“You changed your hair color.”
“So did you,” She teased as she put the almost empty glass of champagne down on the table and sat down in the chair next to mine.
“Wig.”
“Dye,” She shrugged. “The color wasn’t appropriate for my next campaign, so I was told to dye it.”
“So you are…”
She lifted her index finger with a perfect French-tip nail up to her pouty matte nude lips. The blush colored gold and lace mask that donned her face accentuated her new honey blonde curls and reminded me of those unique colored curls she had that night. The layered gold choker necklace that wrapped loosely around her delicate neck, drew attention to the plunging neckline of the revealing gold sequined halter top; a small gold disc laid just between her perfect sun-kissed breasts. A micro mini skirt that barely covered her toned ass and tanned long legs shimmered with each movement as gold strappy heels adorned her French-tipped manicured feet. She looked every bit the model I knew she was that night.
“No names. Once we put our masks on, our outside identities are left behind for the night. This gives us the freedom to indulge in who we want to be or who we truly are.”