Page 63 of In the Garden of Monsters

I was worried about that. But before I could express my fears to her, we had reached the salon’s ornate double doors. With a flourish, Dalí pushed them open.

The salon had been rearranged, and rather than the couches and plush chairs that had been there before, individual chairs were positioned in a circle facing each other. Ignazio stood in the center.

“Welcome to the Quintessence Salon,” Ignazio announced, holding out his hands. His eyes met mine for a fleeting moment, and a shiver ran down my spine. “Quintessence, or Aether, is considered the fifth element,” he continued. “It’s the essence that fills the universe and the celestial sphere. It’s the divine breath that gives life to all things. Tonight we gather here to explore our own quintessence, to delve into the mysteries that bind us, both earthly and divine.”

Dalí clapped his hands together, drawing our attention back to him. “To celebrate this celestial gathering, we shall engage in a game—one that will reveal our deepest mysteries and dare us to confront our most hidden desires.”

He paused, looking at each of us in turn before his gaze settled on Ignazio. “I’ve asked Ignazio to participate in this game. His role is crucial, for he will be the arbiter of our choices. Are you up for the challenge?”

Ignazio gave the maestro a single nod. “I accept, Dalí. Come, sit. Let the game begin.”

My breath caught in my throat.

The chairs bore name tags, clearly designed to prevent us from sitting next to familiar comforts. I found myself between Gala and Paolo, while Ignazio occupied the seat directly across from me—a placement that unsettled me more than if he had been right beside me.

Minos appeared and handed Ignazio a black top hat with a red band. I expected our host to put it upon his head, but instead he drew out a slip of paper. “Jack, this question is for you. A truth you must answer.”

Jack grinned. “Fire away.”

Ignazio read from the slip. “If you could replace the moon with any object, what would it be?”

Jack answered immediately. “That’s an easy one. If I could replace the moon, I’d put up a giant baseball. That way, every night would be a ball game, and we’d all be swinging for the fences.”

Gala rolled her eyes. “How very droll, Jack.”

“Quintessentially American,” Dalí exclaimed, not letting his wife bring down the mood. “Next!” He looked at Ignazio.

Ignazio fixed his gaze on Paolo. “Ready?”

The cameraman laughed. “No. But go ahead.”

“You are to compose a poem about the last person you kissed.” Ignazio snapped his fingers and Minos presented Paolo with a notepad and a pencil.

Lillian burst out laughing. “This will be good.”

Paolo took the implements with a sigh. “I fear I am a terrible poet.”

“Even better,” Jack said.

While Paolo composed his poem, six servers appeared with glasses of wine. I noticed Ignazio did not partake.

Finally, Paolo looked up. “It’s in Italian.Mi dispiace.”

“I’ll translate,” I said. I felt bad for him. His face was red with embarrassment.

He handed me the slip, and I read it aloud:

“‘Labbra si incontrano

In un attimo di magia

Il cuore trepida.’”

“A little haiku. And now, the translation.” I couldn’t help but grin when I looked at Lillian. She knew enough Italian to understand the poem and I could see the adoration in her eyes. I would mostly be reading the poem for Jack.

“‘Lips meet

In a moment of magic

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