The Book of Masks (Abridged)

A Life of Entrances and Exits

"THAT SOUNDS GOOD," you tell Lisa. "Pick you up at four forty-five? Five o'clock?"

"Geoff's picking me up," she says, and you grimace. "But we'll meet you at the theater."

Terrific. You feverishly ponder the logistics as you call Caleb. If you were picking up Lisa, you'd need your truck, and Caleb would have to be the one to meet Umeko. But he can take his own car to the movie theater, and it wouldn't look funny with Umeko if you drove up in your own truck— "Caleb, dude, can you help me out?"

"Why, what's wrong?"

"I've got that date with Umeko, you know, but I just made another for the same time with Lisa. Can you cover for me on that one?"

There's a long pause. "Wait. You want me to go on a date for you? With Lisa? As you?"

"Yeah?" Now that you've said it aloud, it does sound really presumptuous and burdensome.

But he laughs, asthmatically. "So 'cos I did such a good job setting you up with your cousin, you want me to set you up good with Lisa?"

"No! No! I just need someone to cover for me with Lisa while I'm with Umeko."

"So you don't want me to set up anything with her?"

"No! Just show up, show my face, so she doesn't think I'm, like, rolling over for Mansfield."

"Oh. Okay. So if I have a chance to set you up with her later, just the two of you without Mansfield along, I shouldn't do it." There's a glee in his voice that you hate, and you imagine stretching an invisible arm across the miles to Force-choke him where he stands.

"Just cover for me and don't fuck it up!"

"Like yesterday with Umeko."

"Gah!" You tell him where and when he's supposed to meet Lisa and Geoff, and hang up.

* * * * *

Umeko smiles brightly at you as she gets out of her car. "You look comfortable," she says as she glances you up and down.

"Huh?" You glance up and down your own frame. You're in your usual costume of cargo shorts, t-shirt, and white ball cap jammed down over unruly hair.

She laughs. "I just mean you're out of your church clothes. You looked really nice in them today."

"Uh, don't I usually?"

She shrugs as she opens the door. "Maybe I just noticed today. You seemed to wear them well." Her smile widens.

A little sweat breaks out on the back of your head. "Mom told me that Aunt Mary said something like that," you mumble.

"She knows a good-looking guy when she sees one." That makes the back of your head break out in a rash.

You order coffee and find a table in the back, and you rack your brains for something to say while setting up the sugar and the milk and all the other crap that goes into getting coffee ready. Umeko sucks on her plastic stirrer and leans back with a lazy, mischievous, meaningful smile. "So, where were we?"

"Where were we what?"

"At lunch, we were talking about biochem. I thought your dad was going to pass out from shock."

Biochem? Caleb, you cocksucker! "Yeah, I kind of surprised myself," you stammer. "You know, I don't even remember how we got on that subject?"

"You were asking me about my classes at the university. I told you what I wanted to study, and then we were off at the races. But you didn't tell me how you got so interested in it."

"Oh. Well, I'm not, not really. Meaning no offense—" You blush as she laughs. "I'd just been talking to my friend Caleb about it, and he told me some things, so I was just parroting them back."

"You're pretty good as a parrot. You sure sounded like you knew what you were talking about."

"Thanks. So, um, what else are you taking?" You're desperate to get off that terrifying subject.

Unfortunately most of the subjects she's taking are terrifying. Besides the chemistry, math, and other science classes for her preferred major, she's taking an English Lit class and a history class. You can't show off in them any more than you can show off in the sciences, and you're reduced to a lot of stammering questions about topics on which you've nothing to say. Umeko doesn't cool, exactly, as the time wears on, but she seems to grow a little puzzled, especially after she switches to asking you about your own recent studies and interests, which you can't answer without staring at your hands while twiddling your fingers. By the end, her smile has a gentle knowingness that you like a lot less than the mischief it showed at the start of the conversation. "Today was fun," she concludes, when you're walking back outside. "All of it."

"It was fun for me too."

"Maybe a little too fun," she says, and doesn't explain what she means. "I'll see you next Sunday, at least."

She drives off, but you sit in the parking lot with your forehead resting against the steering wheel for a very long time.

* * * * *

Caleb calls you at around eight. "Yo, I'm at the clubhouse, you should come out so we can switch and have some fun," he sings.

He's got the second mask polished and sealed with his face in it when you get there. "So how was your date," he grins.

"I was fucking lost! You were talking to her about biochemistry!"

"We were talking about current findings on lipids. How lost could you be?"

"I don't even know what a lipid is!"

He pales, then laughs. "You're shitting me! I tried keeping it as basic as I could, since I knew you'd be— Alright, I'm sorry!" he says as you lunge at him. "Did you at least have a good time?"

"Good enough, I guess."

"Excellent. Because I set you up on another date with Lisa. Just the two of you."

Your jaw drops. "How? When?"

"Tuesday night, at the city library. It's a study date, I guess, but you'll be working on your papers for Walberg. And no Mansfield there to cramp your style, you sexy beast." He nudges you.

"How did you swing that? He's been like fleas recently."

"If he's fleas on Lisa, what does that make her?" he retorts. "But I did it by talking about your dad's work. Salopek, and everything you they do there, and how fascinating it is, and how you want to work there—"

"That's you, not me!"

"Yeah, how about that? You'd think I wanted a job there. Speaking of which, I'm gonna talk to your dad again tonight, since you won't." He jabs you in the chest with his finger.

"I just keep forgetting. Anyway, I don't like bothering him."

"Well, you won't forget tonight. I'll see to that. Come on, get your clothes off."

* * * * *

You let him change first, back into your clothes and mask, since it seems like a good idea that one of you be awake during each change. Then it's your turn to lay out on the table. You drop the mask onto your face, and a sensation like warm, liquid gold spreads over your body and sinks into your limbs, your joints, you bones, your brain ...

"Caleb. Hey, man. Caleb!" Someone is striking your cheek. "Come on, you chem-loving cocksucker," he calls. You open your eyes.

"Stop that," you say, and slap away the kid with the tangled-up grin and scarecrow hair. "And stop calling me— Oh God, I guess I am now, aren't I?"

You sit up. Your body doesn't feel that different when you move, or seem that different when you look down at it. Still skinny and bony. You hold out your arms and look at them. Less hair on the forearms, but what there is stands out more. The fingers are longer, as are the finger nails. You scratch at your head, and the short, tight curls feel like a rug that's been attached to your scalp. "If you don't want your mom to yell at you," says your friend, "you better get dressed and get home."

The underwear is gross, but once it's on you forget it as you pull on jeans and the short-sleeve button-up shirt. Tennis shoes are last. The two of you take a joint look in the mirror before leaving. It wouldn't seem that strange—Will Prescott and Caleb Johansson staring into it—and it isn't, except that Prescott's reflection doesn't mimic your actions, and Johansson's reflection does. "See you tomorrow, Caleb," your friend laughs. "Parking lot, so we can— Hey, write down your class schedule tonight so you can give it to me tomorrow."

You get into the remaining car, but sit for a moment after the truck has driven off. Very strange sitting behind the wheel of this car. You put on the dome light and take the wallet from your pocket. Caleb's shit-eating grin dominates the driver's license photo. You hold it up next to the rear-view mirror, and practice that grin until you can do it perfectly.

* * * * *

"Yo, Caleb!"

You turn—not quite instinctively—at the shout. Will, driving slowly through the parking lot, waves to you; you wince as he swings the wheel around and parks crookedly. You trot over to meet him. "I got a schedule for you," you tell him.

"Ditto, but we got a problem. My chem class."

Shit, that's right. "And it's with The Nutcracker, too. Is it alright if I ditch?"

"He takes attendance. And it's mostly lecture, so you might be okay in there."

"But it would be worse if I fucked up, right?"

He shrugs, and apparently leaves it up to you.