In Loving Memory of Robert A. George and Donald R. George

Serendipity grinned. “I like that, kid. You are good with names. Wish
you’d been around when dear old Dad christened me.”
“Your name really is Serendipity?”
“Yeah, Dad said with an ordinary last name like Brown, I needed an
extraordinary first name. Problem is it’s such a mouthful; everyone gives
me a nickname. For some reason, they always come up with ‘Dippy.’ I
really hate that. Oh, well.” She shrugged and shot him an effervescent
grin. “Come on. I know the perfect dish for dinner. I’ll have Robbie make
you a twentieth-century delicacy.”
Sherman sat at the dining room table across from Serendipity. He studied
the room. The table had chrome legs with a red Formica top. Linoleum, in
a nondescript design of grey and blue swirls, covered the floor. On the
faux-wood-paneled walls hung several framed prints. A couple were
Norman Rockwell paintings: a family sitting at a Thanksgiving dinner,
and a little girl with her mouth wide, revealing her missing a tooth. Three
others were black light posters from the early seventies in bright shades of
chartreuse, hot pink, orange, yellow and cyan on black.
“What do you think of my decor?” Serendipity gazed about with a
proud smile.
“You know I expected to see something more futuristic. This all looks
pretty normal.”
“Why thank you. I’ve done my whole house in twentieth century.”
Sherman was no expert on interior design, but he was pretty sure the
twentieth century would not want to be remembered this way. “It looks
like second-hand stuff from a garage sale.”
“These are all priceless antiques from the twentieth century!”
“Melmac?” Sherman looked down at his plate. “I got Melmac at home.
Picked it up at Goodwill.” Sherman didn’t mention his were in better
shape. The pattern on Serendipity’s dishes had been nearly worn off.
“Yes, aren’t they great? I had a hard time finding them. They really set
off my Coca Cola glasses, don’t you think? And how about this
silverware? That’s real Allegheny Stainless Steel Flatware. Actually, a lot
of this stuff, like the table, are replicas I had commissioned. Cost a
fortune.”
“Are you a millionaire?” Sherman knew that was a stupid question.
The house was huge.
“Multi-Trillionaire. I’m not sure if a million a year will make you even
middle class these days. How’s your tuna casserole?”
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