{"id":3237,"date":"2012-06-01T06:00:40","date_gmt":"2012-06-01T11:00:40","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.confabulatorcafe.com\/?p=3237"},"modified":"2012-06-01T06:00:40","modified_gmt":"2012-06-01T11:00:40","slug":"if-you-could-invite-anyone-to-a-dinner-party-who-would-you-ask","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.confabulatorcafe.com\/?p=3237","title":{"rendered":"If You Could Invite Anyone to a Dinner Party, Who Would You Ask? (Flash Fiction)"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"\"<\/a>
Mata Hari from 1906. Image via Wikipedia.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

I get out of the limousine at the hotel\u2019s side door. This is a private affair, very exclusive one of a kind evening. Of everyone invited, I\u2019m the least – the very least – of any of them. I don\u2019t have any kind of standing and yet they asked me to be here. I\u2019m still not sure why but maybe I\u2019ll be enlightened during the appetizer course.<\/p>\n

It\u2019s not a service entrance I\u2019m shown to, it\u2019s the private entrance, the one the punters never get to see. There are two goons on the door and the concierge meets me with a slight smile of recognition. \u201cGood evening, sir,\u201d he says, \u201cif you\u2019ll follow me?\u201d I nod and walk past the goons. I stick my finger in my collar and loosen it a bit.<\/p>\n

The elevator ride up is quick, the car itself opulent, like something out of a dream that Winsor McCay constructed from Scheherezade\u2019s notes for tales not told. I\u2019m let out on the penthouse floor and follow the concierge to the right. He leads me through a double door, across a foyer that has a single painting in it but I don\u2019t have time to properly take it in. It appears to be a Maxfield Parrish, but it\u2019s a fleeting impression. M\u2019sieu Concierge is holding open another door, waiting for me to enter The Room.<\/p>\n

\u201cLet’s not be too rough on our own ignorance,\u201d someone was saying as I entered, \u201cit\u2019s what makes America great!\u201d<\/p>\n

I couldn\u2019t believe who it was. Moreover, I couldn\u2019t believe who he was talking to.<\/p>\n

She pointed at me and he turned to look. Both of them welcomed me.<\/p>\n

\u201cFrank,\u201d I said. \u201cI mean, Mr. Zappa.\u201d I shake his hand and he sips from his cocktail. I\u2019m bewildered and it shows. I\u2019m stunned to be in the same room with Frank Zappa and Mata Hari. \u201cMiss Margreet.\u201d She holds out her hand and I bow over it unsure whether to press my lips to her delicate fingers or not. I do and she smiles at me when our eyes meet. \u201cA pleasure,\u201d I say, \u201cto meet you.\u201d<\/p>\n

She hooks her arm in mine and Frank leads us to the table. The two men sitting there are not who I expected, even with Frank and Margreet flanking me.<\/p>\n

\u201cEschew the monumental. Shun the Epic. All the guys who can paint great big pictures can paint great small ones.\u201d Papa Hemingway was sitting on one corner of the table with a bottle of whiskey in one hand and a cigar in another.<\/p>\n

\u201cBeing privileged to work hard for long hours at something you think is worth doing is the best kind of play,\u201d Robert Heinlein said. He smiled and sipped his drink. It appeared that he and Hemingway were getting along famously.<\/p>\n

I accepted a drink from Mata Hari (she preferred to be called Margreet) and sat next to her and across from Heinlein. Zappa sat next to him and of course Hemingway sat at the head of the table. Margreet leaned in close and said, \u201cHe’s used to life in the fast lane, travels all over the world, already risks his life racing at over 300km\/h and seems to be handy with a gun.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI see that,\u201d I say and that\u2019s all I say when a door opens and a parade of waiters came through all carrying plates filled with food. They took positions on Heinlein\u2019s side and the platters floated over our heads and landed on the table.<\/p>\n

\u201cTapas for appetizers,\u201d a voice said from the door. He looked familiar, the chef: wavy brown hair, a goatee and an impish smile. He nodded at me and he waved his hands and smaller plates whirled in a circle overhead while an army of wine bottles marched from the far end of the table. Hemingway\u2019s smile was as big as the ocean and Zappa looked bored. The chef twisted his hands at the wrists and the wines were poured, a red and white for each of us.<\/p>\n

Hemingway tore into the tapas with gusto and Heinlein reached over for the plate near Margreet. She demurred and the meal was on. There wasn\u2019t a lot of talking as the soup course came next, then a light salad. It was when we were about half way through the fish when I finally asked the question.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy am I here?\u201d<\/p>\n

Heinlein glared at me. Heminway snorted. Zappa leaned forward and said, \u201cThere\u2019s no reason to assume that my idea of what\u2018s better would really be better.\u201d<\/p>\n

Hemingway drained his red wine, picked up his whiskey. \u201cThat terrible mood of depression of whether it’s any good or not is what is known as The Artist’s Reward.\u201d<\/p>\n

The old man, Heinlein, was stoic and staring me down. He was daring me to ask the question again. I didn\u2019t. Finally, he said: \u201cYou live and learn. Or you don\u2019t live long.\u201d<\/p>\n

The chef came back in with the waiters, bearing dessert. It was a cake of some kind that was on fire. Margreet clapped her hands. I looked at her, expecting a response. She sighed at last and said, \u201cI am a woman who enjoys herself very much; sometimes I lose, sometimes I win.\u201d<\/p>\n

They\u2019d all said something, I\u2019d spent the entire evening with them, all influential people in their times, and had no idea why they\u2019d assembled for me. The chef walked around the table while the others all stared at me.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re here,\u201d he said, \u201cbecause<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

A final note: Each of the quotes ascribed to the real people in the story is something they said while alive. Hemingway, Heinlein, and Zappa’s came from Wikiquotes<\/a> and Margreet\/Mata Hari’s come from her page at thinkexist.com<\/a>. Finally, the story is printed accurately above. It ends just like that, like a lot of dreams do, in the middle of a sentence. Thanks for reading!<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

I get out of the limousine at the hotel\u2019s side door. This is a private affair, very exclusive one of a kind evening. Of everyone invited, I\u2019m the least – the very least – of any of them. I don\u2019t have any kind of standing and yet they asked me to be here. I\u2019m still […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":7,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[2],"tags":[222,422],"class_list":["post-3237","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-fiction","tag-cooking-and-dreams","tag-flash-fiction"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.confabulatorcafe.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3237","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.confabulatorcafe.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.confabulatorcafe.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.confabulatorcafe.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/7"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.confabulatorcafe.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=3237"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/www.confabulatorcafe.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3237\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.confabulatorcafe.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=3237"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.confabulatorcafe.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=3237"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.confabulatorcafe.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=3237"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}