, which was just after dinner by my clock. Stephan and I have been clocking together for years. He works in the plowshare division of Ubertek in Hamburg. My freelance nanocloth business is booming. Sales in Africa have been picking up, especially with the Ombonae holiday coming up. Everybody wants "the clothing that changes by the minute." Our friends all told us we were weird to be married, in this day and age, but it really suits us. Or me, at least. I guess I'm a little insecure.

I'd brought home two masks from my lab outside Pittsburgh. The nanocloth was linked to a library of old movie stars, with audio inputs so that the face would change with different musical beats. I worked on that damned interface for hours. Mine had Garbo, Hepburn, Hunter, Reynolds, Roberts, Taylor -- all the best, most recognizable faces from 20th Century film. (Plus Caldwell. I know she isn't 20th, but I love her eyes.) Stephan's had Bogart, Brosnan, Connery, Cooper, Ford, Grant, Presley -- the hunks. 

That night the party was looming, and I'd had a rough day on the TP circuit. The pressure compensator doesn't work right if the booth you're popping into doesn't have a sensor. The best it can do is estimate the pressure from the local weather report, and pop! there you are. Of course, pop! there go you ears, too, and it really upsets my digestion. I think stomach gases expand and contract, too, but Stephan says I'm wrong.

My head was killing me, and I couldn't get myself in a party mood. I have a killer dress, with an "active camouflage" midriff I've been experimenting with. It's kind of like those military units the Iranians used. The nanocloth projects an image of whatever's behind you so that it looks for all the world like you have a hole in the middle. 

But my killer dress took second place to my killer headache. I took a pain pill, but that didn't do the trick. Too many pops does that to me, sometimes.

Stephan came in as Cooper. His tux was fabulous. He struck a pose with a martini glass. "The name's Bond. James Bond." His voice was oddly muffled by the mask.

"Wrong movie, big boy," I smirked. "You're Gary Cooper now."

"Shit," he laughed, checking my mirror. "How can I tell who I am in this thing?"

"You can't. Guessing is half the fun."

"Are you about ready? I told Mitch we'd be there by 2130."

That did it. I hate Mitch. With this headache, I didn't want to pretend to be civil to the creep all evening. "Stephan, I don't know . . ."

He looked at me with Cooper's eyes. "What's wrong? Headache still bothering you?"

"I'm afraid so. I think I'm going to stay home tonight."

"But, Shanna, we've been planning this for weeks!"

"It's okay. We can pop to Jeannette's party tomorrow night. It's a different crowd, and we can both wear the whole ensemble."

"Now, Shanna, you know I never have any fun when you're not there."

"Don't be silly," I said. "You'll have a great time. I'll just take a nap and hope this headache goes away."

"Well," he said, "if you're sure . . ."

"Shoo!" I replied. "Go have a good time. Give my best to Lucien."

He raised his mask to kiss me good-bye, then he stepped out to the TP booth. I lay down on our old-fashioned bed. Stephan doesn't like mechanized sheets or blankets. I drifted off, dreaming about masks.

I awoke about an hour later, feeling refreshed. The pain had subsided. I had the most devilish thought. I popped over to Rio and bought a carnival costume. It was a bird, complete with feathered crest, but it had a long, fluted skirt made out of a subtle feather print, and the top consisted of large, strategically placed feathers on a string. It was definitely dangerous. It was definitely not me. But that was the point.

When I popped into Lucien's place, the party was really going. The snow falling outside contrasted with the hot, pulsing music. Lucien met me at the doorway, dressed in the mandatory tux. I lifted my mask briefly and whispered my little plan. He promised he'd never breathe a word of it. The cad.

I saw Stephan immediately. He was Elvis, and he was dancing up a storm. His partners were identical blonde twins -- on the surface. They had similar build, and identical clothing, but my practiced eye made out the nanomasks. They were Wantiki masks from last fall, before the African hackers got the bugs out of the expression mirroring algorithm. So both girls had slightly vacant smiles, but that didn't bother Stephan. He was really whooping it up on the dance floor.

When the music changed, Elvis became Ford, complete with that cute little scar. With the change of face came a change of partners. Stephan got into it with a tall red-head. I danced with a couple of guys, some wearing pretty good masks, but I kept an eye on my wayward husband. He wasn't getting too rowdy, but then I put my plan into action.

Between numbers, when Stephan turned into Brosnan, I dumped my current penguin and shimmied across the floor. I caught Stephan's eye, and he crooked his finger at me. The beat picked up and we started to dance.

I hadn't felt so alive in months. I guess I've been working too hard. I was feeling naughty, and the skimpy costume had my hormones going. I wanted to see how far Stephan "I won't have any fun" Kaufmann would go when his wife was not around. I guess I found out.

The next dance was sultry. The snow drifts blowing outside gave an odd contrast to the heat on the floor. We really got into it, moving, touching, grinding. I was thinking Swayze would be more appropriate right now, but he's not in the library of Stephan's mask. The feathers on my costume tickled erotically. When the song ended at last, Stephan pulled me by the hand to a back room. 

He held the door for me, then caught me from behind around the waist. Music flowed from the walls, enveloping us in waves of sound. The room was lit by a row of tropical fish tanks along the near wall, while a blizzard tickled the windows opposite. He lifted the edge of his mask and nibbled on my bare shoulder. His warm kisses traced a path along the nape. His fingers brushed the feathers away, teasing, then he found the strip on my skirt. Our garments fell to our feet as his fingers glided over my skin. We made love on the floor behind a bed, with the party raging in the next room.

Afterward, I popped home and tucked the bird costume into a back closet. I washed up and went to bed, fuming. I kept rehearsing what I would say when Stephan got home, but I couldn't picture myself actually saying it.

An hour later I heard him at the front door. He took his sweet time cleaning up before coming into our bedroom. Despite the tooth cleaner, I could smell the beer on his breath.

"So did you have fun?" I asked tightly. I could feel the venom dripping from my mouth.

"Huh? Well, you know I never have any fun when you're not there."

"So you didn't dance with anybody?" I really tried to keep my voice neutral.

"No. I met Mitch and Brice, and we got out of the penguin jackets and played pool in the basement all night."

"You didn't have a good time?"

"Not really," he said, "but I heard this really wild story from the guy who borrowed my mask."