Amanda Filipacchi - The Unfortunate Importance of Beauty

She prays that when she takes off the mask, Strad will not recognize her. If he sees Lily, the embarrassment would kill her.

She lifts the mask and puts it in her shopping bag. “No problem. Out of sight, out of mind,” she says.

Both men are staring at her. They look dumbstruck.

The manager regains his wits first, and says to Lily. “You know, you look very familiar. Do I look familiar to you?”

Lily studies his face. He’s in his late twenties, dark hair, glasses, nice-looking. “I don’t think so,” she says.

“Hmm. Could I have your number or give you mine so we can figure out where we might have met before?” He chuckles, mock sheepishly. “Otherwise I know it’s going to nag at me.”

Strad snaps out of it. “You must be joking. We’re on a date. Please leave us alone.”

“Apologies.” The manager leaves.

“Can you believe his lame pickup line?” Strad tells her.

She smiles.

“It’s so quiet now. It really was your mask causing all the crying.” He attempts to shake his head at her flirtatiously, but he seems nervous. He glances around. His smile fades. “Do you always have half the people in a room staring at you?” He adds in a whisper, “Especially the male half?” He attempts another flirtatious look of reproach.

“Let’s ignore them,” Lily says.

They talk about various things. His childhood. Hers — partly made up so it won’t match Lily’s. He asks her about her tastes in everything. He tells her about his music and acting ambitions.

Their conversation is interrupted by the approach of a distinguished older man with a warm, intelligent face who hands Lily a book. “Excuse me. I just want to give you a copy of my autobiography that was recently published. I hope you’ll enjoy it.” His accent sounds French.

Lily hesitantly takes the book, entitled This Is Not an Autobiography .

“Oh. Thank you,” she says.

“You’re quite welcome,” the man replies, bowing to her and then to Strad before walking away.

Lily opens the cover and sees a handwritten message to her: “For the stranger who spoke to me without speaking. I’d love to know your thoughts on this — or on anything. Danny.” And a phone number is scribbled underneath.

“Do you mind if I take a look?” Strad asks.

Lily gives him the book.

He reads the message, snorts, and tosses the book on the middle of the table.

Lily picks it up and reads the back cover, which seems to annoy Strad, who says, “So who the hell is this guy?”

“This says he’s a legendary French photographer.”

“Yeah, bullshit.”

“The photo looks like him,” she says and quickly puts the book down, not wanting to annoy Strad further.

They resume their conversation, which gets interrupted ten minutes later by yet another man — this time a tall and extremely good-looking one.

“I don’t believe this,” Strad mutters through clenched teeth.

The man looks down at Lily without saying a word and places a little piece of paper on the table in front of her. She picks it up. It reads: “You deserve the best. Let’s have coffee.” His phone number is underneath.

She chuckles nervously and looks up at him. He smiles at her before strolling off.

With an air of indifference (in order to calm Strad), Lily lets go of the paper. It flutters to the tabletop. Strad reaches for it, reads it, and, with scathing disdain, calls out after the man, “What are you, a male model or something?”

The man pivots on his heels and comes back to the table. “Pardon?” he says, looming over Strad.

Strad does not hesitate to stand and confront the man, even though this man is taller than he is. “I said, ‘What are you? A ridiculous male model, or something?’”

The man takes hold of Strad’s jacket lapels, pulls him close, and talks to him intimately. “And what do you think you are, you pathetic, greasy, ugly, creep?”

Strad struggles free and then charges the man. They both crash into some empty chairs. They wrestle on the floor, throwing punches. The floor manager rushes over, tries to make them stop. People shout. Toddlers resume crying. Lily is distraught. But not nearly as distraught as she is a moment later when she realizes that the music has abruptly changed. She looks at her watch. The favor-hour is over. The book music is back on. And now her appearance is undoubtedly starting to change in people’s eyes.

She springs from her chair, grabs her shopping bag, and runs to the escalator, leaving the French photographer’s book and the possible male model’s phone number on the table, far too in love with Strad to be interested in other men’s advances.

“Sondra!” Strad shouts. He loses interest in the fight, struggles to his feet, and rushes after her.

She hops onto the moving staircase and flies down the metal steps while putting on the beautiful mask I made for her — in case Strad catches up with her. She looks back and sees him leaping onto the escalator just as she’s getting onto the next one. A group of people are in his way, slowing down his pursuit.

Soon, Lily is out of sight and too far away to be caught. Strad gives up. He goes back up to the coffee shop to retrieve his knapsack with his wallet, then walks across Union Square, straight to my apartment.

When I open the door for him, he looks frazzled, frantic even.

“Barb, I’m afraid I made a bad impression. I think I scared her away. I got into a fight with a guy. It was stupid of me. But jerks kept coming on to her. I couldn’t take it anymore. She’s so beautiful. Barb, she’s amazing.”

I gaze at the few cuts on his face and hands. I won’t pretend they don’t bring me satisfaction.

I decide I will take this opportunity to explain Lily’s frequent wearing of a mask, so he won’t question it in the future. Giving him a look of concern, I reply, “Yes she’s very beautiful, but fragile.”

“What do you mean, fragile?”

“You’ll see, if you get to know her. Her beauty is taxing for her, as I’m sure you can imagine, now that you’ve witnessed the excessive attention and advances she has to deal with all the time. It’s a heavy burden to bear. As a result, she has erected certain defense mechanisms.”

“Like what?”

I answer by looking past him, into my living room. Strad follows my gaze, which lands on my large, brown, swivel easy chair with its back to us.

Slowly, the chair turns, revealing Lily wearing the white feather mask.

Strad’s eyes open wide.

I move to the stereo and turn on the special music.

“I’m sorry I made such a fool of myself,” he tells her.

Lily makes no response.

“I apologize for the fight at the bookstore. I hope I didn’t freak you out too much. I don’t usually get into fights. I’m not a violent person, I swear,” he says.

Lily languorously swivels the chair, disappearing behind its back once more. When she reappears, she is unmasked.

The music has had enough time to take effect. Her inner beauty is exposed in all its radiance.

Her lips, curved in their deliriously lovely way, spread into a mischievous grin. “You didn’t freak me out that much.”

MY FRIENDS COME over the following day for a Night of Creation. When Lily has finished regaling them with her account of her bookstore date, we work. Peter is drawing in his pad, frequently glancing at me, as usual. I’m not looking at him much, but I’m thinking about him — and not entirely happily. He seems attracted to me, and yet he hasn’t been doing anything about it. He must not be as interested as he seems, and it must be my disguise that’s preventing him from wanting to take things further. It’s disappointing. I hoped he might be different.