Another alternate-reality actor fic.... Nicolas Cage is the god of mirth and debauchery 

The amber moon was just peeking over the trees, their feathered palms tickling the light and filtering it onto the road, giving it a dusky glow.  It was quiet, so quiet… except for the engine of Cheri’s truck, there was no noise at all.  She was lost in her thoughts and worries, with a mental “to-do” list ticking off in her head.  The hurricanes that had hit Florida in the past few months did nothing to placate her concerns, and now her mother was facing some health concerns and need her help as well.  When she thought about all the work that faced her, it made her a little sick, and she pulled over to the side of the road for a minute to rest.

            Rubbing her temples, she shut off the engine and stared straight ahead.  Her eyes stung and watered from exhaustion and after composing herself she suddenly realized she was getting rather thirsty.  Damn, I need a drink bad, she mused, laughing a little.  Despite everything that went down, she still had her sense of humor, and sometimes it was the only thing that pulled her through.  Just as she imagined how satisfying a cold, hard glass of gin would be, she heard a tinkling noise… well, more of a dinning, musical sound.  It was very faint at first, then swelled above the trees and almost overtook the moon… now she was hearing a full-on brass band, playing lively jazz music, and when she closed her eyes she could almost see the light flashing off the trumpet as it launched into a scorching solo.  It carried her away, out of her truck and led her down the road. 

            Cheri had traveled this path a thousand times, but until now she had never seen any nightclubs – no buildings of any kind, in fact… but set back from the road, surrounded by palm trees and native tropical flowers, was a white building.  It almost glowed, as if it were carved from moonstone, but in all other respects it was ordinary, nondistinct.  Nothing but a small, boxlike haven without windows or a name.  Still, the music blasting from inside coaxed her… there were no other cars around, but it sounded like a jumping place.

            When she opened the door, she was nearly overtaken by an infusion of sensations – light, color, sound – and had inadvertedly crashed one hell of a great party, by the looks of it.  The club was much, much larger than it appeared from outside… so large, in fact, that she was a bit disoriented at first.  Multicolored crystal chandeliers, each at least three feet across, hung from vaulted ceilings.  Throngs of drunken heathens in elaborate, Harlequin-like costumes stumbled to keep their footing on the polished mahogany floor, sipping drinks and reveling in hedonism and luxury… and there, on the other side of the room, was the band.  A 14-piece orchestra in matching violet tuxedos with gold trim.  It was a place where everyone belonged, and if you truly believed, your wildest dreams had a fighting chance of coming true.  She was afraid to close her eyes for fear that she would lose herself, and for the first time in many years, Cheri felt like she had no worries.  No worries at all.

            “Now YOU look like a woman who needs a drink!!”, a man’s voice bellowed behind her.  She turned to face a king… a huge, sparkly, red and orange king holding a scepter and an aura of bountiful mirth.  A gold lame crown sat cocked on head, matching his mask… then she looked down and realized that he was wearing a matching crown on his other head.  When he noticed her staring, he laughed heartily, making it jiggle a little.  “Believe it or not, you’re the first woman to notice… don’t worry, it’s a fake.  So… are you thirsty?”
            Before Cheri was able to answer, she was swept over to a rather elegant bar that looked like it was carved from solid glass and illuminated from within.  Behind the bar, rows and rows of bottles and flasks of all sizes, shapes and colors were lined up along the mirrored wall… a lush’s paradise.  She was overwhelmed by her choices, and suddenly a simple glass of gin seemed rather generic and banal.  The bartender brought her a drink – a frosty purple concoction in a tall crystal glass - before she could even begin narrowing down her choices.

            “Here, try one of these while you’re deciding.”, he said with a sly smile.  How did he know I couldn’t decide?, Cheri wondered briefly.  She sipped it, and was surprised by its taste – fruity, smooth, almost like liquid candy but not as cloying.  As the drink soothed her nerves, the reverie and beauty of the moment pulled her in, and she was there.  She was a crystal on the chandelier, observing and laughing… she was the cymbalist in the orchestra.  Thousands of people swarmed past her, almost chasing each other, their costumes a tapestry of folly and charm… she was the only one wearing common clothes, but it didn’t matter here. 

            “Everyone wears a costume, whether they realize it or not!”, a butterfly sitting next to her said, sipping a drink just like hers.  “We live our whole life behind a mask.  But here… here, you can be yourself.  Knowing who you are and who you are meant to be – there is no greater freedom.  Knowledge is the only bridge that can traverse the distance.”.  Her words were slurred, and her glittery blue antennae flopped in front of her doughy face as she downed the last of her drink, and Cheri was puzzled and amused to hear a drunk woman utter such esoteric words.  She also finished her drink, and as she sat her glass on the bar, she caught a glimpse of light against her wrist… it was draped in sequins and feathers.  A glance in the mirror revealed her without her “mask”… she was a gypsy princess in gauzy layers of blue, gold, green and pink!!  Her red hair piled on her head, wrapped in gold lace netting, was the only feature of herself she recognized, and rather than being startled, she felt release… her feet hit the floor and she joined the crowds, her anklets jingling.

            As the coterie carried her along with them in their ballet of mingling and laughter, she found herself near the center of the ballroom.  Until now, she wasn’t able to get close enough to see through the crowds.  Now, she was pushed in with the others as they circled and clustered around a towering platform – or, she imagined it to be a platform – covered in red velvet.  There was definitely something underneath, hidden from view.  Whatever it was, it was heralded with serious speculation and hushed whispers, and as the partiers grew quiet, the chandeliers’ lights dimmed to darkness.  Two spotlights, blue and red, spun and skittered around the platform, never quite aiming at it.

            “You’re here, I’m here, we’re all here!!  Drunkards, perverts, and line dancers too!”, boomed a charismatic voice from overhead.  Cheri couldn’t discern where it came from, but everyone tittered with egregious laughter.  “Macarena dancers, bad singers galore…and even those who wear white shoes after Labor Day!!  You are my guests, my followers, my people… but most importantly, you are my friends.  Welcome to The Festival of Bacchus!”.  At this statement, everyone in the room screamed and jumped uncontrollably, each seeming to outdo the other, in unbridled exuberance.  Arms holding up chalices and wine glasses were raised in solidarity, and the air was thick with fever.  “Hail, hail Bacchus, lord of wine and merriment!!”, scores of riotous voices clamored in unison.