I arrive at the masquerade party and hand my key to the first valet I see. People are milling around all over the place. The building looks contemporary, and it’s rather large. I gaze off at the ocean in the distance. The smell of salt is strong tonight. It makes me want to rip off my dress, dive into the ocean naked, and wade in its smooth current.

“Here is your ticket, signora,” says the valet.

I take the tag. “Grazie.”

When I get inside, I’m surrounded by a lively scene. The large ballroom, and what looks to be a couple of rooms off on the sides, is full of well-dressed guests wearing masks. How I’m going to find anybody is a mystery, but I put one foot in front of the other, trusting that if he’s here, we’ll find one another.

I bump through the congested crowd, gazing into faces curiously but I don’t stare for long. The search to find Gianfranco seems endless. There must be three or four hundred people in front of the stage alone.

After a brief peek into the rooms off to the sides and perusing the large patio, I head back into the ballroom. Near the entrance, I see Juanita. She’s wearing a gorgeous yellow sequined dress that doesn’t look a whole lot different than mine.

I raise my hand, trying to flag her. I can see that she isn’t looking in my direction, and I doubt she’s going to see me before venturing into the crowd. I strut off in hopes of catching her before she leaves her perch, all the while waving my hand in the air like a crazy person. Shouting would do me no good—it’s way too loud in here. I already look like a lunatic with yellow feathers around my eyes flapping through a crowd of people. While on my way, I feel something tear. I stop and look down. There’s a six-inch slit along the side of my dress.

“Shit,” I say.

“Scusami?” a voice says.

I look at the grimacing person behind me.

“My apologies,” I say with a dismissive wave while hunched and pinching closed the gaping seam on my dress.

The stranger looks at my thigh and, behind his mask, I see his eyes roll before walking away.

Dammit. I feel as though my chances of catching Gianfranco have all but disappeared. There’s no way I can stay now. My ass is hanging out! I stand tall, walk directly to the door, and look for the nearest valet.

“Valet?” I call.

A young man in a suit trots in my direction. “Si, signora.”

I hand him my ticket. “My car please.”

He takes my ticket. “I’ll be right back.”

I take a calming breath and look across the large lot and the expansive grounds leading to the ocean. I admire the reflection of the rising moon over the water. I’m sure tonight would’ve been perfect if I hadn’t torn my dress. The universe must be telling me something; whatever it is, I do not know.

A horn beeps and I look at the driveway. My car is coming. I’m this close to escaping. The valet gets out, holds my door open for me, and just before I slide into the seat, someone shouts my name. I turn quickly to see who it is.

* * *

It’s 8:40 p.m. I stand in front of the mirror, take a breath, and close my eyes, anticipating the night. I remember the last time I was with Liza and dancing—the feeling of her hips brushing against mine. My nostrils open, recalling her warm, intoxicating scent. I open my eyes and take one last look at myself. I put on a gray classic cut suit, something like a James Bond / Daniel Craig look. It feels right.

I grab fragrance from the countertop, unbutton my collar, and dab some around my neck. I take the keys from the key hanger next to my closet, go outside to get into the red Ferrari, and go.

The view along my drive across the countryside is magnificent. The moon is bright and makes the landscape glisten. It’s inspiring. It isn’t all that uncommon for me to stop when inspired and make a drawing or paint. However, tonight as I drive, my mind continually is bombarded by thoughts of Liza.

When I arrive, it’s nine thirty. I stop in front of il colosseo di mare and a valet takes my car. I hope Liza has already arrived.

Mask in hand, I hurry up the stairs, continually scanning the faces of the people who are standing about, smoking, talking and drinking. I get inside and stop. There are a lot more people in here than I'd thought. It’s not going to be easy to find Liza. I loosen my collar, put on my mask, and start down the main floor.

I look at every woman I pass, searching for the eyes I have been thinking about for the last three weeks. I make it through the main room without any luck. I know there are two rooms off to the side and also a patio area. I try those also, then I circle back around and find myself where I started. By chance, I catch a glimpse of Juanita. She’s near the stage, standing with other beautiful six-foot tall women. Perhaps she has seen Liza tonight.

I slice through the crowd, and as soon as I am close, Juanita and I make eye contact.

She lifts her arm high. “Gianfranco, darling!”

We hug when I reach her, and she kisses me on the cheek.

“How are you tonight?” Juanita says.

I kiss her back. “I’m well. And you?”

“You know,” she says with a smile. “A little here, a little there. Life is but a dream.”

My attention snaps toward a woman who brushes past us. “Have you seen Liza?” I say impatiently.

She points toward the exit. “Yes for a moment, I did, but she ran outside.”

I step back. “What was she wearing?”

“Um… yes, a yellow dress.”

I dart for the door. When I get outside, I freeze, scanning the overly large grounds and parking area as fast as I can. I catch a glimpse of a woman in yellow some distance off, moving away from the venue. If I get her attention, I’ll be able to reach her.

“Liza,” I holler at the top of my lungs.

Everyone around me stops. I feel as if I’m in slow motion. She doesn’t alter her course, so I chase after her. I unbutton my blazer and bellow again while running down the stairs.

“Scusami, scusami,” I spit repeatedly while passing those who have become observers.

When I reach the sidewalk, I can’t see her anymore.

“Gianfranco,” a pleasant voice says from my side.

I look, and there’s a silver Mercedes with the driver’s door open, and Liza is standing beside it as though she’s gotten out to see what sort of madman is calling her name.

“Liza,” I say, just beginning to breathe again. “You made it?”

“I did.”

I walk to her side. “Are you leaving?”

Her face turns down. “I am.”

“What is it? Is everything okay?”

She heaves a deep sigh. “Not really.” Then she turns bashfully, exposing the tear in her dress. “I had a wardrobe malfunction.”

I look down at her beautiful flesh exposed between the material. “I see. I can fix that?”

“You can?”

I pitch the valet my keys. “Bring me my car.”