Table of Hauteurs

The cocktail party is in full swing, with guests and hosts alike gathered in little groups. Some dance from one coterie to another, others do-si-do within their groups. All are talented in their ability to eat, drink, and talk while holding a plate of hors d'oeuvres and a glass of wine.

A table of delights stretches along the north wall. There are cheese trays, pastries savory and sweet, the finest red and white wines, and more. Three gorgeous Matisse lithographs hang above the table. A colorful gouache découpée in the middle, flanked by black and white portraits.

In the room's center, mouths chew, sip, and exchange airs as the sophisticate orgy unfolds.

"Oh I love the Matisse prints!"

"Yes, aren't they great! We just got them. You know he's totally making a comeback."

"Yes, yes."

"This one's my favorite. I love the yellow."

"Yes, yes."

In this fashion, the wall basks bright and proud as the drooling eyes stare.

Meanwhile, a centipede scurries under the table and disappears into a tiny gap in the corner. High above, where the walls meet the ceiling, a waft dislodges part of an ancient cobweb.

Twelve feet below the cobweb, the host goes on. They're originals, she's always loved Matisse, they are so expensive but she just had to have them.

The guest smiles and nods, her right hand holding a glass of wine, her left below it with palm up in a makeshift table. All in all, agreeable and interested.

On the ceiling, the cobweb filament stretches nearly a foot from the corner, thicker at its origin, a gradient black to gray, its delicate flutter a thing of austere beauty with a mastery of forms and transitions. A rearing cobra one moment, a scorpion tail the next.

The host continues. Her husband's promotion literally doubled his salary, it's so hard to keep her new jewelry organized, so glad we've had a chance to talk, we're thinking about buying....

In time, the guest raises the wine from its flesh table to her mouth. Sheltered by the glass, in the heartbeat before the inflow, the corners of her lips drop, the corners of her eyes tighten. With great effort she conceals her words, and then paints the cavity crimson.

"Right—like you know anything about Matisse. Bitch."

11/14/2024