I affix a similar mask, except mine has the traditional black markings of a mime.
Our car comes to a jarring halt and a security guard moves in to open our door for us.
“Ready?” I sense a rush of adrenaline in Henry as he slides out.
With a nervous flutter in my stomach, I accept his hand. Am I?
“Okay, this is insane.” Music thrums as we move deeper into the warehouse, my focus unsure where to settle. The space has been transformed into an upscale carnival, canopied by a big top tent, and everywhere I look, there’s something extravagant to see. A pair of acrobats swing high above us. Ahead, a woman in a risqué red dress stands on a dais, juggling flaming torches. To our right, a female mime sits on a stool in lingerie while a half-dressed man with a dramatic, twirly mustache throws knives at a target directly behind her.
Throughout, cigar girls with tight black skirts and nothing but tassels to cover their nipples strut around with trays of shots.
“I think I know why you guys love this night so much.” I give Henry a look that he’s likely not able to decipher behind my mask.
His mouth may be the only thing I can see of his handsome face, but when he smiles, it’s laced with mischief. He leans down to graze my earlobe with his lips. “And you will too.”
A shiver slides down my spine. That sounded like both a threat and a promise.
Taking my hand, he leads me farther in, stopping a girl to get us each a shot of something black that tastes like licorice.
Whoever organized this party hasn’t spared any expense. Stages that look like circus carts line the outer wall of the massive room. Some are dimly lit in anticipation of the coming act while others have carnival characters in racy outfits on display. A carnival games alley waits ahead, with small crowds and plenty of cheers. Beyond, a lit Fun House sign beckons.
“Where are the guys?”
“Somewhere in here.” Henry doesn’t seem too concerned as he guides me deeper in.
“How will you find them?” The guests all wear elaborate costumes, everything from mimes to acrobats to lion tamers. Clowns don’t look like the typical red-nosed, floppy-shoed hobo version. These men are fit and shirtless, save for suspenders. Most masks are like mine—painted white with exaggerated pouts. It’s impossible to tell anyone apart.
“We always seem to find each other.” His lips twist. “And with Margo, trust me, you’ll know when you see her.”
Why am I not surprised? “You said the theme changes?”
“Yes. Last year it was Santa’s Village.”
I grin. “Who were you?”
“Who do you think? Mr. Claus, naturally.”
“Of course.” The circus ringmaster runs the circus; Mr. Claus is the boss of the North Pole. Henry always has to be in charge.
“Then there was the murder mystery year. I was the detective. My favorite year so far has been the Roman Empire. They had a small coliseum, a bathhouse, a market … It was wild.”
“And which Caesar were you?”
“I was Spartacus.”
“A gladiator?” I try to imagine Henry in a loincloth. “Are there pictures?”
“Absolutely not.”
A carousel churns ahead, the oversized horses painted in iridescent colors and saddled with ornate seats. Several people ride, some individually, others as couples. “I haven’t been on one of those in forever.”
“We can try it later if you want. We have all night.”
I watch the couple closest to us—a pair of jesters wearing fool’s caps. The male leans back in the seat while the female is positioned over him. The way her hips are tilted … “Are they—”
“Fucking? Yes.”
My mouth drops. “That’s allowed here?”
“There isn’t much that isn’t allowed here.”
I feel my nose crinkle beneath the mask. “Do they have wipes to clean the horses?”
Henry laughs. “Come on.” We veer toward the games alley with his arm curled around my back.
This part reminds me of Greenbank’s summer festival, with energetic voices broadcasting scores and bells ringing to announce winners. Small crowds build around the stations, cheering people on.
A smile stretches across my face as I spot a familiar one. “Bucket ball!”
“I haven’t played that in I don’t even know how many years. Fifteen, maybe?” Henry murmurs.
“Last summer for me.”
A female mime wearing a black-and-white-striped jacket, frilly skirt, and strategically positioned suspenders spots us observing her stand and beckons us over with frantic waves of her hands.