Into the Starry Night

Seven - Part Two

"You know you can't give your real name at this thing, right?"

The strangely hypnotic voice of my accomplice stopped me just as I opened my mouth.

We had entered the hall and stopped right in front of the check-in table where a pleasant-faced smiling woman had asked for my name.

"And why not?" I asked the man I came in with.

"Because anonymity. The people who come to these things don't want their identities public knowledge, hence the mask. The entire purpose is going to be defeated by walking up to the table and giving out your real name, don't you think?"

My silence wasn't because of what he said but rather because I hadn't gotten over the effect of his voice.

It was like a feather crawling up the exposed part of my thigh and coming to a stop at the base of my spine where it send shivers up my back.

The whole thing was weird because I hadn't been affected by a voice since . . .

"Just pick a name and tell the nice lady, alright?" I could see the building frustration in his tight smile.

I frowned. "Alright, Ebenezer Scrooge. That should be your name for tonight. Scrooge."

"Thanks, but I've got other ideas," the fake smile grew and I rolled my eyes.

Turning back to the woman behind the desk I clutched my purse tighter and decided on the alias I wanted for tonight.

"Marilyn Munroe," I told her in the most sultry voice I could muster.

The woman nodded and started typing away at the computer in front of her.

"Marilyn Munroe? Seriously?" There was a different type of light in the depths of his eyes as he asked.

"Yes. What's wrong with that? I've always admired her, she was a beacon in the unpredictable times of the 1950s."

"True, but she also had an unstable childhood, three failed marriages, and mood disorders."

I stopped and regarded him in a new light. Not many people were remotely interested in what happened that far back and certainly not in a dead actress, even if it was Marilyn Monroe we were talking about.

"How do you know so much about Marilyn Monroe?"

Before he could answer my question, the woman behind the desk raised her head and spoke to him. "And what would your name this evening be, sir?"

Without missing a beat, my handsome companion stepped up beside me. "James Bond," he answered.

I couldn't help the laughter that came out.

"What? You can be Marilyn Monroe but I can't be James Bond?"

"It's not that, James, don't get your guns in a bunch. It's just the fact that you're helping sixteen-year-old me achieve two fantasies in one night. I get to be Marilyn Monroe and a Bond girl at the same time."

"Is that so? Well, moving past the part where sixteen-year-old you had some really strange fantasies, I'm happy to be of service, Marilyn."

I tried not to get distracted by the brilliance of his smile.

"Here you go, you're all set up," the woman with the smart suit extended something to us. "Enjoy your evening."

What I took from her ended up being a small black hand fan of sorts with the number 144 printed on it in white.

When I looked at my companion he just took his from the woman, not looking even a little bit as confused as I was.

"What exactly is this?" I inquired as we stepped away from the table so the new arrivals could check in.