Page 70 of In the Garden of Monsters

Dalí settled back, seemingly still intrigued by the palm reading, and the drive continued without further incident. Lillian winked at me, a triumphant grin on her face.

“Does anyone know what dinner is tonight?” Jack asked, changing the subject. “I can’t believe it’s our last night. I can tell you now, I’ll miss the food.”

“Dinner will be Dalínian!” Gala declared.

“Perfectly so,” Dalí agreed. “Gastronomy is the one subject of which I will never tire, and tonight, you will be delighted bymydelights. You will be exalted by all that is placed before you. Tonight there WILL be snails.” He waved his cane around, whipping it dangerously close to Paolo’s head. “There will be frogs. Baby turkeys! Crayfish! Peacocks! Quail! Siren shoulder! Pierced hearts! Toffee with pine cones and old-champagne sherbet!”

“You’re making my head spin,” Lillian said. “I didn’t even know you could eat some of those things.”

“This will be aDîner de Gala,” the artist cried out. “You will see, my little shoe seller. You will see.”

18

After returning to the palazzo, we retired to our rooms for rest and refreshment. On the way upstairs, Jack regaled us with tales of otherDîners de Galahe had attended—luxurious dinner parties over which Gala always presided as the guest of honor, despite important people in attendance such as Laurence Olivier, Vivien Leigh, Humphrey Bogart, Bob Hope, and Gary Cooper. All of the dinners featured strange food, costumes, and wild staging, as though you were walking into a surrealist movie to dine.

So when Lillian and I returned to our rooms to find costumes we were supposed to wear to dinner, we weren’t completely shocked. I was trying to understand my new getup when Lillian burst into my room, her arms full of shimmery blue-and-gold fabric.

“I’m to be a sea goddess of some sort, I think,” she said, arranging the beautiful dress on the chair so I could view it. It was light and airy blue silk, covered in thousands of little scales that glinted in the light. “It has a train, a crown of netting and shells, and a little trident.”

“Salacia,” I said, the word coming unbidden to my lips.

“It is definitely salacious.” She laughed. “It’s practically see-through.”

I shook my head. “Salacia,” I corrected her. “She was a nymph and the consort of Neptune.”

“Ah,” she said. “Well, she came by her name honestly, I suppose.”

She pointed at the black silk-tulle dress splayed across my bed. It was adorned with a long front panel of intricate black-and-gray beadwork flowers, which fell from the waist to the floor. Three tiny bloodred hearts were embroidered into the lower third of the panel, and a long, elegant black braided rope was attached to the waist.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“Take a guess.” I sighed, examining the drawing that illustrated how the rope should be employed to hold the tulle in place. I was annoyed that the tulle would barely cover my breasts, leaving a wide empty space of flesh between them. Modeling nude made me feel less vulnerable than this dress did.

“The Queen of the Underworld.”

“Righto!” I rolled my eyes. “It’s a gorgeous dress, but I’m so tired of being Proserpina.” I fingered the crown of black flowers with ruby centers meant to accessorize it.

“Don’t worry, Jules. This is just a costume. The rest of it? We’ll find an explanation, I’m sure of it.”

I raised my eyebrow at her. “So far all signs point to one explanation, and it is there in that damned dress.”

“Oh, come on. It’s notthatdire. Do you think if you put on the dress you’ll turn into Proserpina?”

“I suppose not.” I sighed again. “But after today’s earthquake, I’m starting to think the money isn’t worth it. I feel like my life is in danger, Lillian.”

She tried to reason with me. “You’ve been scared, sure, but you haven’t been hurt, have you? You need that money. And more importantly, you need answers. I’m here now, and Paolo is on our side. We’re not going to let you out of our sight.” She paused, then gave me a mischievous grin. “Well, we might slip off for a bit...” She giggled. “We are planning on seeing each other in Rome. Oh, Jules, doesn’t he look a bit like Sinatra?”

“Does he kiss like Sinatra?”

Lillian rolled her eyes at me, but then she gave me a vigorous nod. “He’s so dreamy. But that’s beside the point. We only have one more day. We’ll be looking out for you.”

I knew my friend didn’t want to leave. She was keen to see where things would go with Paolo. And Lillian could be stubborn once she had her mind set. Unless clearer danger presented itself, it would be pointless to try to convince her that we should leave early.

“Hey,” she said, sitting up. “What if I go as Persephone and you go as Salacious Sally?”

“Salacia,” I corrected her. It felt wrong to hear the name twisted into something else. “There is no way Dalí would stand for it. And Gala would have a fit.”

“I don’t like her. She’s been nothing but snotty to me since I arrived. Dalí is an oddball, but you were right about Gala. She really is a bitch.”

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