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Death at Mrs. Robinson's Dinner Party By Geoffrey C. Porter The invitation to the dinner party came from Mrs. Robinson. It was printed on fine almost leathery paper, and it was addressed to my wife, Beth. She promised me an old friend would be there, and of course, I agreed to go. I don't typically argue with the woman about such things, and the invitation promised wine, snacks, and prime rib: my kind of dinner party. Beth convinced me to wear a tie and jacket to the party. I felt stupid showing up in our brand new Toyota Camry when everyone we knew seemed to be driving BMW and Lexus. Beth nodded her head and said, "We get better gas mileage than they do. We pay less in insurance. You always fret." "I wasn't fretting. You don't know what I was thinking." "I always know what you are thinking, and your hand was twitching like it sometimes does." "My hand does not twitch." "Are we going to argue all night?" "Of course not, my lady." "You were arguing." "You started it!" "And I'll end it; we're here." I climbed out of the passenger side of the car, and we walked up to the house. Beth rang the doorbell, and I put on my best, I've-been-snorting-cocaine-and-I-don't-care-who-knows, smile. Joan Robinson opened the door and clapped her hands together. "The Burtons have arrived! You look smashing, Beth. And my, aren't you the dapper soul, Jacob Burton." I said, "I see you are wearing your blue dress, Joan. It truly brings out the color and beauty in your eyes." Joan shook her head, "Flattery will get you everywhere tonight, Jacob." We went into the house. I turned the corner and stepped into Joan's monstrosity of a kitchen. I saw my friend Dave. I smiled, "Dave! Oh my god! What's it been? Five, six years?" Dave said, "I'm officially back from L.A. I'm staying with Brett and Joan for the time being. I hope to find a house in the next few weeks." "What are you doing for work? Still painting murals?" "You know I paint murals for the fun and joy of creation, Jacob. I wrote and sold a literary novel. I don't expect to make much money off it, but it's with a reputable publisher, and I got a five thousand dollar advance." "You must be doing something else for work then." "I made enough in L.A. to last me for a while." "Running drugs?" Dave laughed hysterically, "I love you, Jacob. You always know how to make me laugh." Something clicked in my mind about Dave. Something from the past. I wasn't sure what it was though. Something quite important that I had forgotten. Joan handed me a glass of wine. I said, "Thank you." I smelled the wine, and it had just a hint of cinnamon. I took a sip, and it was a spicy, fruity mix of essence and shade. Brett, Mary and Cynthia were on the back porch smoking cigarettes. I noticed a tray of cubed cheese, another tray of a variety of nuts, and a giant box of Godiva chocolates. I grabbed a cube of cheese as if I were a starved mouse. Beth said, "Use the toothpicks, Jacob." "It's just a piece of cheese." Beth said, "You always eat with your fingers." "I tried eating with my toes, and you made me put my shoes back on." Joan and Beth shook their heads back and forth like gears in a broken wheel. Dave said, "Are you still running the old man's hardware store? Surely Home Depot and Lowe's have driven you out of business." "You know I'm a fighter, Dave. We had to radically shift our core business from consumers to contractors, and there have been growing pains. We had to buy the two properties behind the parking lot, level them, and put up steel warehouses. We had to arrange special shipping rates for freight with small trucking companies. We're buying less products, but buying more in bulk." Dave said, "Good for you!" Something clicked in my mind about Dave. Something I couldn't quite place. I wanted to know what it was so bad. Something very odd about Dave. What was it? I reached for one of the chocolates hoping for a caramel. The rich scent of the chocolate slipped into my nose. I bit it in half and tasted the caramel and crunchy cashews. Joan said, "Dave, whatever happened to that slut, Alicia? Did you leave her in L.A.?" Dave smiled, "The only women in all my life who has satisfied my every carnal desire, and you must continuously call her a slut." Joan said, "That summer at the lake: I caught the two of you in the boathouse, the whirlpool, and the gazebo." I said, "And that was just in one day." Dave seemed caught up in the memory smiling and simply staring at the food arrayed before him. He said, "It wasn't all in the same day…" It finally clicked in my mind. Dave had passed away in a car accident four years ago. I was standing in my friend's kitchen talking to a dead man. I went to the funeral. I stared at him. It couldn't be the same man, but he seemed the same. Beth said, "So, did you leave the slut in L.A.?" Dave said, "Technically, yes, but in all truth, of course not. She's got her teaching certificate in California now, and she just needs to get certified here." Joan said, "Dear lord, what is she teaching?" Dave laughed, "Third graders. She is teaching third graders." I leaned over to my wife, Beth, and I whispered in her ear, "Dave died four years ago." Beth said, "Oh hush!" Dave and I both said, "What?" Beth said, "Oh, Dave, it's nothing. Jacob just said you died four years ago. He's in his delusional state right now." "I am not delusional!" Dave said, "That's what everybody who's delusional says, Jacob. Sane people will always question their sanity." "You've been dead for four years!" I turned to Beth. She literally evaporated before my eyes. I looked out back onto the porch, and the smokers were all gone. The room started to get darker and darker. Joan was gone. I looked to Dave. He sat on the countertop, and the food was gone. The darkness started creeping into the room. Dave said, "Perhaps it is you who died…" "No!" I felt myself sinking down into the floor and into the dirt. I tried to breathe in air, and it was more difficult than my lungs had ever known. Everything went pitch black, and I felt a scratchy, rough ski mask on my face with no orifices for eyes, or perhaps it was on backwards. I could see shadows in the distance now, but only shadows. I reached up and peeled off the ski mask with some effort. Once my face was free of it, I could feel yet another ski mask gripping my face. I tried to walk towards the shadows hopefully encountering a wall or something to follow. The ground tugged on my feet as if it were sticky and thick. I shouted, "Hello!" But no sound came, or I was deaf. I tried looking around behind me: nothing but black with the occasional shadow. I thought to myself, if Hamlet were here, would he say at least we dream? |
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