The Party

The Party


We went as far as the car would take us. Halfway down the lane to the mansion the tires rumbled, and the car shuddered. As it glided to a stop, the headlights illuminated a small sign that dangled, lopsided, from the lowest limb of an enormous oak tree. My eyes focused on the one word written in oversized red letters, Hoppengale. The lines above and below it disappeared into the blackness as the engine sputtered and the headlights went dark.
"Damn the luck!" Roger squinted at the dials on the dashboard barely visible in the moonlight. "I can't understand it. We have plenty of gas, the oil gauge says it's fine, and the amp gauge indicates there is no problem with the battery."
"It's an old car." I grabbed my cell and called my sister.
"It's a vintage 1924 Chrysler Six and Mr. Stewart assured me it had been fully restored."
"Crap, not a single bar." I dropped my cell back into my purse. "I feel absolutely ridiculous in this get-up."
"Look, Mr. Stewart was kind enough to invite us to his party. We're already in his driveway. I think we should go ahead and walk the rest of the way."
I stared at my fianc "I'm dressed in this silly 1920s black flapper dress that barely covers my behind. I've jammed my feet into a pair of ridiculous five-inch spike heels. I had my hair done like a flapper and I'm even wearing a peacock feather headband just to please you. I agreed to attend this back to the 20's party because you said we'd arrive in style and have a really good time."
"Come on Ellie, we can still have fun. Mr. Stewart is eccentric and filthy rich. He and my boss are tight. He told Jerry he's tired of the usual crowd. He said Stewart would sell me the car if we came to the party in it. And I got a great deal."
"So you agreed to have me tag along so Mr. Stewart would sell you this heap?"
"Of course not, honey." He smiled at me. "You like parties, and this is going to be great."
"There is no way I'm going to walk more than a mile in these heels in the dark."
"I don't think it's that far."
I exhaled loudly. "I looked it up on the net, Roger. Hoppengale built this estate in 1921 for his new bride. The key word here is, estate. The driveway is nearly two miles long. We couldn't have made it more than half way."
"You looked it up?"
I shrugged. "Yeah, so what? It's kind of tragic, really. Hoppengale's wife died only three months after they moved in. He disappeared, and the estate was sold at auction because he didn't have any relatives. And I still say it's a little creepy that the guy who's throwing this party has the same first name as the guy who built the place? After all, Valentino isn't exactly popular, especially if you're Scottish."
"It's only a coincidence that Mr. Stewart and Hoppengale share first names." Roger put a hand on the lever of his door, pulled up, and opened the door a crack. "What if I walk ahead and you wait here? I'll have someone come back for you."
"Are you completely--"
Lights and a car horn cut me off. A man wearing a tweed coat, vintage racing goggles, and a tartan scarf pulled his yellow Stutz Bear-Cat beside our car. "Can I be of assistance, Mr. Wilson?"
"Oh, Mr. Stewart. We're having car trouble."
"I prefer to be called Val." He chuckled. "I'm in a bit of a hurry, being late for my own affair. And I'm afraid I only have room for one passenger. But, since I sold you the car, I feel responsible." He reached over and unlatched the passenger door. "I can take one of you. I'll send my limo back to pick up the other straightaway."
Roger looked at me. "You go. I'll be there before you know it."
I leaned so close to Roger my breath fogged his glasses. "You actually expect me to climb into that car with a total stranger?"
"Come on Ellie," Roger whispered. "He's our host. He's driving a car that's worth a fortune, he's my boss's best friend, and he knows we're engaged." He kissed me on the cheek. "I'll be there in ten minutes."
For a minute I glared at Mr. Stewart and thought, why does he look so familiar? Then I shoved my door open and climbed out. I snatched my fox stole from the back seat and stalked over to the Stutz. I dropped into the passenger seat, and without looking at him, I said, "Thanks for the help, Mr. Stewart."
"Please, call me Val. And no problem." He waved at Roger. "See you at the party."
Roger waved at me. "See you in a few minutes, Honey."
I scowled.
Val shoved the car in gear and roared off. We were barely out of sight of Roger's car when a fog enveloped us. I shivered and pulled my stole tight around my bare shoulders. A terribly uncomfortable silence hung in the thick air as he drove on. When we stopped in front of his mansion, I gave him a quick, "Thanks." Without looking at him, I said, "I'll wait for my fiancé."
The mansion looked every bit the part of a place lost in the 20s. Gaslights added an air of mystery to the scene. Servants in costume served guests decked out in clothes as reminiscent of the period as mine. I snatched a glass of champagne off a tray and parked myself on a red velvet loveseat near the fireplace.
When I looked above the mantle, my first sip of champagne caught in my throat. An enormous painting of a woman who could have been my identical twin stared down at me. She wore a dress exactly like mine. We even shared the same ice blue eye color.
I was staring at the image when Mr. Stewart took a seat next to me. "You look lovely."
A shiver crawled up my neck. I took a long drink of champagne. "Who is that woman in the painting?"
Before he could answer, a man dressed as a butler approached us. "Mr. Hoppengale, Sir." He bowed slightly. "Mrs." He nodded to me. "Should we announce the meal ma’am?"
My mouth dropped open.
"Certainly, Fredrick." Mr. Stewart waved the man off.
The air became stale--hard to breathe. I wanted to run outside into the cold, crisp night. But his hand on my shoulder stopped me.
"You've made a serious mistake. I'm not here to go along with this sick charade. I don't know how you arranged to have that painting of me made or why you want me to pretend to be Hoppengale's wife." I looked up at the painting. I tried not to but I couldn't help myself. "I'm an engaged woman. Roger's probably--"
"There has been no mistake, Roslan."
"My name's Ellie, and my fiancé will be here any minute."
"I'm afraid he won't. I really am Valentino Hoppengale," he looked into my eyes. "and you are my wife, Roslan."
"You're crazy. Your wife died ninety years ago." I ran my fingers through my short blond hair. "What am I saying? You can't be him. You'd be over a hundred years old." My vision blurred, and my mind swam with strange thoughts.
He caressed my hand. "You did not die. You were stolen away by a fellow sorcerer named John Mathgen. We were friends and in our youth we discovered the secret to bending time."
I tried to close my mind to what he was saying, but something in his voice drew me in. "Please, please, let me go."
His hand tensed. I felt warmth slide up my arm as he continued. "Shortly after you and I met, John fell hopelessly in love with you. Here." He handed me a photograph.
I stared at a picture of what could have been me standing between the man holding my hand and a much taller man with a thin mustache. It can't be me!
I continued to stare at the picture while he went on. "When you rebuffed his advances, John cast a memory charm on you and took you into the future to torture me. I left this estate and traveled the world, and through time, to find you. And now that I have, I've brought you back to the place and time where you belong."
I fought to clear my mind, to get up, and to run out of this place. My lips trembled. I whispered, "You're insane."
"I'll prove what I say is true." He took my hand and replaced my diamond engagement ring with a larger one and a matching wedding band. "You have a wine-colored birthmark two inches below your navel. It's oval and reddens when you bathe."
I gasped as I looked into his dark eyes--the eyes of the man I'd married the year we bought the gleaming yellow Stutz.