I spied her from across the room standing at the pop-up bar – seemingly annoyed as she struggled within her purse. She was petite wearing a form fitting party dress – her jet black locks peaking out from beneath the straps of her theatrical mask. Nadine was the absolute queen of Chicago social events and tonight’s soirée was no exception. I was still counting my blessings to be invited, yet she mentioned nothing about the anonymous theme.

Feeling both bold and thirsty, and perhaps even curious – I joined my frantic (potentially) new friend in hopes of a cocktail and quality conversation.

“Can I help you find something?”

By this time she had taken a few items out, but the search was far from complete. However small her frame, she obviously coveted large bags. I could imagine a hand cautiously creeping out, grabbing her, and pulling them both within – quite easily. Still, she ignored me and continued her frenetic pursuit. I glanced at the bartender who merely shrugged.

“Seriously, you look like you could use some help.”

“Fuck off, asshole!” Well, at least she acknowledged me.

“Will do.” Oh well. Another exotic night of eccentric Nadine party people watching, great booze, but sadly no one to share my sarcastic and cruel observations. I looked back at my only friend – the bartender. “Hendricks on the rocks. One olive, please.”

“What are you, James fucking Bond? And where’s your mask? Too cool? Bond?”

How sweet! I kinda wanted to like this crazy little gal. She had a unique style – some spunk, obviously irrational, thus  she was seemingly perfect for me. Two nuts in a shell.

“Nadine neglected to mention the fashion specifics. Regardless – I wear this particular mask every day. Which may explain a lot.”

“Wow, that’s deep. But not too inspiring. Validates my last comment. Asshole.” And with that she continued to dig.

I couldn’t tell anything about what features may be lurking beneath that mask, but I did get a brief glimpse of greyish, green eyes. Sad, and certainly troubled. A witness to some recent hurt that had become difficult to shake. Her desperate digging inside that purse mirrored a pained pursuit within her soul – much like my own journey to that sacred realm of clarity and resolution. We were not that different as both our answers remained elusive. A mask could not help.

The bartender gestured to my freshly poured drink, the lone olive looking back at me wondering how long he may have left to swim in this delicious tub of sweet juniper and luscious herbs. Sadly, his momentary sense of peace and tranquility was quickly put to rest. I strategically stirred my beverage and plopped him deftly in my mouth. Toothpick back in the glass – I tipped my talented friend five dollars, ignored my masked nemesis, and left to find some comfort and solitude.