flashquake Fiction - The Dolphin by Diane Dees Tobiason

A flashquake Honorable Mention for Fiction goes to:

The Dolphin
by Diane Dees Tobiason

Robert knows he has never been in this house before, yet he knows where all of the rooms are, and even where the liquor is stored and the matches are kept.

"I'm sorry," his host says to him, "but I don't remember whether you're on staff with my wife or if you're married to someone on staff."

"I'm her boss," Robert tells the embarrassed man. "I'm Robert Steadman."

"Ah, Steadman, of course. Please forgive me. Busy lately and I'm getting things mixed up."

It is a lie, of course. Janine's husband has no earthly idea who her boss is, what she does at work or where her building is located.

What is it about this house? Robert goes out the patio door to the back yard, and in the light of the moon and the patio spotlights, he sees a sundial shaped like a dolphin. He feels a sudden heaving in his chest.

The dolphin. It must have been a year ago. He was drunk, and the moon was full, and there was a bottle of champagne and a freshly rolled joint. From somewhere at the other end of the house he could hear a David Bowie song. The boyish-looking man was well off, he knew. He was good for one night, and the business end of him functioned much better than his brain.

"Call me Joey," he said to Robert, as they lay in the moonlight, woozy victims of body dope and slow sex.

Robert now goes back into the house to think. What had Janine's invitation said? "Mr. and Mrs. M. Joseph Selig invite you for cocktails."

"Janine," he calls to her, "how long have you lived here?"

"Just a year, Robert, since I married Joe. Go out back and see the dolphin — it's worth the trip."

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