26 dicembre 1777 Sestiere di Dorsoduro, Venezia Neither of the two strangers who've already had paid sex with Louisa Cossiga have seen so much as a glimpse of her face.
Despite their pleadings for intimacy, the raven-haired courtesan has kept her tailor-made mask on throughout their pathetic frenzies.
It's better that way.
Always better that way.
She learned long ago that a person's face is at its most revealing during intercourse. The journey to orgasm shows what's on the mind – the nature of the heart – the state of the soul. All things that she has no intention of revealing to strangers, especially those who only count her worth in coins.
The first tonight had at least shown her the courtesy of being quick. Given his speed, it was probably the most profitable three minutes of her year. He had nice eyes. Kind eyes. It was those – more than anything – that made her decide not to pick him.
Lucky him.
The second is the one she has chosen.
A brute of a man. The type likely to beat his wife and children, abuse his servants and cheat his business associates.
When he undressed, he smelled like roasted pig. Even grunted and rutted like swine. Louisa shudders as she remembers his hairy white scrotum swinging between her legs.
Amun, he calls himself. Says it's Egyptian, meaning mystery. Louisa finds that amusing. Maybe even ironic. The man of mystery is currently washing his cock in her vanity bowl and shouting for wine.
Louisa finishes dressing. 'Some friends are throwing a ball tonight. A select and secret affair. A palace of pleasures – the kind only a sophisticate like you could appreciate.'
'How much?'
'For you? Nothing. You have paid me enough already. There will be five women to every man, sufficient even for your vast appetite.'
Amun searches for a towel and can't find one. He rubs himself dry on her bed sheet. 'And you will be there?'
She looks him over and pretends to be aroused by his flabby, naked body. 'How could I not be? Of course, I'll be there. And tonight, among all the pleasures, you'll see me as I truly am.' She taps her silver volto mask, a uniquely hooded piece, tailored at the back in soft black velvet.
His eyes grow greedy. 'Now. Take it off now and I'll give you anything you want.' He reaches into his cloak, hung on a door handle, and jangles a fistful of gold zecchino coins. 'Name your price.'
She waves him away. 'Save your money' – she glances down – 'and your excitement. Tonight all you crave will be yours – for free.' She smiles mischievously. 'But if you do not come tonight, then you will never have what you desire. The choice is yours.'
He silently pulls on his white shirt. Unfazed by her bargaining, he's wondering whether he should just hold her down and take what he wants. Maybe slap her around, teach her to know her place.
Finally, the mystery and lure of an even more lustful affair proves too much to resist. 'As you wish. Tonight it is. Where is this ball? Do I come back here?'
She helps him finish buttoning. 'No, my love. I will meet you. Be at the Ponte della Paglia in three hours. The ball is being held but a short boat ride away.'
'Fine.' He grabs his cloak, turns his back and without any pleasantries, leaves.
Louisa locks the door, pulls off her mask and shakes out her long, dark hair. She rubs her fingers through her curls. It's good to feel the cool air on her face. A mass of gummas, soft boils caused by syphilis, is itching cruely on her skin.
She sits on a stool and looks in a mirror. Stares deep into her own eyes – the windows to her soul. She's made the right decision. The Boatman will be pleased by her choice. And so too will the others.