One night while working the third shift at the hospital, the patient census was low. So they let some nurses go home early. It was 12 am and Betty was free to leave. She exited into the night.
When she was a little girl she'd heard somewhere that midnight was the witching hour. She was afraid to fall asleep between 12 and 1 o'clock. She figured that if something supernatural was going to get her, it would strike during that stretch of time.
As an adult, she enjoyed walking the streets at night. Everything was so quiet. It was like she had the city all to herself. Out of curiosity she took a detour to her apartment passing Beznik's Costume Shop. There was a light on inside. She could see movement. Betty hurried to the entrance and saw a crooked sign that read, "open." It was late and there was no one else around. Betty's training gave her the confidence to enter, and the awareness to be cautious. She approached silently, like she had to sneak up on the store so it wouldn't close on her. She crossed through the threshold in silence.
It was like stepping into a child's imagination or a madman’s attic. The space was a bazaar packed from floor to ceiling with a panoply of curious things. There where a hundred costumes dangling like they'd been hung to death. Above them, rows of decapitated, faceless heads displayed wigs of all styles and colors. Some wore hats.
Long glass cabinet counters lined the walls. They were filled with strange items like magic tricks, various detached mustaches, and rows of noses in all shapes and sizes. There was also a felt box with glass eyes of every color. This placed was filled with props to create any illusion or bring fantasies to life, but it didn't seem to have any living people.
It was hard to tell how big the store was since it was so congested. As she explored the wonders she discovered the place was actually divided into three vaults. One was devoted to magic. One was devoted to makeup. Costumes and masks filled the last one. There was no unused space.
Betty heard violin music rolling through the air and followed the sound to its source.
She spotted the Gypsy. He leaned over a glass counter, and a snifter with one swallow left. He swayed and hummed along with the tune coming from the Victrola. Betty watched as he played a game of solitaire with a card set. It had images of people and strange objects, but no numbers. He was a round man with dark skin. He had a friendly plump face with a prominent nose. He was balding, but had a thick black beard and mustache that he twirled as he concentrated on his game.
Betty interrupted. "Excuse me."
He was startled, but quickly regained his composure.
Betty continued. "You’re a hard person to find. I’ve come to your store dozens of times, but I always missed you."
He responded in a Romanian accent. "I'm sorry if I caused you any inconvenience, but money dictates where I must go."
He explained that the only time the storefront made money was during Halloween. To keep the store alive and to keep food on his table, he supplied the needs of the Citadel Theater District. The troops worked long hours and late nights. He often found himself running back and forth to his store to replace a missing prop, or a torn costume in the middle of a performance. He was glad to have a job, and he loved theater life, but he acted more like an errand boy than an artist.
In Europe, he was said to have been a consummate thespian. He was known as a master of disguise and would often play the parts of ogres, and monsters, and golems. Unfortunately, he was forced to abandon that life as Europe unraveled. So he immigrated to the United States two years ago. The Gypsy auditioned for many roles while in America, but unfortunately, domestic directors felt his accent was too thick for an American audience.
Betty thought his voice sounded like a friendly Dracula. She found it soothing.
The Gypsy felt idled. He was over skilled and under utilized. He was ready for a creative challenge. He was curious about Betty's desire. He asked. "Now that you've found me, what brings you to my store?"
She responded. "I want you to turn me into someone else."
A shiver ran through him. There could be no sweeter phrase in the English language. There was nothing he loved more than changing a woman's appearance. The gypsy had a transformation fetish and this girl would be a magnificent subject. To him she was a blank canvas. Everything about her was unassuming. She was a cute girl, the type any American boy could bring home to his mother. She could go completely unnoticed if she chose to. She had an innocent face with big round eyes, and everything else about her was average. She was an average height, had an average build. Her light brown hair was styled like a million other women. It was cut above her shoulders with pinned curls and waves. She was dead center of all the appearance extremes. She was perfect. He imagined all the guises he could mold her into. He was aroused by his anticipation, but hid it.
Betty asked. "Can you change me?"
"Of course I can." He chuckled. "Who do you want to be?"
"Someone different." She responded.
Her answer was vague. The gypsy knew that secret desires had to be coaxed into conversation slowly. They only leaked out if the subject felt safe. He suspected the two of them were kindred spirits. He was tender and patient. He continued to probe her gently. "Don’t be shy, my dear. Tell Alfonzo. Who do you really want to be?"
His warm eyes gazed softly. All his attention was focused on her. It was disarming.
Betty wanted to blurt out the answer, but she knew speaking about such private desires left her vulnerable. But she had no other choice. She needed to expose herself in order to get what she wanted. It was scary. It required more trust than she had given anyone in her adult life. If she really wanted his help she had to reveal the truth.
"Tell me the truth." He said.
He looked at her like he already knew it. She wondered if the Gypsy was a mentalist? Could he read her mind? Was he testing her? Would she be confessing secrets he already knew?
Her heart pounded. She wanted to free the truth more than ever, but all she could muster was, "I’m not exactly sure."
He felt teased by her answers and it sucked him deeper into her character. He craved more details. Both their desires were equally important to him. He wanted to know more, but played coy back. With a smile he said. "You tell me when you’re ready…"
She realized that she was in the same situation she encountered at Razzles hundreds of times with her customers. But this time the roles were reversed. She realized the Gypsy was trying to collect information the same way she did. He was only interested in the details so he could please her. She was the customer and he was the fantasy provider. She had to reveal her secret desire in order for him to enact it. She also remembered that the gypsy hadn’t asked her name. She was being silly. He just wanted the truth to do his job. It was the only way to make the fantasy real. Besides, a personal secret from an anonymous source would be powerless in any setting.
Betty said. "This may sound a little weird…"
The Gypsy assured her. "Nothing is weird for me. Tell me what you desire. Tell me your wish and I’ll make it come true."
She wanted that to be true so badly.
Betty finally confessed. "I want to be the type of woman that all men desire. I want to be the type of woman men can't resist. I want them to lust and hunger for me, like the women in French art magazines. Have you seen them?"
He trembled. "Oh Yes. I know exactly what you are talking about."
She continued. "I want to be disguised so I can enter a place where people know me, but won't recognize me. I want to hide in their midst.'