The woman who had guessed correctly gathered her coins, plus others, and leaned over and kissed the man she was with.
Caitlin looked around the table, and noticed that many women were sitting on men’s laps, and that some were kissing passionately, in full view of the others. No one seemed to care.
“Don’t you think he’s fabulous?” Polly asked.
Caitlin followed her gaze to the head of the table. Seated there was an arrogant looking fellow, maybe 18, with striking features. He had dark brown hair, brown eyes, was clean shaven, and looked like he’d been pampered his entire life.
“That’s him,” Polly continued, “Robert.”
Polly was right: he was dressed fabulously, and he was very attractive. But he was not Caitlin’s type at all. He seemed so full of himself. He wore his gold mask pulled back, sitting on his forehead, and held a ruby-encrusted goblet. Several attractive woman stood behind him, one with a hand on his shoulder.
He suddenly looked right at Caitlin, raised his glass, and nodded.
“Oh my God, did you see that?” Polly asked. “He looked right at us! Did you see!? I think he was looking at me! I really hope we dance tonight.”
Caitlin fell a twinge of nervousness in her stomach. She knew, without a doubt, that Robert had been looking at her, not at Polly. She was suddenly afraid that he liked her, and, if so, that Polly would hate her for it. She always seemed to end up in these situations.
Caitlin settled into her overstuffed chair, realizing she was in for a long night. On the one hand, it was fun. But on the other hand, it was too much. Over the top. Decadent. There was just too much of everything—too much food, too much wine, too many games, too many people. It seemed never ending.
All she wanted was to see Caleb. She desperately missed him, now more than ever, with every pore of her body. She had imagined herself coming out tonight, walking right into the ball, and finding him right away. These drinks, these games, this dinner—it all felt like a distraction. It was prolonging her from seeing him. She started to grow impatient.
“So when does the dance start?” Caitlin asked.
“Oh, never before midnight,” Polly said casually, as she took another sip of her wine.
Midnight , Caitlin thought. She looked across the room, at a huge grandfather clock, and saw that it had just struck nine.
She was in for a long night, indeed.
* * *
Caitlin was slumped in her chair, feeling lightheaded from the endless glasses of wine, from the nonstop, hysterical laughter from every direction, from dish after dish landing in front of her. It was a hedonistic feast unlike anything she had ever experienced. She could hardly believe that this was all just the warm up to the night.
She observed everything carefully, so curious about how people acted and what they talked about, in 1790. She concluded that a dinner party was a very, very different experience. Everyone here really engaged each other, valued each other’s presence, was engrossed in conversation. No one was on cell phones; no one was texting; no one was checking their voicemails or Facebook page. No telephones rang; no electronics buzzed. And soft candlelight took the place of electricity. It was all so much more relaxed, more slow-paced, more civil. No one was in a rush; everyone seemed to have all the time in the world. Maybe that was what happened, she figured, when you took technology away.
And yet, it was not unsophisticated: the China, the crystal, the silverware, the elaborate dress, the gourmet meal, the vintage wines…It could have been like something out of a gourmet restaurant of the 21st century.
At the same time, they didn’t seem to have a great regard for their health. Had they ever heard of cholesterol? They drank and ate as if there were no consequences, as if they would all drop dead tomorrow. And she assumed that most of these people had never seen a gym—or even knew what that was. It was baffling.
As Caitlin slumped further, absolutely stuffed, her eyes began to close—and suddenly, the clock rang out.
Everyone stood, and Caitlin realized the large clock had struck midnight.
As everyone got up, a set of double doors opened on the far side of the room, leading to a ballroom.
Caitlin got up with the others, Polly taking her arm excitedly, and they all hurried, with the crowd, towards the ballroom. More and more people flowed in from all the rooms, and within moments, the massive room was completely filled.
This huge room was much like the others: it boasted a black and white tiled marble floor, a massive fireplace, chandeliers filled with burning candles and gold mirrors on every wall, reflecting the light, making this immense room seem even bigger than it was. Hundreds of people were already in it, and more and more poured through the doors. The room was so wide, Caitlin could hardly see the other end from where she stood. She craned her neck, searching for Caleb, but it was no use.
There was a sea of bodies, and, besides, they were all wearing masks.
Caitlin was nervous as the music began. Mozart sat at the far end of the room, on a small dais, and began playing the harpsichord; as he did, cellists and violinists joined in. It was an upbeat, formal waltz.
Everyone in the room knew what to do. Everyone, that is, but Caitlin. She stood to the side, feeling like an idiot, as everyone lined up perfectly on either side. She looked for Polly, nearly losing her amidst the throng, and hurried to her side.
“Don’t worry, it’s an easy dance,” Polly said. “They always start with easy ones.”
The entire room moved in perfect synchronicity, holding their arms out to the sides, taking one step forward then two steps back, half turning to the right than half turning to the left. Caitlin tried to follow, and as she did, she’d never felt so clumsy. She’d never been a good dancer, and she had no idea what kind of dance this was. Her one saving grace was that the tempo was slow enough for her to catch up with the others.
Caitlin again scanned the crowd, hoping for a glimpse of Caleb. But with all the costumes and masks, it was impossible to even tell who was really male or female. Occasionally, long hair sprawled out the back, and that made it easy, but some women wore their hair tucked in, covered up by a high collar, and dressed in men’s clothing. And some men, Caitlin noticed, strangely enough, dressed in gowns; she could only tell they were men by the muscles in their calves. She had never imagined that there would be any cross-dressing in this century. Was there anything off-limits?
Caitlin was just beginning to get the hang of the song, when suddenly the music stopped.