Other young girls skipped about and sang while the men played guitars, violins, and accordions. The girls were dressed in multicolored layers of silk scarves and sashes. The men wore their best shabby suits over dingy shirts.

"Where did you find them?" asked a woman in the back.

Poppy turned around to address her, the silver tipped cigarette holder in her black-gloved hand. "Ramsay has many Roma friends. I had a devil of a time getting them here on such short notice since most don’t have any legitimate government id."

"But how?" asked the old man, concerned.

"Don't worry. I charted a plane in Rome and had them blindfolded until they got down here. They don't even know where they are," she mused.

"They don't look like they care," said the Egyptian, admiring them as they joyfully played and smiled, walking in and out of the crowd.

"They shouldn't care considering what they cost. I think you should find them quite uninhibited."

"How wonderfully delicious," came a laugh from the back.

"Yes, they are here for our enjoyment, but they're not everything. There are more surprises, something for everyone you might say."

"Even me?" asked the androgynous Asian who had been silent on the panel.

"Yes, you too Mr. Ing," Poppy shouted.

"Something for everyone," the black giant repeated in a bellow as he swept the tambourine girl into the air. "You've outdone yourself this time," he said to Poppy.

"Perhaps we should begin with introductions before this gets going," Samas shouted above the Gypsies' playing.

"I second and would like to be the first to do so," said the Egyptian stepping toward me. "I am Auda." He smiled warmly and stepped aside.

"I am Kress," said the woman I'd met in the dining room, her hair again pulled so tight into a bun it seemed to defy physical laws. "Welcome home."

"My name is Mr. Ing," said the mysterious Asian man.

"I'm Jens," said the beautiful young red-headed woman in the tailored business suit.

My pulse quickened when the giant spun his girl away and stepped in front of me. "My name is Hazard," he said in a French-Creole accent. "But everyone here calls me Chance." His bass voice boomed in deep echoes above the Gypsy folk song.

"Nice to meet you," I said taking his mammoth hand.

"No hard feelings I hope," he said as he slapped me on the shoulder he'd strained.

One by one they stepped forward to introduce themselves.

"I am Etyma."

"I'm Ramsay."

"Samas."

"Nestor."

"Dilmun."

"Castor."

The fusillade of names and faces overwhelmed me. Their accumulated lifetimes rushed at me with each new handshake and embrace. I was awash in the attention and understanding that for so long had eluded me. The empathy they showed brought forth in me a wellspring of emotion finally strong enough to subdue the fierce face of fanatic individualism I'd shown the world since I'd known myself to be different.