With his appearance at the post symphony cocktail party imminent, Siggy was nervous and excited. He was accustomed to focusing on nothing other than his art, yet the idea of play acting was actually appealing to him. He found himself considering it as fun, amusement. Sometimes putting on a mask is liberating, the ability to lose yourself in a character.

It reminded him of an experience he had had as a young man. Siggy had spent a summer acting with a dinner theater murder mystery troupe, an improvisational experience where he would interact with the audience as a variety of characters. It came at a point in his life after the death of his parents where everything seemed dark and grim. It was a welcome relief that allowed him to escape reality.

Neither he nor Wilson were attending the symphony proper, instead they would join the party later in the evening at Fisk's uptown hotel, The Charlton House. Now was the time for preparation, dressing and grooming to both fit in and stand out. All of the other attendees, including Bertram, Devon, and Elaine would be arriving directly from the symphonic performance and would therefore be decked out in black tie and haute couture. Wilson would dress in black tie as well, but Siggy needed to don something that made him stand out without appearing sloppy or crude.

Wilson had given Siggy's appearance a lot of thought. The outfit he'd worn to the Armory was effective, but not entirely right for this occasion. No tee shirts or jeans tonight. After looking at some possible ensembles, he decided on an upscale variation of that same look. The black silk bandanna was good, as was the Zegna black wool jacket. He chose an off white collarless linen shirt with wooden buttons that looked like it was lifted from some colonial role play. Instead of jeans, he selected a pair of loosely tailored japanese fisherman pants and a pair of matte black sneakers he'd purchased earlier that day.

After Siggy was dressed, Wilson nodded with satisfaction, "Not bad at all."

Siggy looked into the mirror and smiled, "This actually looks pretty good... comfortable too."

"Ready to go?" Wilson asked.

"Ready as I'll ever be."

The Charlton House was a classic brownstone and brick hotel built at the turn of the twentieth century. A twelve story structure almost out of place among the towering buildings of Manhattan, it was considered one of the City's great old structures. The building was one of Bartholomew Fisk's two hotels, the other being a modern twenty story high-end hotel located near the park.

The Charlton House was Fisk's city residence and primary entertaining venue in the city. He occupied the entire twelfth floor which consisted of one enormous residence and three smaller apartments where his staff were located on most days. He made a point to have them leave on the days he hosted his parties after all the preparations were made. This insured his guests privacy in their vices. That level of discretion made his get-togethers the most coveted of invitations, allowing bad behavior without the risk of loose lips or unwanted publicity.

Wilson and Siggy arrived about an hour after the conclusion of the concert and entered the hotel. The lobby was luxurious with mahogany panels, inlaid marble walls, floors covered in large antique carpets, and a veneered rosewood concierge desk. They approached the desk and gave their names. The concierge looked them up and down suspiciously, checked their names against a list and finally nodded begrudgingly, directing them to a private elevator at the rear of the lobby.

Wilson keyed in the code that the concierge provided on a keypad on the front of the elevator door. After a minute the door opened and they stepped inside. Siggy pressed the only button on the interior and the elevator began to ascend. When the doors opened on the twelfth floor, the two men stepped into the corridor.

In many ways it looked just like any other hotel. A long corridor leading to several doors on the right hand side and a single door to the left. There was even a large laundry chute for maids to dump dirty linen to the ground floor for delivery to a cleaning service. The major difference was that rather than additional rooms on the left hand side, a row of marvelous original paintings by modern masters hung like a wall in a museum.

Wilson approached the single ornate oaken door on the left and knocked as the concierge had instructed. It was opened by Daisy Fisk who beaconed them to enter.

Siggy closed his eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, and focused on getting into character. When he finally felt comfortable in his new personality, he opened his eyes and entered.

After entering the room, Daisy paused and addressed Siggy, eyeing him from head to foot, "I'm glad you could make it," she pointed to an area near the large windows overlooking the city, "over there you'll find the bar... we have no help here tonight, so you'll have to pour your own drinks."

Siggy slouched slightly as though coiled and ready to strike, "Good!" He exclaimed loudly, causing Daisy to jerk back, "I do not approve of servants!"

"Quite," she replied haughtily, "you'll also find hors d'oeuvres, caviar, and several charcuterie boards on the table next to the bar. Make yourself comfortable and please come introduce yourself to my husband and friends." She pointed to a far corner of the room where a group of people stood, scanning the room like a pride of lions.

"Uh!" Siggy grunted in ascent. Daisy stepped away and returned to her small tribe, speaking to them in agitation and pointing in Siggy's direction.

Wilson, who had been standing next to Siggy couldn't help laughing, "Wow, it's like I'm not even here. I haven't gone invisible, have I."

"Who said that?" Siggy answered, suppressing a smile, "I think I'll slink over to the bar and make a drink. I'll eat later."

"After you," Wilson bowed.

Siggy approached the bar in a slithering kind of a stride, swaying slightly and scanning the room like a predator. He poured himself a drink and couldn't help noticing several trays covered in perfectly spaced identical lines of cocaine and short silver straws. OCD drug aficionados, he thought, rich people are ridiculous.

After downing a delicious glass of twenty year old scotch far too quickly, Siggy steeled his nerve and walked across the room to the large group of haute monde hyenas. Wilson followed.

When he reached them, they encircled him like a well dressed cult. Daisy introduced him.
"Folks, this is Siegfried Jager, the artist everyone is talking about."

"We are quite impressed by your work, Mr. Jager," Bart Fisk said.

"I don't create work to impress, I create it to invoke reaction." Siggy said bluntly.

"Of course," Fisk continued, "You're from down south, right?"

"I live there, I'm German."

"I thought so," a voice from the group intoned, "Your art is quite continental, not like what we usually see."

"I like to think of it as universal, as all good art should be. Cultural boundaries limit the artist, as do ideologies and religion."

Charity Howe spoke up, "Are you a Christian Siggy? You don't mind if I call you Siggy, do you?"

Siggy stared darkly into her eyes, making her avert her glance, "No one calls me Siggy. No, I'm not a Christian, I'm a Thelemite."

A female voice inquired, "Is that a Jewish or Muslim thing?"

Siggy snorted in distain and rubbed his face in apparent frustration, "No, it is not a Jewish or Muslim thing. My family has been involved with The Golden Dawn since my grandfather was conceived in Italy in Aleister Crowley's Abbey of Thelema in 1920. That is what I am."

Wilson, still ignored by the group, widened his eyes in surprise.

Another voice from the group questioned him, "That's a witchcraft thing, right?"

"Only idiots would call it witchcraft!" Siggy snapped.

"We don't mean to insult you," Charlie Howe said apologetically.

"And yet," Siggy said darkly, "You do."

Bart Fisk smiled at Howe's obvious discomfort, "Don't judge us too harshly, Mr. Jager. We rarely engage with people outside our circle. We are all quite well meaning."

Wilson was having a hard time keeping a straight face. He noticed Bertram, Devon, and Elaine across the room and decided to leave before he laughed out loud. He excused himself. Siggy dismissed him with a brushing motion of his hand. Wilson walked quickly off.

Siggy returned his attention to Fisk, "Well meaning, how?"

"Like you, we are concerned with social justice. Each of us here," he swept his arm, indicating the rest of the group, "do our best to help those people."

"Those people?" Siggy asked.

"Those unfortunates hampered by poor education and contaminated by urban culture. They cannot help themselves, so we strive to improve their status in life as best we can. It is the least we can do."

I'm sure it is the least you can do, Siggy thought, those people... urban culture... is Fisk's underwear embroidered with a confederate flag? Siggy held back his disgust. This was no different from the argument made by more obvious racists that slaves were treated well and should have been thankful for all the wonderful things their masters did for them.

"You should be proud," Siggy said through gritted teeth.

"Oh, we are, we are," Howe chimed in, "most of my tenants are... you know, from the other side of the tracks."

"Enough politics," Fisk said brightly, "when are we going to actually get a chance to purchase one of your remarkable works?"

"I believe my agent is donating a piece to the Art Institute Gala auction. I don't deal with that aspect, you'll need to speak to him."

"The fellow that just left?" Charity asked.

"Wilson Briggs, yes. A fine artist himself," Siggy said gruffly.

"I'm sure," Fisk replied dismissively, "the Gala, you say. Excellent."

Siggy rubbed his face again, turned, and without saying another word, left the overdressed pack and walked across the room to where Wilson was standing with his friends.

"What a delightfully odd chap... very genuine and passionate." Charlie Howe commented.

Siggy joined Wilson and was introduced to Bertram, Devon, Elaine and Ezra. He dropped his persona and gave a quick account of his interaction with the host's group. Everyone seemed delighted.

"You were great," Wilson offered, "I had to leave so I wouldn't crack up. They were mesmerized and so off balance. Definitely the best cocktail party I've been to in a while."

"Demitri had some great advice. Of course he also basically said the rich should be executed," Siggy commented.

"That sounds rather merciless," Bertram said lightly.

"Mercy needs to be earned," Siggy replied.

Elaine chuckled, "That's a frightening thought." She took Siggy's hand and spoke earnestly, "I'm hoping to have you in a one man show in early fall. I hope you agree."

Siggy smiled, "I've heard of your gallery, of course, and I'm honored, but as I told Mr Fisk, I let my agent handle all those kind of details." He put his hand on Wilson's shoulder.

Bertram sidled up to Siggy and asked, "May I speak to you in private for a moment?"

"Of course," he followed Bertram to the bar.

"There is something I need to tell you and I don't want you to get the wrong idea."

"You mean that you and Wilson are a couple?" Siggy asked.

Bertram's eyes widened, "How did you know?"

"It wasn't hard, he has photos of you all over his loft. He seems very fond of you. I know you're afraid I'd be upset and think you gave me preferential treatment because of your relationship with Wilson. Your review was amazing and is bound to give me a bigger audience... how could I be upset? As for my self confidence or concern about me doubting myself for the same reason, let me assure you that the one aspect of my life I'm confident about is my art,"

"I'm so happy to hear that. For what it's worth," Bertram intoned, "I stand by everything I wrote in my review." 

"Thank you Mr Windsor, I appreciate that. Now let's get ourselves some more of that excellent scotch."

"And some caviar!" Bertram added.

"Lots of caviar," Siggy agreed.

It was nearly 2 AM when Wilson and Siggy arrived back at the loft. Both men were still quite energized from the night's events and decided to have a couple of beers before calling it a night. They sat at the small table near the kitchen area.

"I wanted to thank you for not being mad that I didn't tell you about me and Bertram," Wilson said earnestly.

"No problem, I understand your motivation. It's not an issue as far as I'm concerned."

Wilson smiled, "Great. So you're heading back tomorrow. Looking forward to going home?"

"I am. I'll get that piece finished for the auction. I'm also looking forward to seeing Adrianna... you met her at the Nasher."

"I remember, beautiful woman."

"She is," Siggy smiled warmly, "she wants to hear all about tonight."

"It will make quite a story," Wilson chuckled, "especially that bit about the Thelemites."

Siggy looked Wilson in the eye, "That part was all true. That's what I am... how I was raised."

Wilson went silent for a moment before asking, "What exactly is that? What do you believe...if you don't mind my asking?"

"Not at all. It's a pretty byzantine belief system, but it's based on three fundamental tenets."

"Go on," Wilson insisted.

"Okay," Siggy began, "first, Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the law, basically that means to find our individual true path, to determine your True Will, which is our grand destiny in life, that is in perfect harmony with Nature.

"Second, Love is the law, love under will, which means love determines our purpose... our true mission in life.

"Finally, the third tenet is Every man and every woman is a star meaning that those who are doing their Wills are like stars in the universe... unique, distinct, and independent.

"That's the gist of it," Siggy concluded, "I know it sounds a bit odd, but it's always been a good guide for me."

Wilson was silent for a moment before breaking out in a broad grin and raising his beer bottle in a toast, "You are one extremely odd fellow, Siggy, cheers!"

Siggy returned the grin and clinked his bottle against Wilson's, "You have no idea. Here's to the odd among us!" Both men took a long drink and broke into convivial laughter.