HIGH SOCIETY LOSES ALTITUDE KIM FREDERICK HELLER III Roberta, George, Paul, and Margaret all find themselves at the same dinner party on a lonely Friday evening surrounded by everyone who is anyone in the city. Their ties are neat, their dresses fine, their shoes polished, their hair spectacular. A live band plays jazz music that hasn’t been groundbreaking in many decades. The function is being held at a mutual friend’s unreasonably large home and the four partygoers make droning small talk in a corner about other mutual friends and each other. The atmosphere is that of all gatherings of highprofile individuals—a feeling that the whole charade may explode at any second if any one person has the stupidity or madness to slip up—but since no one like that was invited, the potential energy remains just that. Roberta, George, Paul, and Margaret love to talk about nothing because to talk about something would mean to risk a shortening of their social stature. They are talking about nothing when they notice the queer, silent gentleman standing
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near the band with a sandwich halfway in his mouth. “Who is that?” Roberta’s upper lip curls unattractively. Her eyes betray nothing more than disgust, but her mind lights up at the thought of verbal sadistic humor. “Steven Lefkowitz,” answers Paul with characteristic eye-narrowing and brow-furrowing. “The most pitiful millionaire in existence. Made his fortune in computer hardware.” George’s fat face lights up with a derisive grin. “I heard he nearly went bankrupt buying non-profit zoos. Zoos! Can you believe that? Weirdo loves his animals.” The others shake their heads, grimacing as though the business of zoos physically pains them to think about. “Wonder who invited him?” Margaret, who happens to be Paul’s wife, sips her cocktail with all the finesse of an alcoholic. Paul is planning on divorcing Margaret, and silently praises himself every night for making her sign a prenuptial agreement. The four continue to stare at
