Somehow, what rang in my head as we crossed the main reception floor was one particular ballet teacher’s instructions, to look out into the horizon as I danced, as if I were an ethereal creature who merely acquiesced to walk among mortals. I noticed stares and whispers from some guests holding champagne glasses, mostly women who looked either young professional or matronly. Among their faces, in which I noticed only looks of admiration and delight, I realized that if I remained insouciant, maybe it wouldn’t be such a disaster after all, and that it might only be that knowing attendant who became aware of my secret. Besides, Richard was the perfect prop. Despite being underdressed, he still conveyed the aura of a masculine, handsome, and normal heterosexual man, so having him on my arm was like a stamp that authenticated my womanhood. I began to pay less attention to myself and more attention to the art.

Richard and I toured the exhibition for the next hour while he took pictures of me. It was a captivating environment to photograph in; so many of the pieces played with reflection and light, including an entire floor that reminded me of a dock, light reflecting against undulating water while viewers observed from a platform made of wooden planks. Richard and I spent a lot of time in a circular room with a rotating contraption in the middle that emitted a stream of light, which widened and narrowed, lengthened and contracted, as it continuously revolved around the space, white in the center while its wavelengths broke up into subtle rainbow colors at the edges. Richard told me to stand still as he posed me in profile to take a picture of me while the light sped through my face, and when he was done, I asked for the camera to take his. I took several frames trying to imagine the complement of the picture he had taken of me, Richard in profile except facing the other direction. He felt self-conscious after a few shots, so he turned to me and told me he was done, as I clicked my shutter one last time while he smiled.