Bubba looked at the two paint cans and remarked, “They are not the same! I could have sworn they were the same color, but they are not!” He sat down in his chair and lit his pipe. He turned and looked at the Reader. “Did you ever make a decision based upon absolute certainty only to find out later it was the wrong decision? Here’s a story about a similar uncertainty.”

Twelve men and women with different hearts and minds gathered for a great dinner. Twelve different personalities were formed from twelve different backgrounds and now met in one location for a special night. Twelve different people with a common enemy. Time … and with the clock is ticking. 

Five couples and two singles gathered in their finest for a celebratory feast at the home of millionaire financier Ed Wilson and his fashion queen wife CeeCee. Ed Wilson called the estate “our retreat from the world’s insanity” but CeeCee Wilson called it “an upholstered, flowery prison”. Friends used terms like a conclave, fortress, zoo, and even a resort. They used those terms when the Wilsons were not around; otherwise, they used their words carefully and appreciated any invitation to the Wilson’s home.

Chou Lu the King of Crypto and his incredibly beautiful wife Anna sat by the massive fireplace, sipping 100-year-old brandy, and talking with retired Admiral Hubert Dobbs, formerly of His Majesty’s Royal Navy.

Chou softly asked, “When did you first find out?”

“I overheard part of a conversation between Secretary of Science Hubert Cornwall and Foreign Secretary Bernard Denham,” Dobbs answered. He looked around to see who might be listening to their conversation before he continued. “That was about 18 months ago. But I wasn’t officially debriefed until five months ago by Energy Secretary Michelle Brockhouse. I was stunned. I thought it was a mistake!”

“Maybe they didn’t know for certain,” Anna said with a fake smile on her face.

Chou nodded his head and smiled as he softly asked, “But when did they finally figure it out? Why didn’t they tell us sooner?”

“My friends, what good would that have done?” Dobbs rhetorically wondered aloud.

A 1952 Bentley Mark VII skidded to a stop on the gravel drive beside the main house.  “We’re late,” Carson Frieze said as he helped his wife Tia out of the car.

“We are only fashionably late. Besides, what difference will it make?” she replied as she smoothed out an extraordinarily expensive gown … a gown she did not plan to pay for. “Oh, I see Marta and Barry on the patio. I’m thirsty! Let’s join them!”

“Let’s first go in the front door and say hello to our hosts,” Carson ordered more than requested. He grabbed Tia by the elbow, half directing her and half dragging her to walk in the front door.

“But I’m thirsty,” Tia protested as Carson opened the massive front door and pulled Tia inside. “Put a smile on your Botox face or else,” Carson mumbled.

Ed Wilson was playing bartender as his wife was delivering martinis and champagne flutes to the Scotts and the Bakers. Ed looked at the new guests coming from the front door and yelled, “Tia, what are you drinking? Carson, a beer?”

“I would love a Sazerac,” Tia quickly responded without caring what Carson wanted. She watched Wilson mix rye whiskey, absinthe, and a single sugar cube in an old-fashioned glass. She loved how the sweet and spicy tastes did not overpower each other. “Ed, you could have been a bartender instead of a financial genius. I love watching you make drinks,” Tia said with mock interest.

“Ah, my dear, but in another life, I was a bartender in a Tombstone saloon,” he said as he winked at his former love interest. As Ed delicately balanced a lemon twist on the rim of Tia’s glass, he turned and asked, “Carson? Name your poison.”

“Mexican Boilermaker, please,” Carson said as he stared a hole through Tia’s face. “That’s a glass of tequila with a shot of beer dropped in.”

“Yeah, I know what it is. But I question your choice of one this night,” Ed said softly.

“Nope. That’s what I want … tonight more than ever.” Carson took a big gulp, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and commented, “Where’s James, your butler? His cheery face did not greet us at the front door.”

“I gave him the week off.”

“Oh, that’s mighty considerate of you with the peasants,” Carson replied.

Before Ed could protest, Jon and Amanda Scott burst through the open front door. Jon was dressed in a white western suit with red trim on the pockets and collar. His red dress shirt and boots were accentuated by a bolo tie with a red sapphire. He took off his white Stetson hat and yelled, “YEE-HAW! Howdy to all!”

Amanda wore a red gown slit to mid-thigh with white boots. She shook her head as she wiggled by Jon and said, “The Lone Ranger you ain’t. And the only time you ever saw a white horse was at the Stockyards in Fort Worth.”

“Well, Podnuh, belly up to this here bar!” Ed said. “Whatcha gonna have? Sarsaparilla? Rattlesnake whiskey?”

“Whiskey for me, a peach daiquiri for the little lady, and a beer for my horse,” Jon announced as he slammed a silver dollar down on the teakwood bar.

“He’ll have a club soda, Ed. His doctor said any alcohol could kill him,” Amanda said. “I’ll have one also, please.”

Jon ignored his wife and smiled at a silver-haired beauty as she strode to the bar. “And what can this bartender make for you, little lady?”

“Asbach Uralt, bitte,” she replied quietly with downcast eyes.

“And may I have your name, my dear?” Jon asked.

“No, get your own,” was the quick response as she took the glass and walked to gaze out the giant windows at an otherwise extraordinary evening.

“Jon, I’ll tell you true,” Ed explained as he found the dusty bottle of German brandy on the back of a shelf. “That is Cherish Timmons, heiress to the Traborg-Brennereien AG conglomerate. And she is way, way, way out of your league.”

“And if there is any doubt,” Amanda added rapidly, “I can borrow a butcher knife from Ed and CeeCee’s kitchen and give a short course on the subject … if you get my drift.”

Barry Reid strolled in from the patio with authority, a sullen Marta trailing dutifully behind. Barry wrapped a Cashmere shawl around Marta’s shoulders as he yelled at Ed Wilson, “Are we going to eat tonight or die of starvation?” The huge, vaulted room went silent. In a softer voice, Barry said, “Sorry. That was a poor choice of words.” He tried to make light of the situation by asking, “Will we eat soon, or should I phone out for some pizzas?” There was a little forced laughter this time.

Henri Dumont, the Wilsons’ personal chef announced at 10:30 p.m., “Mesdames et Messieurs, dinner is served. Bon Appétit!”

All found their proper seats identified on individual place cards that sat on a tiny box. Each delicately wrapped tiny box had a note instructing the guest not to open the gift until 1:15 a.m. Spouses were seated across the table from each other. Cherish Timmons and Admiral Hubert Dobbs also sat across from each other but shared little conversation. The mood around the table was gay and light, matching the conversation … at least for the moment.

Admiral Hubert Dobbs sat with his head down, staring at his cell phone. Ed Wilson leaned over and whispered, “Any news?”

Dobbs sat up as he replied, “Ah, no, Mr. Wilson. I was looking at pictures my daughter sent today of her two children. Elizabeth is fourteen and a promising pianist. Arthur is ten and talks from morning until night about football – or soccer as you Yanks call it.” Ed smiled and left Dobbs in his own world of family pictures and memories.

Henri and his sous-chef Christina served the five courses of the extraordinary dinner. They were never informed of what was to happen that night, but rather to take care of the dining room the next day. They served and then departed.

Spinach and artichoke morsels in a whipped mushroom salad were served first, followed by a steaming cup of French onion and jalapeno soup. A red, white, and blueberry wine spritzer was served to cleanse the palate. Seared scallops and baby spinach with a pineapple and pomegranate glaze, followed by Beef Wellington topped with a goose pâté. Flaming Bananas Foster were served for dessert to the applause of everyone, except Marta who had not said a word during a dinner she picked at with her fork.

When everyone’s hunger was sated (save for Marta), Ed stood and loudly cleared his throat to get the attention of all the guests. “I propose a toast,” Ed announced as he raised his glass of Prats and Symington’s Prazo de Roriz red wine. “Here’s to a wonderful group of friends. I love every one of you. Here’s to our past together.”

“You don’t want to raise a toast to our future?” Marta Reid yelled loud enough for all to hear. She shoved her chair back and threw her plate to the floor. “Well, don’t you?” she cried as tears flowed down her face.

Silence. No one said anything; no one moved except to stare at Marta. CeeCee Wilson slowly slid her chair back and stood. “Please excuse Marta and me,” she calmly explained. “We will return in a few moments,” she added as she put her arm around Marta and led her away. 

“I … am … sorry,” Marta blubbered through tears and sniffles. 

“My Dear, we all feel the same way, but you dared to say it aloud,” said CeeCee as they walked into the library. “May I get you something to drink? Water? Hot tea? Brandy?”

“You have always been so kind and gracious to me,” Matra confessed. “I have been an outsider to this group, but you’ve never treated me differently. Thank you, CeeCee.”

Jon Scott simply could not take his eyes off Cherish Timmons during dinner, which meant he paid little attention to his wife Amanda across the table. Amanda’s blood began to boil. He will get what he has coming. It will be a just dessert, she thought as an evil grin spread across her face.

Marta and CeeCee returned to the dining room with freshened faces. “I apologize to everyone for my outburst,” Marta said. “The pressure tonight has gotten to me.”

“It took a big person to say that, Marta. Remember, you are with friends,” Ed said. “May I get both of you a fresh drink?”

Tia Frieze had dressed to capture the eyes of every man at the table. When she caught their stare, her look returned that certain look a woman on the prowl always seemed to have. Tia knew tonight would be her last opportunity to generate that animal magnetism, so she wanted to go out on top one last time. Her husband Carson on the other hand, had boasted of their open marriage but lately felt deep regret and insecurity. He sensed a hole in his heart – a hole that now will never be filled.

Chou Lu and his wife Anna sat silently in their world. They ignored the table conversations and quietly toasted each other. The world considered Chou Lu to be a ruthless, money-hungry, power-driven visionary. His secret was that he was a compassionate, caring man in private who had funded water wells in Africa and food distribution in Asia. Behind her back, people called Anna a ‘trophy wife’ but that was certainly not the case. Despite the thirty-year difference in their ages, she loved him deeply. Their love prepared them for what was coming, and they were at peace.

Cherish Timmons the heiress was not who she seemed either. Tutors, life coaches, bodyguards, and too many special assistants to count controlled what she thought, what she said, what she did, and when she did it. She was a woman trapped in the family business with no way out. “This night is my ticket to freedom,” she said to herself. “But that ticket will be very expensive.”

The clock on the mantle echoed the old grandfather clock in the den as they both chimed out at 1:15 a.m. Silence filled the room as Ed Wilson rose again and personally filled everyone’s champagne glass. “It is time, my friends,” he announced as he took a pill from the little box by his place setting. Everyone unwrapped their tiny box and retrieved their own tiny pill. “I offer this final champagne toast to one and all. Here is to a better future.” Every person took their pill and emptied their champagne glass.

At 1:24 a.m. the poisoned pill took effect and twelve people writhed on the floor until they were dead. The national list of suicides that night included the rich, the famous, the infamous, and the quickly forgotten unknowns.

At 1:39 a.m. every TV channel and radio station was reporting breaking news of a miracle on an uninformed populace. An asteroid’s trajectory shifted enough to miss the planet. Earth was saved; disaster had been averted.

The evening news broadcast had a segment from the palatial home of Ed and CeeCee Wilson. The reporter shoved a microphone in the face of Henri Dumont, the Wilsons’ personal chef, and asked, “What did you discover this morning?”

“I prepared the dinner for twelve people, but Mr. Wilson dismissed Christina and me when we finished serving dinner. He told me not to worry about cleaning up until this morning. I am just their chef.” I also help him cook the books, he said in his head, but no one will ever find that out.

“And what did you find this morning?” the reporter pressed.

“Dead! Mon Dieu! They were all dead!” Henri blurted out as he rushed away.

The reporter stopped a detective and shoved the microphone in his direction. “Can you tell us what happened?”

“It’s too soon to determine what happened. It might have been a mass murder or maybe a mass suicide. Whatever the cause, it occurred at the dinner table where everyone fell. That’s more than I should have said,” concluded the detective as he walked away.

The reporter looked into the camera and said, “This will continue to be an unfolding story in progress with many new questions. Why were most people on the planet not informed? Were government officials trying to minimize panic? How did some people learn about the asteroid, but most did not? But right now, I will return you to the studio for more on the story of the century. How did a large asteroid miss Earth? I believe Dr. Zenoskov from the university is in the studio and perhaps can explain what happened.”