The Timefolders
A Galactic Dinner Party of Consequence
“And Dr. Bauci will arrive after everyone’s seated.”
“Great Scott! It’s a perfect path back to the future! Keep hope alive, Stephen.”
Doc ran to the door with The Novelist close behind. The Novelist wrote science fiction and fantasy. Although “The Novelist” is what everyone called him, he preferred Stephen.
Their plan, in the making for months, had required an unearthly commitment from them both. This evening marked the zenith of all their hard work. Doc and The Novelist were determined to have Dr. Bauci and JFK meet. Time was running out.
Doc flung open the door and yelled to the Kennedys exiting the DeLorean.
“It worked! Lamb chops and mashed potatoes in your honor Mr. President.”
JFK waved to Doc with a grateful smile and a wink.
In a yell-whisper Doc turned to the room in jubilation. “I can’t believe this is happening!”
“Try to calm down, Doc.” Robert Blue gently intervened, already seated at the table.
Mr. Blue wrote about anthemic themes such as power, influence, and psychology. He had finagled an invitation from The Novelist for once-in-a-life-time historical research for his next book. Mr. Blue, usually quite contained, couldn’t help counseling Doc.
“Just be cool, Doc. Conceal your intentions and try to be a bit more mysterious. Let JFK come to you.”
“You’re right, Robert. I’m acting like a teenager in Shea stadium! Stephen, go help the Kennedys.”
The Novelist walked outside and stood near the DeLorean to assist.
JFK appeared from the driver’s seat. “Gentlemen. I appreciate, very much, your generous invitation to be here tonight. Jackie and I are delighted to be here. What’s on the menu for dessert?”
The Novelist awestruck and tongue-tied, instantly recalled the Grassy Knoll cake Mr. Blue had requested. His argument for the cake: “a provocative icebreaker to get JFK to open up for my next book.”
The Novelist remembered curtly nipping it in the bud. “We’re having Coconut Creme Brulee in honor of the President’s rescue on the Solomon Islands. One doesn’t serve a death scene cake to a Purple Heart recipient and former leader of the free world. Case closed.”
JFK waited in vain for an answer to his dessert inquiry as The Novelist willed his mouth to move.
As if on cue, JFK Jr. exited the DeLorean extending his hand to his lithe wife, Carolyn. A vision of casual elegance, she wore head to toe black and a low ponytail, as if not wanting to be seen. John and Carolyn displaced space even when they were in space which was no small feat.
“Dad is celiac,” John Jr. turned to the novelist, “but any dessert you provide will be greatly appreciated.”
Carolyn approached and warmly kissed The Novelist’s cheek as she produced a Tiffany-colored gift box.
“Thanks for having all of us. It’s a Breguet watch.”
The Novelist who had been sober for years, was moved by the consideration Carolyn put into bringing a watch instead of wine. ‘What a dry sense of humor she has.’ he thought.
John Jr. easily matched Carolyn’s wit: "Since you folded time to get us here, we thought you might wear it later."
The Novelist laughed, utterly transfixed, marveling at JFK Jr. He had forgotten what an impossibly good-looking man he was; the son of a legend who had every opportunity to coast on his good looks and power, yet chose goodness and humility as his guiding principles. Jackie did an outstanding job raising their children.
“Carolyn, John. I thank you. Let’s go dig into that lamb, shall we?”