My Kingdom for a Porsche

Reflection by Mary E. Latela 4.9.17

The king and queen came into view while black tie dignitaries and escorts stood in line during the sunset hour. She wore Buchman; her husband was attired in Handmade by Lucio, Manhattan.

The girl children were dressed in pastel satin, matching slippers, and glitter embellished tiaras. The boys wore CK and leather dress boots. They walked around the head table to say goodnight, then noiselessly disappeared up the stairs to bed.

The king knew he was setting a precedent, so he had examined all the family, then the decor and appointments in the vast hall. They chatted quietly, sipped iced peach soup, and ate with 250 year old silver. The men were getting serious, and laughter seemed deliberately muted.

The entree was being served when Ron Daley rushed into the hall, went directly to the right of the king, and leaning over, said, in a loud whisper, “Sir, they need you upstairs.” The king felt his face grow red as he tried to swallow his anger. He started to play out the scene. Heads would roll. He couldn’t risk speaking to Ron until they reached the soundproof conference booth.

They all remembered WWII,and the Blitz, and rations. And one lie after another. Within 30 minutes, the hall was empty, limos in tunnels efficiently driving fast with the very last housekeepers.

Lights out.

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