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.'
"Why do you want that?" He asked gently.
"I want to have power over men." She replied.
Her truth was intoxicating to him.
She asked with hope in her eyes. "Is it possible?”
He answered. "All things are possible for a price."
Every transformation he created would be as much for him as it was for her, but he couldn't buy a meal with a favor. He wouldn't give away his art. He didn't work for free.
He threw out a high opening price expecting to start a round of haggling. He was surprised when Betty accepted the amount. She reached into her purse and pulled out a little more than half the cash to cover the payment. “This is all I have right now, I will get the rest to you another time.”
He accepted her terms and they were ready began the transformation process.
The Gypsy walked to the edge of the vault and pulled back a curtain revealing another chamber. Betty entered. The space looked like a movie star's dressing room. There were mirrors traced by light bulbs. An open makeup kit, pallets, jars and brushes sat on a long white counter ready to serve their master.
He seated her in a plush red barbers chair. It was as soft and luxurious as a throne. He guided her head back so the base of her skull rested on a skinny metal yoke. He explained that photographers used these thin props to help subjects hold still for tintype photographs, which had long exposure times. He repurposed them. She settled in and was very comfortable.
Betty said. "Keep in mind, I don’t want any permanent changes. I want to establish two different identities.
Another shiver engulfed Beznik. He contained himself and said, "Yes ma'am."
He began sculpting her new face. The Gypsy took his craft very seriously. Every transformation he undertook was as much an act of love as it was an exercise in creativity. He was making art as he applied the makeup. The brushed tickled her. It had been so long since anyone had touched Betty. His fingertips gave her goose bumps.
He was immersed in his craft. He paid close attention to minute details. As he worked, her appearance began to change. New features took shape. He was corrupting her innocent face.
He narrated his performance as he worked. His voice was so even and soothing, like a hypnotist's. Her eyelids became heavy. His words and touch were so relaxing. She'd been working so hard lately. This experience was a nice comfortable escape from her real life.