Dinner Party California
I was disappointed. It was regular California fare, nothing out of the ordinary. It was good, but not what I expected. I expected hummingbird tongues, a regular Roman emperor sort of banquet full of disgusting, decadent food.
Instead it was salad with Cotija cheese, chicken or beef enchiladas, salsa, avocados from their tree in back, and rice pudding for desert. Funny thing I noticed. The ‘countess’ was pretty skilled at scooping up guacamole with her tortilla, as if she’d been practicing all her life.
“Errol planted the tree himself,” said Silvia, "not long after he met Frida Kahlo and her mural-painting husband Diego.”
Finally dessert, rice pudding topped with cinnamon served in beautiful crystal goblets.
“I love these goblets,” said the countess, and held hers to the light.
“Glad you like them. They used to be King Ludwig’s. During the war they were hidden by the Nazis, many things were, boxes and boxes of Austrian crystal stashed away in a salt mine.”
“You mean Ludwig of Bavaria, the fairy-tale castle king?” said Tex.
“That’s the one,” continued Silvia, “You know how it was during the war, so many things got ‘misplaced’.”
Louis almost choked on an olive pit.
“Where are the others? You usually have a bigger crowd at one of your feeds,” asked the Texan.
“Yes, Silvia, usually twice as many,” said his wrangling ‘significant other’.
“All right, Silvia,” said Louis. “Go ahead and tell them, you know you’re dying to.”
“Well, you’re right. You see…” Again with a magnificent sweep of her hands. “On any other occasion this table would be full. But tonight is different. It’s what I’d like to call a theme party and is limited to the number of significant place settings.”
“She’s been reading House and Garden again,’ confided Louis.
“Now Louis, don’t start,” Silvia gave him a look.
“Home Beautiful too,” he whispered to my uncle.
“Now, Louis,” Silvia said sternly, “Don’t make me take and put you.”
Louis knew what was good for him and shut up.
“And the theme of the party is related to the dinner and the exhibit of rare antiquities afterwards,” said Silvia. “In addition, there will be a drawing for a prize. At the same time I’ll announce the candidacy of a new member, Ishmael.”
She gestured my direction, palm up, finger extended, but not pointing, in a manner that reminded me of God handing the spark of life to Adam. As much as I hated art history there was something about Silvia’s attention that made you feel special, like you belonged on the ceiling of a chapel along with the rest of the saints. Louis was one lucky fellow.
“So the China, you will notice, is marked White Star Line,” she continued, and held up one of the plates. “We only have eight. They were sitting stacked neatly on the sea bottom. The robot broke the other two. They sat undisturbed for nearly one hundred years, that is, until our man came along and snatched them with a mechanical arm.”
“The Titanic?” said the Texan, and furrowed his brows.
“What else.”
“That’s incredible,” said his consort.
“Well, yes, and costly too. Clandestine expeditions are expensive. And the silverware, did you think they were reproductions? They’re not. They’re from the Borgia family, hidden out by the Fascist Italians.”
“Again, the war.” said my Uncle.
“Lots of things get lost,” said Tex.
“Lives, hopes, dreams,” sighed the countess.
“Art work,” I added. “It’s been going on for years. A pharaoh dies, common people dig his tomb, and no one forgets where it is. A poor man never forgets where valuable things are hidden. Treasure is just a pain in the butt to the rich, another problem to deal with. To the poor it’s hopes and dreams and a chance of escape.”
“That’s what we trade in,” continued Louis, “The stuff dreams are made of.”
The whole thing didn’t sit right with me. I have no qualms about stealing from the rich as long as they’re living. But stealing from the dead? That’s a whole different issue. A man has to set his boundaries and be his own gate-keeper, nobody is going to do the job for him.
And I admit I was growing impatient. I wasn’t here for dinner, no matter how fancy. In fact, I wasn’t really sure what I was ‘here for’ in the classical sense. On earth, in this body, at this movie-star haunted house on the California coast. But I had my suspicions, deep down and hidden within me. They were so clandestine I struggle to put them in words.
It was for the score of a lifetime, for a feat of magic that would put me ‘in the pocket’ for the rest of my life. Whatever it was, I was anxious to get at it. That's me, Mister Anxious. Silvia must have been reading my mind, because the next thing she said was,
“It looks like you’re all finished,” she announced with a twinkle in her eye. “Let’s withdraw to the library and get this evening into second gear.”
***
The library was spacious and built on a grand scale. Two red Safadid carpets gave color to the dark hardwood floors. Tall ornate glass display cabinets stood to one side, and rows of books on the other, and windows with lozenge-shaped panes stood between the shelves. The ceiling was high enough for a chandelier. On one end of the room was a substantial table with a goose necked lamp on either end.
“The library isn’t very conventional,” said Louis. “Books, gems, carvings, images, there’s hardly anything here that doesn’t have a history, and it usually one worth telling.”
On the far wall hung a long embroidered tapestry.
“It looks just like the Bayeux Tapestry,” said the cowboy’s amorata.
“It is the Bayeux Tapestry,” replied Louis. “The one in the Mussee de Bayeux is a fake we snuck in years ago. The museum directors have no idea it even happened.”
“Oh,” said the cowgirl.
Silvia went to one of the display cabinets and opened it with a key she had on a bracelet around her wrist.
Lucky me. Ever see a magician who can take a man’s watch off his wrist without him feeling it? Or even his belt? I have too. And I haven’t forgotten the technique. It all about touch, timing, and misdirection.
She carried it to the large table and by the time she’d turned on both lamps we’d surrounded it like a tribe of Indians. She took out a scroll of paper bound by a red silk ribbon. She unrolled it and put a heavy crystal Venetian paperweight at each end.
“When Cesare Borgia met Leonardo da Vinci, they hit it off immediately. Cesare wrote Da Vinci a safe conduct pass to inspect and design his fortifications. This is it.”
“You don’t say,” said the count.
“I do.”
Then she took out a brocaded draw-string bag, and placed it over a black velvet square she’d placed on the table. Out came a pair of ruby earrings. Tear-dropped shaped, they were set in twisted gold filigree.
“These earrings were Lucretia’s, and come from one of our oldest and most trusted sources. They were found in a well in her palazzo in Ferrara by workers restoring the garden. A gift from her husband Alfonso of Aragon, they appear in a painting of her wedding day. How they got in the well is anybody’s guess.”
I was on the opposite side of the table from the countess. Her eyes dilated, a perfect belladonna, while she squeezed the count’s hand like a hungry anaconda.
“The next items are antique, not ancient you understand, but imminently collectable,” said Louis. He took a tray from the same cabinet and put it next to the scroll and earrings. Silvia propped it up at an angle for all to see. It was a gold cigarette holder with an ivory mouthpiece, two gold coins, and a pair of gold cufflinks with the initials J.A.
“These were found in a box on the sea bottom too. It deteriorated the second it was touched by the submarine robot’s arm. The technician had to vacuum them up from the sand.”
“You have John Jacob Astor’s cuff-links!” cried out the count, and clutched at his chest. The countess reached in his pocket and retrieved a gold pillbox. The count sat down and took a nitroglycerin tablet.
“What a good guess!” said Louis. “We found the jeweler’s mark; I can show it to you with a loupe.”
“We trust you, Louie,” said my uncle. “We know how you arrived at your reputation. You document everything meticulously and establish an iron-clad provenance.”
“I am flattered… and content,” replied Louis.
“It’s truth, not flattery, Louis,” said the Texan. “You never tout something to be what it’s not.”
©Steven Hunley 2013
Dinner Party California
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