So, the story behind the content of my bag, as I remember it now:
I know vaguely from years back called and wanted to see me on a
Saturday night. "Bring your mask" he said (it's only later that I came
to wonder how he knew I had one). He picked me up late, we drove for an
hour in the dark, away from Manhattan, to a white wooden house drowning
in artificial light and monotone music.
The entire setting
appeared surreal with thin girls wearing venetian masks and black
dresses, a few men in strict suits and iced champagne bottles in crystal
buckets (think Eyes Wide Shut, only smaller). Someone started talking
to me, through his vivid French accent and the alcohol he slipped a key
down my purse and told me to come see him in Paris. "Wear this" he
slurred, hence the panties.
When I came to Nice and Henry I
imagined it was him behind that mask and the accent, I thought I smelled
his perfume for a second but it couldn't have been. It couldn't.