opened each one, filled in the blank places for "Yes,
we will be happy to attend," and then mailed those in
the provided envelopes back to Bart. You see, I found
them in Bart's office. I never saw such a strange
assortment of crooked handwriting, all in various
shades of blue, violet, green, black and brown ink.
Joel, you changed pens to make it seem those cards
were signed by different guests, when it was you who
signed them all!"
Slowly Joel stood. He gathered about him the
handwoven invisible brown habit of a saintly monk,
thrusting his gnarled hands up those imaginary
sleeves. "I think you have lost your mind, woman," he
said coldly. "If you wish, go to your son and tell him
your barbaric suspicions, and see if he believes you." Jumping up, I headed for the door. "I intend to
do just that!' I slammed the door hard behind me and
hurried off.
In his study Bart was seated behind his desk,
now wearing pajamas covered by a black woolen robe
piped in red. Drunkenly he was tossing the R.S.V.P.
cards one by one into the roaring fire. I saw to my
dismay the last of the pile go up in flames as I
watched Bart pour another drink.
"What do you want?" he asked in a slurred way,
narrowing his eyes and seeming surprised to see me. "Bart, I've got to say this, and you have to
listen. I don't think Joel mailed your invitations, and
that is why your guests didn't show up."
He tried to focus his eyes and his intellect,
which must have reeled under the influence of all he'd
drunk. "Of course he did. Joel always does as I order."