Nils Sweeney donned his pop-artist uniform of beret and scarf, and smiled into the mirror. At last his genius was getting attention. He looked forward to meeting his new patron at The Bavarian House. The club was so exclusive no one knew anyone who’d been invited to it. When a swanky man in a bowler hat delivered the invitation, Nils could feel his fortunes changing. At last it seemed, he’d meet a patron who appreciated his genius.
For years he’d languished in obscurity. The painting of a Pepsi can failed to receive accolades. His pure white canvas garnered no praise. Even his eight-year old daughter Samantha, sitting at the table, failed to shower him with adulation. He turned from the mirror to see her writing on her tablet. He presumed she’d invented her own language. The squiggles mixed with numbers looked like finger painting to him. He sighed. It was too bad she hadn’t inherited his intelligence, but at least she claimed his imagination.
He thought it was odd that Samantha was included on the invitation; even stranger, her name was listed first. He presumed the club managers were just being kind. It showed how classy they were. For a moment, he considered leaving her home with a sitter. She would just be bored, of course. Later, he decided it would do her good to see her father receive the deserving acclaim for his brilliance.
They arrived at the edifice of The Bavarian House built in Germanic style. Though the outside appeared large, the interior seemed larger by several orders of magnitude. The Maitre d’ welcomed them with a flourish. “Wonderful to see you, Miss Sweeney!” he gushed to Samantha. Nils just smiled. It was cute that they lavished attention on Samantha, even though it was Nils they wanted to see. Another sign of The Bavarian House’s class.
As they walked across the club, Nils began to recognize people. Idi Amin discussed roasting techniques Julia Child. Gianni Versace debated women’s clothing styles with J. Edgar Hoover. Nils said, “I didn’t realize this was a costume party.”
The Maitre d’ raised an eyebrow. “What costumes?”
“You know. Everyone is dressed as famous people.”
“Dressed as? These are famous people.”
Nils smirked. He looked to where Samantha wandered. She’d joined Albert Einstein in discussing a formula on a blackboard with Sir Isaac Newton. Those squiggles looked familiar to Nils. “But they’re all dead!”
“NOT in The Bavarian House,” sniffed the Maitre d’. “I don’t usually explain this to a famous personage’s escort. This place rests outside time and space. It is a meeting place for the geniuses of history.”
“Wait,” stammered Nils. “Escort?”
Nils watched Samantha erase part of Einstein’s equation. She rewrote it as Einstein stared in shock. “Gott in Himmel!” he exclaimed. “You’ve done it! I could never balance this one. This will make Faster Than Light travel feasible!”
The Maitre d’ clapped Nils on the shoulder. “You must be proud to be the father of a famous person and a genius, yes?”
Andy Warhol’s Coke bottle paintings are worth millions: http://www.npr.org/sections/thetwo-way/2013/11/11/244559034/how-about-a-coke-warhol-painting-up-for-grabs
Kazimir Malevich painted a pure white canvas, “Suprematist Composition: White on White”: http://www.bloombergview.com/articles/2014-11-14/why-pay-15-million-for-a-white-canvas
Idi Amin was thought to be a cannibal: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Idi_Amin#Erratic_behaviour.2C_self-bestowed_titles.2C_and_media_portrayal
J. Edgar Hoover (Director of the FBI) was thought to be a cross-dresser: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/J._Edgar_Hoover#Sexuality
Written for Sunday Photo Fiction. Look here for the original prompt. At the blue link you can find the stories many other folks wrote: