Death Banquet: The Modern Symposium

I thought I was prepared to answer any inevitable questions as I lay bleeding on the front steps of my apartment. A smug look came upon my face as I put a cigarette in my mouth with the hand that wasn't broken, staring into the bright morning sky. I knew they were coming but didn't expect to see the police kneeling next to me by the time I put my head down to relax my sore neck.

"Paul," he said with police lights behind him, "Paul Dorus? That's you, isn't it?"

"I suppose, if you're asking me," I said as I began to nod off.

He held me up and slapped some sense into me. "Hey, don't you go dozing off on me," he yelled, pulling his hat off his grey head of hair as he held a cigarette. I lit it for him as we both stared into the quiet Philadelphia street. "I know you were at Tom Allen's party last night," he said as smoke bellowed from his mouth into the smog-filled air.

"Are you going to take me to jail?"

"Not if you answer me straight… I want to get the full story of that party: when Sam Crates, Al Bades, and the rest of them were at that dinner. I know they had that banquet every month and it was the same shit."

"Then you know the story," I said with a fake half-smirk. "I don't go to parties anymore."

"Is that why you're here and not in the hospital?"

I nodded at my '56 Buick I had parked down the street, damn-near wrapped around a light pole with the door missing. "Shame to let a brand-new car go to waste," he said as his wrinkled face unfolded into a sinister chuckle, "I'll let you off with a parking ticket instead of drunk driving if you talk—from one old man to another."

"When you and I were still young, Tom won the Pulitzer Prize for his Broadway musical he wrote. The day after, he and the cast and crew celebrated in a grand feast."

"So what?" he shrugged, "It was 1926. That was so long ago I forgot the words to the songs. Who told you about this party last night? Was it Sam?"

"No… It was a man from Upper Darby named Andrew Demus," I said, putting out my cigarette on the steps.

Andrew Demus was a short guy from the suburbs who always walked around barefoot no matter where he went. He believed it was good for his blood circulation. Even in a full tux, he never wore so much as a pair of socks over those sweaty hotdog feet. He went because he was obsessed with Sam. If the man weren't married, I would've shipped the two of them, but I'd never paint a good man like that—especially in front of the law. After all, the party was never about drinking and causing a ruckus. It was an experience in our thoughts through how we viewed the world. They don't teach you these kinds of things in school. The teachers never ask, "have you ever just cracked open a drink and thought about things for a minute?" Saying such things around my parents would've made them think I'm a failure, but sometimes I think I'm right even when I'm not. I suppose I put myself down too much, which extends outward to people around me…or so I've been told.

Sam left his house one morning after he had a long hot shower and doused himself in three layers of cologne, something he wouldn't even do if he were going to church, and bumped into Drew, sitting like a bum on his porch. "What broad are you all dressed up for?" he asked.

"I'm going to dinner at Tom's tonight," Sam said as he buttoned up his shirt, walking down the street.

"Without me?" Drew asked.

"I can't bring you. The press is crawling all over that red carpet in front of his house, and I know you're going to be an ass in front of all of them. Supposedly it was worse last night when they were throwing the 'big party,' as Tom says."

"Hold up," he said as he put a cigarette in his mouth and helped Sam adjust his tie, "I know I fucked up last time, but let me make things right. Tom and I go back a long way. Let me at least have closure. I'll do whatever you say."

"Alright," Sam said as he pointed his finger in conjecture, "How does it feel to be an uninvited guest?"

"Like I'm a bad man."

A smile broke on Sam's face. He put his arm around Drew's shoulder as he said, "Good men go uninvited to good men's banquets." As the evening fell, the two men went up the stairs to the front door of the mansion as Sam looked around in confusion. "Where is everyone?" Drew asked.

"I don't know," Sam said, "Probably drunk already."

Drew pulled out a flask from his coat and drank from it as Sam tried to grab it from him. "Hey, put that away before someone sees!"

"Alright," Drew said as he stowed it away, "calm your tits."

Sam grabbed the iron handle and knocked on the door with three loud booms. Nothing was heard. All the commotion had settled into the music by now. He knocked again and the door flew open. Drew tumbled inside, already buzzed from the moonshine.

"What the hell are you doing?" Sam snapped at him.

"We knocked. The door opened," Drew said as he waddled his way inside. Sam reluctantly followed. Finally, a butler, dressed in a fine tux, found them in the foyer and said "Well, you must be here for the banquet."

"Yes," Sam spoke in a startled manner, "My name is Sam Crates. I'm a friend of Mr. Allen."

"Of course," he said with his nose high, "Mr. Allen has been expecting you, and you might be…"

"Drew Demus… I'm also a friend of Tom's."

"Uh huh," the butler said as he rolled his eyes in disgust, "right this way gentlemen, the feast is about to begin."

Instead of a long white table with endless entrees, they walked into what appeared to be a living room fit for a king with marble pillars, a bust of Julius Caesar, African paintings of lions, and three long couches; one with leopard skin, one with zebra skin, and one with lion's skin and a lion's head at the top with Tom sitting in a half-buttoned suit and a large fur hat. He sipped on wine as two young women fanning him fed him grapes. "Sam!" he exclaimed, "What have I told you about bringing uninvited guests?"

Sam looked at him in a frightened manner as he clenched his fists and walked over to him, face to face. He glared at Drew, then back at Sam as his frown suddenly turned into offbeat laughter while he embraced him. "Sam my good boy, you never disappoint!" He looked at Drew and said, "I recognize you from somewhere. Have we met before?"

"Yeah, I'm Drew from the after-party last January."

He looked over at Sam in confusion. "He's the one who jumped off the balcony at 2am," Sam said.

"Oh, right," Tom said, shaking his head, then gathered his composure as he opened a cooler shaped like a globe and pulled a bottle of champagne out, "Sam old buddy, you have just arrived at the right time. We are about to have dinner, and if you have come for any other reason, forget about it. I tried calling you yesterday, but I couldn't reach you. Are things alright at home?"

"Just life as usual," Sam said.

"Don't tell me your wife is bothering you again."

"Of course she isn't."

"Now Sam," Tom said as he poured two glasses of champagne and handed one to him, "What were we talking about last time? There is no way for love to exist if there is tension in the house."

Drew sat down on the lion couch and propped his bare feet up with a drink in hand while the young ladies fanned them and held their noses.

"It would be splendid to have such wisdom as you," Sam said as he sat down on the zebra skinned couch, "If only wisdom was the sort of thing that could flow from a fuller cup to an emptier one, like water. It is a privilege to share your mind and your couch." They tapped their glasses of champagne together as the butler came over and said, "Mr. Allen, Phil Donald came to the door, but wandered onto the neighbor's porch, staring into their window again."

"That's odd. He's already drunk. Bring him in so the celebrations can commence, and does the lovely young lady mind sharing a couch with Ethan so he doesn't get lonely?" Tom asked while smiling at the woman at the end of Drew's couch while she massaged his feet.

"No, leave him," Drew said, "He always does this. Sometimes he wanders off and stands wherever he happens to be. He'll come inside soon and give his speech as soon as he's ready. Don't worry about it."

Tom stared everyone in the eyes and smirked as he said, "Well, if you think that's what we must do… Let's begin!" He clapped his hands and five butlers came around with platters of cheese, ham, and other various meats and breads, which were served on golden platters and placed on a large round marble table in the center of the couches. Wine was handed to us one by one. "Now, as you all know by now, we are going to do dinner in the same manner we have always done it," Tom said as he stood up, took Drew's wine glass and sipped on it while he preached, "Without boring you all to death about things we already know, I think it is important to state that we are not here simply to get drunk for the hell of getting drunk—it's about drawing new ideas from our minds." He put Drew's drink down on the round table and continued his ramble, "In fact, I don't condone drunkenness at all. I think it's foolish and unhealthy. Ethan can speak to this. He's a doctor, for crying out loud."

"I agree with you," Ethan said as he swirled his glass beneath his spectacles, "but I feel like at the moment you have the highest stamina for drinking."

"I haven't the slightest clue what you're talking about," Tom said as he gulped the rest of his glass and sat down on the couch next to Sam.

"It's lucky for us in a way," Ethan said, "I mean, for Andrew, Phil, and the rest of us, that you have the highest tolerance among each of us. We're simply never in the drinking mood the way you are—and I don't count Sam: he can drink whenever he chooses. In my medical opinion, drunkenness is harmful for us as humans. That's why I refrain from drinking in excess and wouldn't advise anyone else to do so—especially if you're suffering a hangover from the previous night."

"If the doctor says so, then I agree," Sam said as he put his drink down for a moment, "I think the rest of us should do so as well." Everyone nodded their heads in agreement.

"Well then," Ethan said as he stood up and lit a pipe while he stoked the fireplace, "Now that it's agreed upon that each of us should drink as much as he wants, without any kind of compulsion, my next proposal is to send the girls away for the night, unless they wish to be part of the discussion."

"Alright fine," Tom said as everyone agreed reluctantly. The woman dropped Drew's feet on the couch and left with the other young women. "She was just getting those tendons going," Drew muttered over to Sam, who then winced at that as he looked at his glass.

"I want to begin by quoting Melanippe of Euripides," Ethan said as he held up a leather-bound book and began to read, "'The poets have hymns and paeans to other gods, but none of them has ever composed a eulogy of Love, though he is such an ancient and important god… It's terrible that people have given serious attention to subjects like that, but nobody to this day has yet the courage to sing the praises that Love deserves.' We stand here over two thousand years later and still don't give praise to love, even if we don't see it as a god."

"None of us will disagree with that," Sam said, "Of any philosophical matter, I feel like love is the only subject I truly understand. I don't think anyone sitting in this room will make a notion against that—not Tom, nor Andrew, or even Eric who sits quietly in the corner every meeting."

"You can't criticize Eric for sitting silently," Ethan said while everyone looked at Eric, sitting on a velvet corner chair with a glass of whiskey in hand in a tattered uniform, "He's deaf in one ear. He lost it in the war." Eric finally turned to the attention and said, "Well take a picture, it'll last longer!"

Drew spit out his drink in hysteria as everyone burst into laughter. The front door suddenly slammed open and Phil came charging in as the butler was knocked to the ground. "Love! Love!" he yelled at the top of his lungs, silencing the commotion, "Love is regarded by man as it is regarded by God as a great and awesome god of its own." Everyone stared in awe as the drunken man continued to drool his words out over his grey beard in a thunderous voice, "The god is held in honor because he is the most ancient. Love has no parents and none are given to him by writers or poets. Before there was the heavens, the earth, or time, love existed. It is the most ancient of the gods, the most honored, and most effective in enabling us to acquire courage and happiness in both death and life."

Phil collapsed backwards onto the floor as the men stood up to help him. "Unbutton his shirt," Tom said as Ethan cut open his blouse and slapped his face to wake him up, "Give him some air!"

"Water!" Ethan said as Eric grabbed a bucket full of ice and water and handed it to him. Ethan poured it onto Phil, waking him up. Phil looked at each man in the eyes as he sat there and said, "Well shit… You all know why I stand outside while you all sit in here. I think by myself for a reason."

"We sit in here to share our thoughts," Sam said.

"I share my thoughts with myself," Phil said as he stood back up and shoved Ethan away, "I'd rather die with every waking idea that pops into my brain then share it with you… or the spy that lurks amongst you!"

"You're mad, old man!" Sam said as he widened his eyes, "the very thought that someone would want to spy on us is preposterous."

"Quite the contrary, Sam," Tom said as he stood up, swirling his glass next to the fireplace, "There is indeed one amongst us who does not belong."

"How do you know this?"

"It came to my attention whenever I typed out the phrase 'Common love is genuinely common and undiscriminating,'" Tom said, "and somehow it ended up published by someone else under a false alias in a local paper."

Everyone stared at each other in shock for a moment until Sam said, "People submit many things to the paper these days. How can you be certain they stole your work and didn't fabricate it on their own?"

"Because the rest was rubbish!" Tom said as he pounded his fist on the round table, "I wrote the rest of it. I wrote that this 'common love' people feel is an attraction to the body, not the mind… An immature love that attracts them to partners of the lesser intelligence, all because their game is to get what they want, and they don't care whether they do so rightly. Righteous love is heavenly!" The men's eyes were glued to him as he pointed his finger into the air and continued like a preacher, "Heavenly love is the older form of love, the love of intelligence, and the love of the soul. That is why so many men who are attracted to the flesh become involved with a woman only to have an affair with the woman they need."

"So, if I am to understand you correctly," Eric chimed in after lighting a cigarette, "You're saying that having an affair is not immoral?"

"A love affair in itself is neither right nor wrong," Tom said, "but right when conducted rightly and wrong when conducted wrongfully."

"The way I see it, the action itself is unjustifiable," Eric said as he leaned into the conversation, "It is the duty of a man to gratify his lover and if he abandons his duty, she has every right to leave him."

"Then you have a speech to make?" Drew asked with a smirk.

"Here is my take on love," Eric said as he stood up, swirling his glass of whiskey, "It's as good as I can manage on the spur of the moment. I feel like love is an object to be had rather than a quality we need. Perhaps he changed your work to be more respectable to the views of modern era."

"Like homosexuality?" Drew blurted out as the room echoed in a chorus of laughter, except Tom, who was unfazed. "Stop laughing!" Tom yelled, "And you sound exactly like the kind of man who would take my work and sell it on the streets of Philadelphia as your own."

"I have done no such thing!" Eric said as he stood face to face with Tom, "I simply can't agree with your point of view. And quite frankly, it sounds like you're simply justifying your side of the quarrel with Al Bades!"

"Al has nothing to do with this! The man is a criminal and a madman. If he had it his way, we'd all be wiped across this tile floor with our own blood."

"Then why don't you ask his opinion on…" Eric stopped as he appeared to choke and fell forward. Ethan hit him on the back until he regained his breath and said, "You're fine young man. It's only the hiccups. Try not to drink so quickly and gargle some water while you hold your breath for a few seconds."

Eric stood back up and sat in his seat. Drew slid a tall glass of water over to him across the table. Ethan adjusted his glasses as the fire glared from his lenses while he looked at Tom, saying, "I think Eric started his speech, but it did not come to the proper conclusion. I'm sure he meant no disrespect to your work or your relationship with Al. We all understand his involvement with you and Dianne."

Tom sat back down on the couch, took his fur hat off, and looked at it as he said, "She is the one who taught me the ways of love."

"Tom," Sam said, "What if someone were to invite her here?"

"You didn't—" Tom said before getting cut off by the front door slamming open and Dianne rushing in, dressed in a red dress, and a rose in her long brown hair. "Hello boys," she said as she grabbed a bottle of wine out of Drew's hand, took a swig from it, and sat down next to Eric with the most elegant grin God could create, "How goes the drinking party tonight?"

"We were just wondering where you were," Sam said to her as he tipped his glass in her direction. "Dianne, aren't you a sight for sore eyes," Eric said as he pulled out a zippo and lit a cigarette for her.

"If you take a picture, it might last longer," she said in a charming way.

"I'm sure you're quite used to that in the modeling business," Eric said, "weren't you on that Coca Cola poster I saw on 32nd street?"

"I think you mistake me for Corrine Griffith," she said as he and Ethan snickered.

Tom leaned into Sam's ear and whispered, "Why didn't you let me know you were going to invite her?"

"I thought you were fine with me inviting guests. I brought Drew, after all."

"But this is different."

"Thomas," she said, breaking up the sidebar, "You have more wrinkles on your face than I remember. It's been so long."

"Love is ugly," Tom said.

"Excuse me?" she asked with a wince.

"The last time we met, you said something along the lines of 'Love is ugly and bad.'"

"Bullshit," she said as she stood up and began to preach like Tom, "Do you think anything that isn't beautiful is ugly by default? Or that anything that isn't wise is ignorant? You, after all these years, still haven't come to the realization that there is something in between ignorance and wisdom."

"And what might that be?"

"It's having the right opinion without being able to give a reason for having it," she said as she knelt beside Tom and put her hand on his arm on the armrest of the couch, "Don't you realize this isn't knowing, because you don't have knowledge unless you can give a reason for it, and yet it's still not ignorance, because ignorance has no relationship with the truth? The right opinion has the status of falling between understanding and ignorance."

The room stared at the two of them in disarray until Tom said, "You're right."

She stood up and walked back to her seat next to Eric with a smile and said, "Then don't think that what isn't beautiful must be ugly, or what isn't good must be bad. In the same way, love is neither good nor beautiful, nor ugly and bad."

"But everyone should agree that love is great," Sam said.

"Everyone who knows what love is, or those who don't?"

"Everyone."

"But Sam," she chuckled, "how can people agree that love is great if they don't know what love is?"

"Who doesn't know what love is?" Sam asked as he sipped on his wine.

"You," she said as she began to point her finger at each of us, "and you, and you and all of you!"

"If you had pointed at me, that would have made us even, Dianne," Tom said as he eased back and swirled his glass of wine.

"And what do you mean by that?"

"It's simple. You decided you're bored of Niel and his stupid paintings, and the minute you got a call with a friendly voice on the other end, you decided to show up here and do what we do best."

"Perhaps she's the spy," Drew said as he stuffed a ham into his mouth.

Everyone paused as she looked around at everyone staring at her like a pack of lions. "What are you talking about?"

"The paper," Tom said, "You read it just like I did. Don't play stupid, love."

"I saw the paper," she said, "I knew that was your work the minute I read the first line."

"Because you stole it!" Drew yelled as the ensemble chimed in.

"I would never steal your work," Dianne said as she stood up and looked around at the angry crowd, "nor anything of yours!"

"I don't think she's the spy," Sam said.

"What makes you say that?" Drew asked with his jaw dropped.

"Why would a woman who knows as much about love as Tom steal his work?" Sam asked as he stood up, "Well, Phil, Tom, and the rest of you, Dianne spoke, and I was convinced… There is no better partner for human nature than love. Every man should hold love in respect, and I myself respect the ways of love and practice them with exceptional care. That's why I urge others to do the same… That's why I don't think any man or woman who understands love in this way would steal words of love to uphold themselves. That is my speech."

"You're in love with her," Tom said.

Sam turned back around and stared at him as he continued, "You've been in love with Dianne this whole time. It's the only reason you decided to come to the party."

"You're insane—"

"It's been your plan all along," Tom said as he grabbed the head of a marble bust of Caesar, pulled the head back, drew a revolver from the neck, and pointed it at Sam. The room flinched in shock and went dead silent as he persisted, "First you don't respond to your invitation to make me wonder about your arrival more, then you invite an unexpected guest, Andrew, to throw me off, then you invite Dianne to break my soul, and it's all because you wanted to get with the girl I never could love as much as you."

Sam suddenly burst out into laughter, causing the whole room to chuckle in fear at the sight of the deranged man. "Put the gun away, Tom," Sam said as he sipped on his wine, "You'll make a fool out of yourself! Save the bullet for someone better."

"Like whom?"

Al Bades rolled onto the front lawn in an Impala, and hit a marble statue, causing his radiator to shoot mist into the air. He pulled his bloody head from the steering wheel, grabbed a bottle of bourbon, and took one final swig from it. "What was that?" Tom asked, startled. In a drunken stumble, Al hopped out of the car, pulled out a Thompson machine gun, racked it, and began sewing the house full of bullets. As bullets flew left and right through the front door and windows, Tom and the other guests ducked for cover under the fire, except for Drew, who got back up and ate some more cheese before ducking down to the floor. "It can't be—" Sam said before Al kicked open the door, and blasted Phil, hiding behind the door, and lit a cigarette with the hot barrel of his gun. "Guess who's back?" Al said as the light shone up on his wicked grin.

"Al," Tom said with his skin pale and full of sweat, "It's so good to see you."

"Will you all let a drunk old friend join your drinking party?" Al asked, "Or should I go ahead and make short work of Tom—which is why I drove all the way out here?"

"Please," Tom said with his hands over his head, "I know things went wrong for us last time. I know how you feel about Dianne and how you sent Sam to spy on my work so you could steal it, and I forgive you. Just please, don't kill me!" Tom fell to his knees before Al.

"Sam isn't the spy," Eric said, "I am."

"What?"

"Al had nothing to do with this. I was hired by the bureau to spy on you and send them samples of your work. They suspected occultic activity, but it turned out to be nothing more than this."

Tom stomped over to Eric and towered over him as he said, "After all we've been through? You were my friend, Eric!"

"Time's up, Tom," Al said as he pointed his gun at him, "It's always the same between you and I, especially when Sam is around, no one else can get so much as a look-in with the attractive women. Now see the truly plausible reason to lie down beside him."

"No!" Tom yelled as Al blew the last breath out of him with a burst of bullets. He fell to the floor as the blood flowed over the black and white marble floor. Al then pointed his gun at Dianne. "Al," she said, shivering in the corner in fright, "if you think this is the way to win me back, you're wrong."

"I know," Al said, "I just needed to see you here one last time." He pulled the trigger and shot her until she was dead. Eric tried to jump in front of her to save her but died just the same as his maimed body fell upon hers.

Al then turned to Sam as he fell to the ground on his knees and said, "Every man faces love and death in the same way. Give me an honorable death," as he bowed his head down. Al put the nozzle of the gun against the back of his skull, squeezed the trigger and blew Sam's brains across the floor along with his knowledge of love. He finally pointed his gun at Drew as blood ran down his snarling face. Just before he pulled the trigger, I walked up behind him with a double-barreled shotgun and blew him to the floor. Smoke simmered from my barrel as his body fell forward.

I pulled out one last cigarette and lit it as Drew looked at me in acknowledgement of the events that just transpired. Police sirens began to ring closer from the distance, so I ran away into the night. I felt like I could use some drinking of my own after the sight of what I just witnessed. Perhaps instead of a drink, all I needed was to go home and rest my head. God may have created love, life, and death equally, but every man faces them in his own way.