Susan pulled at the hips of her dress. She’d chosen a strapless maxi number with pockets and a tight structured bodice. The dress was gold silk, and the lining was just a hint too snug. It was possible that she was a six and not a four, but she sure as hell wasn’t going to admit it now. Star had presented her with ten pairs of shoes in several sizes. She had picked out a pair of gold ballet flats, all the better if she had to make a run for it. Star had done her makeup and managed to slick Susan’s shoulder-length bob into something resembling an updo. Once Susan was deemed properly gussied up, Star had presented her with a rhinestone-encrusted mask at the end of a long black wand. It was a female fantasy cliché: being whisked off to a ball and dressed up like Cinderella. In reality, it just felt creepy.

But now, as Susan held the sparkly mask up and peered through it, she had to admit, Jack Reynolds knew how to throw a party. The grounds had been transformed into a wonderland. White paper lanterns glowed in the darkened trees. Torch-lined paths wound through gardens to hidden bars and musical quartets. There was a surprise around every corner: a fire juggler, a trapeze artist, women clad only in body-paint tuxedos serving salmon tartines off silver trays. A Charlie Chaplin movie projected onto strips of muslin stretched between two massive Douglas firs. Susan guessed there were five hundred guests, at least. Everyone was wearing masks, but she still thought she recognized a few of them. The scions of old Portland families; people whose ancestors had made a mint clear-cutting old-growth forest, or running whorehouses for sailors down by the river. Their last names were on buildings downtown, on wings at the museum; they served on boards and went through acrimonious divorces. She hadn’t seen so many of them in one place since she’d covered the opera one year when she’d worked at the Herald.

She probably knew other people there, too, but who could tell with all the masks? Portland was a small city, and if you knew anyone at all, chances were you knew some of the people they knew. It was the kind of town where you could show up at a party thinking you’d know no one, and end up seeing five of your closest friends and a few people you’d been hoping never to see again.

It was kind of a relief to be wearing a mask. She didn’t have to pretend to know anyone. She didn’t have to make small talk. She was anonymous.