Short Stories

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Wandered through the double doors into a lovely garden filled with a variety of flowers in variegated colors strewn around. Their fragrance was intoxicating to one'’ nose as I continued along the slate walk. One because aware of music being played softly bidding one to come with its haunting refrain. Candles were lit everywhere along the pathway, being drawn by the music once again, noticed over the archway an engraved sign, written in gold lettering embossed with gorgeous roses. The roses were so realistic one would think they wee some of the same flowers found in the entranceway of the garden.

The House of Dupree, it read. Not knowing if it was someone’s home, a fine restaurant, or a high-end lounge, it was the aroma of the finest food being served that invited me into the room. It’s only light were elaborate stands placed around the room filled with scented candles. There were small group settings of tables, with centerpieces filled with fresh flowers; flowing linen tablecloths clear to the floor. Finest paintings were on the walls, which could not be fully appreciated because of the soft lighting. Brocaded ivory drapes hung from the ceiling to the floor, creating an atmosphere of seclusion so their guests could have a more intimate conversation.

Hearing a voice behind me saying “May I help you, Mademoiselle?
Do you have a reservation, the gentleman said?”

“No Sir, I just sauntered through the double doors.” Feeling rather foolish, does one need to call ahead for a reservation?”

“If Mademoiselle wishes, we can accommodate her, step this way please,” he continued to walk ahead of me. “A table for one, Mademoiselle, I will bring you a menu, perhaps a glass of wine while you wait?”

“Yes, Sir, white please,” was my timid response. Waiting for the waiter to return, she thought, my goodness how did I find this place surely never been here before, must be very expensive.


As my eyes became accustomed to the lighting in the room, noticed a nine-foot baby grand piano off to the side. Not being able to distinguish the young man’s face that was playing the divine music, just relaxed in the ambiance his music created. Everyone so enjoyed his music that the room was still without the chatter of conversation.

The waiter was standing at my side with the menu, “Your glass of white wine, Mademoiselle.”

“Who is the young artist at the piano?”

“They call him Maestro, Mademoiselle, a boy prodigy at the age of six. Maestro still concretizes often plays here for his Uncle Claude is the owner of the House of Dupree. Sometimes Maestro will play a requested number. Would you like me to ask him, if you have a favorite melody you wish to her?”

“My passion is the Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini. It is quite difficult and perhaps a presumption on my part to ask at such short notice.”

“If Mademoiselle will write down the name of the music for me, he replied, offering a pen, I will ask. Would you care to order now?”

“I need a few moments, please.” The waiter took my request with him walking toward the Maestro. Seeing the Maestro nod his head he began to play. His passion rose with mine as the crescendos rose like waves upon the shore crashing upon the rocks, wave upon wave, ebbing into the stillness of the night.

His interpretation of the Rhapsody, intoxicated me, lost in the overpowering fragrance of the roses, lost transcending through time and space into a world of our own.

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