Cakes, Money, and Verbal Abuse
Some know of my propensity for having elaborate, cinematic dreams. The truth is, they often start a little fractured, and over time congeal into a more uniform whole. The dream I had last night was not so - I awoke to find this story in my head complete, with no gaps or irregularities. Which is made even stranger by the fact that it appeared to have three chapters. And so here it is.
A dream, in three parts, part one, the first:
The story begins in what appears to be a large, well appointed Victorian sitting room. A number of wealthy-looking middle aged and elderly men and women clad in funereal black sit in velvet-upholstered chairs, rather quietly sipping at tea and coffee. The gathering is split into two distinct groups, one to each end of the room. A door at one end of the room opens, and in comes a silver cart laden with ornate cakes of numerous types and toppings, pushed by their baker himself - a man who looks exactly as you might expect a baker to look, with round cheeks, mustache, chef's hat and apron. He grins, obviously proud to be the caterer of this mysterious occasion.
"Phillip" an elderly woman states, nodding in the baker's direction, "the grand dame's favorite. She never let a day pass without one of his selections." The baker grins and bows slightly towards each clump of the gathered as he recieves the compliment.
A gray haired man leans his head back and sighs, "ah, it is both a tragedy and a relief that she has finally left us."
Flash back to a scene within a similarly large and victorian bedroom. A queen sized four-posted canopied bed lies at the center of the far wall, covered completely in the prodigious (ginormous) corpulence (fattiness) of the just-only-deceased matriarch, a woman in her seventies. Several much smaller individuals stand by her - some are household servants, others can be recognized from the gathering in the sitting room. All stand a certain distance from the bed, shedding tears while holding kerchiefs over their noses. It is obvious that in her moment of release, the grand dame did some releasing of her own; a large wet stain seeps outwards toward the edges of the bed.
"It's a pity about the bedspread" whispers a thin, graying woman.
"Yes, finest silk", whispers the woman beside her.
Flash back to the present - the thin tall woman, who would seem to be the new matriarch of the group is standing in preparation to make an announcement. The others put their plates and cutlery down and face her.
"Many years had the grand dame guided us. The period of prosperity which she fostered testifies to her wisdom, and yet she bore one flaw which held her from true greatness, and that, like so many men and women of great ability, was pride. In her passing we hope to reconcile the feud between our two families, and in her place (as she could not do) I formally concede to wrongdoing on the part of my brethren. We hereby do humbly return to you that which is rightfully yours, and in the hopes of inspiring future cooperation, do sincerely apologize for the strife that our grand dame has caused you over the years."
A smattering of applause is followed by a raising of small glasses of pricy cordials. All seem genuinely pleased by the announcement, and drink in cheer. It is obvious that thorns have been removed from paws. A pudgy, balding attendee frowns as he scans the now nearly empty serving trays for any remaining slices of cake.
At this point my view draws back, through walls, and I see that this setting is not part of a mansion, but instead situated on the penthouse floor of a skyscraper. The bedroom mentioned previously is just a few doors down from the sitting room.
Several floors down, two groups of far younger individuals (also clad in funereal black) conduct a transaction. A large, wheeled pallet laden with bound stacks of currency (cheesy, yes, but this *is* a dream) is moved ceremonially from the hands of one group into the other's. Sincere smiles and handshakes are traded as well. The warmth of the situation is offset by the large number of firearms present in both groups. The recipients of the monetary gift push the pallet into a large freight elevator, bid their farewells, and press the button labelled, "B2".
A dream in three parts, part two:
A sequence of flashbacks from a first person point of view - dozens of snippets of faces of various ages connected to bodies in varied attire - professors, employers, superiors, all glowing and overflowing with praise. "Your performance was stellar as usual." "Good work!" "I can't believe you pulled that off! Thank god you're on our side." "Miss, you are on the fastest of fast tracks to executive status." The faces whiz by, one by one, each bearing exaltation in one form or another.
Cut to the present - a moderately attractive young professional woman sits before her superior who stands on the other side of a stately executive desk in a corner office which just happens to be one floor below the sitting room mentioned earlier. The miss stares resolutely at a pen resting on the surface of the desk. She clenches her teeth and balls her hands into fists upon her lap, attempting to maintain composure. The superior in question is a thin-faced, wrinkled, elderly woman with her hair pulled back as tightly as the corset that gives her the terrifying wasp-like figure she has, and she is currently unleashing much ire upon the young miss. "When I attended Harvard, we would never have allowed admittance to an incompetent, arrogant idiot like yourself! How you managed to gather the laurels you possess is beyond me! With all of the chances I've *so* generously given you, I can now officially declare you a failure! You're filth now! FILTH! You're not fit to clean my lavaratory! You're history! Blackballed! Get out of my sight!"
Flash back yet again to another sequence of first-person views, only this time there is only one face - that of the wasp woman, and what is being said is not praise. Dozens of flashes depicting significant verbal (and occasionally even physical) abuse whiz by.
I return to the present to find the miss standing in the hallway outside the corner office, leaning against the wall and laughing softly to herself. With a flick of her shoulders, she pushes off of the wall and breaks into a sort of cheerful, carefree skip down the hallway. Arriving before an exceptionally ornate pair of brass doors, she pauses for a moment before pressing a button labelled "PH". When the chime sounds, she hops inside and gazes at herself in the polished brass interior as the elevator rises to the penthouse floor.
Arriving at the top floor complex she finds herself in very opulent surroundings. Fine fabrics line the walls and floor. Objects of great value, age, or both lie on ledges, side tables, and other surfaces. A silver cart laden with expensive liquors happens to be right beside her. The miss sizes up the cart and its contents. Considering it fate she mans the cart and, grocery-store-style, she pushes it down the hallway, drinking $1000 scotch from the bottle and placing items which catch her eye on the lower racks of the cart - small gilt-framed portraits, antique articles of silver, yet-older coins in small display cases. Several servants notice her, but assume her brazenness to be an indication of incredible, nigh-unfathomable social importance. "She must be the departed matron's granddaughter", they whisper. "Mad with grief, obviously. Poor thing."
She hums, skips, and occasionally lets go of the cart's handles to twirl and pirouette. At the far end of the hallway she comes to another elevator, its doors open and ready to accept her.
"I've been to the top, let's go to the bottom!" she bubbles, and presses the button labelled "B2".
A dream in three parts, part two-point-five:
In a far corner of the parking garage on B2 of this mysterious skyscraper, several men are loading cash from a pallet into a UPS truck. These are not the young funeral attendees I saw earlier - those men are nowhere to be seen. These men are very organized, professional thieves of some sort, dressed in a variety of uniforms which suggest that they've infiltrated the organization on a number of levels. A man in a UPS driver's uniform stands watch, facing outwards from the corner they occupy. He doesn't seem to be expecting much company - this particular corner of the lot appears to be almost completely unoccupied. As such, it isn't entirely surprising to see the faux-UPS man startled when he hears a hum and a clatter. Turning around, he sees his companions frozen in confusion, unsure of how to react. A young, moderately attractive, fairly drunk woman in professional attire has arrived at the scene of their crime, merrily pushing an ornate silver cart bearing expensive liquors, antiques, a slice or two of cake, a number of odds and ends, and is heading towards their pallet of money. She takes no notice of them. They, eyebrows raised, casting curious glances at one another and furious glances at their ineffective watchman, decline to take action, choosing instead to wait and see what happens. With a prance and a hop, she reaches the mounds of cash. She picks up and examines a bundle before deciding upon a few to toss onto her cart. And off she goes, many thousands of dollars richer, with several confused thieves staring at her back as she vanishes into the depths of the parking garage.
Yes, there is a third part, but I'm still in the process of dredging it out of my memory.