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“Are you sure that they intended to invite you?” my lovely bride inquired. “After all, it is addressed to Her Royal Highness, Ruthette of Dorkchester-South.”
“Oh, yes, Queen Katherine is so busy that she just got the address a bit wrong,” I replied. “At any rate, it is a sign from God himself that I should go.” My lovely wife gave me that dubious look that I find so endearing, but I resisted her charms after an intense thirty-minute chase in which she finally eluded me by faking a cut to the left and then jumping out the window and across the yard and into the dark wood that lay beyond.
Having nothing else to do now, I began preparations for the big event. I had my best suit pressed, bought clean socks and under-drawers, and made double sure that the Family Truckster was mechanically sound. I was so excited that I could not sleep and so began my trip quite early that next morning.
The trip to Indianapolis was wracked with peril as I was forced to seek direction 13 times, but eventually found my way to Interstate 90 and was eastbound and on my way. I failed to remember that all places in Indiana look much the same and wandered around Fort Wayne for several hours until some children at a local kindergarten took pity on me and pointed me back to the southwest and Indianapolis.
I finally arrived at the Rowland’s and glanced at my watch, only 30 minutes late; just enough to be fashionably late, but not late enough to miss dinner. With luck on my side, I would even have enough time to sip one of Miss Katherine’s famous ultra-dry martinis!
Walking to the front door, I could hear the sounds of merriment from within and, eagerly, I rang the bell. The door was opened by the shortest butler that I have ever seen, who eyed me head to toe and asked politely, “May I help you?” I was struck by the seeming youth of this house servant and made a mental note to speak to Queen Katherine about the horrors of child labor.
“Yes, good evening, I am Bassnote and am here for the dinner party,” I replied in my most formal tone. The butler turned towards the sounds of merriment, “MOM,” he shouted “The clown’s here,” and butled me into the house. I was relieved to know that I did not have to face the uncomfortable prospect of addressing child labor laws during dinner.
The most amazing sight greeted my eyes; many people gathered around a beautifully laid table and were in animated conversation punctuated by much laughter. As I walked into the room, a silence fell that was almost oppressive. The Queen herself approached me and shaking my hand, thanked me profusely for coming and told me that I could change in the bathroom just off the main hall. I glanced down at my suit and told her, “I just changed in the front-yard, is this not acceptable?”
At the same moment, the doorbell rang again. Another young man, slightly taller than the first and whom I assumed was another short relative, opened the front door to a comically robed individual who was carrying a bicycle horn and a unicycle. The Queen looked at me then to this clown standing in the doorway and back again. I could see the question forming in her eyes. I quickly stammered, “I am Bassnote,” and pulled the much read and worn invitation from my suit pocket and presented it. A very regal lady, whom I assumed was HRH Ruthette of Dorchester-South, approached us and looked at the invitation that Queen Katherine was holding and I heard her murmur, “Ok, so you did mail me an earlier invitation. I apologize for nothing, however.”
The silence that had pervaded the room earlier now became a palpable thing. I began to sense the slight undertones of unpleasantness that made me slightly nervous. My feet twitched and I took it as a sign from on High and made a dash for the door just as the revelers made an angry, ugly noise and surged out of the room towards me. The scene turned quite ugly for a few minutes. Angry shouts of “INVADER”, “INVITATION THEIF”, and “BAD-SUITED MAN” hammered the air behind me as I collided with clown who was still standing in the doorway. I tried to warn him to get out of the way, but my forward velocity was such that I got there a split second before my warning.
I grabbed him to keep him from tumbling down the stairs as he spun around and stuck out his hands to try to gain his balance. Somehow, we both ended up on the unicycle and where weaving a drunken path across the front yard as the guests of Queen Katherine and King Chris boiled into the front yard. The only thing keeping this from being a classic angry mob scene was the absence of torches and pitchforks. About this time, two squad cars from the Indianapolis Gestapo pulled up in front of the house and jumped out of their cars with weapons drawn. “YOU CLOWNS ON THE UNICYCLE! ON THE GROUND!” they shouted. The actual clown’s (who had introduced himself as Bob while we weaved through the yard and he explained to me this was just a moonlight position to supplement his income as a nuclear physics teacher) foot slipped off the pedal and we complied with the officer’s request in the most violent fashion.
The police calmed the mob scene down and inquired of the group if they had seen a naked, fat man in the neighborhood, as was reported by several neighbors. Apparently, my changing in the front yard had not gone unnoticed. Then realizing they were in the presence of Indianapolis’ most high royalty; they doffed their hats, holstered their weapons and bowed low. The sergeant in charge of the scene asked, “Another party crasher, your Highness?” “Indeed!” Katherine replied, “The clown in polka-dots was expected, but the clown in black is most unwelcome. He stole the invitation that he has in his possession.”
The officers picked me up, threw me across a car hood, and proceeded with a violent body search, which turned up only my car keys. They all agreed that, given my state of mind, the keys were the equivalent to the possession of a weapon of mass-destruction. The officers then handcuffed and tossed me unceremoniously into a patrol car. As we drove off, I watched Queen Katherine smiling her dazzling smile and beginning to herd her lucky guests back into the house and the fabulous meal that awaited them. I was not totally upset over the course of the evening. After all, I had been to one of the most sought after dinner-parties. If only for a few minutes, I had been there.
©2007 Rowland Books |