Leonard met Simon at a funeral.
Not their funeral — though by dessert, it might as well have been.

Simon had been leaning against the coffin like it was a cocktail bar, swirling his wine in the cheap plastic cup. “You’re the only other one here who didn’t cry,” he said. “We should be friends. Or co-conspirators.”

Leonard, still holding a stale egg salad sandwich, shrugged. “I’m not good with feelings.”
“Perfect,” Simon said, “neither am I.”

Two weeks later, they were running a supper club for terminally ill millionaires. Invitation-only. Guests paid upfront, knowing the main course could be their last. Simon handled the cocktails. Leonard did the cooking. The police never came because, technically, it was all voluntary. And the food was amazing.

It started as a joke over gin martinis: If you’re going to go, why not go with foie gras and a crème brûlée so good you slap God on the way out?

By the fifth dinner, they had regulars. Gerald, who liked his duck rare and his morphine neat. Beverly, who always wore pearls and tipped in diamonds. Each evening ended the same way — soft music, a final toast, and Simon leaning in to whisper, “You were a delight, darling,” before administering the parting gift.

Leonard told himself they were doing a public service. The obituaries all said peacefully, surrounded by friends. And weren’t they?

But there were cracks. Simon had started dressing in all black, like a stage magician. Leonard caught him laughing too long at nothing. And one night, over candlelight and roast lamb, Simon said, “You know, love, one day we should do this for each other.”

Leonard smiled, but he didn’t sleep that night. Or the next. The next supper was booked for a Tuesday.

When Simon took the first bite, he complimented the seasoning. Leonard poured the wine and said, “It’s a new recipe. Thought you’d appreciate it.”
“Mm,” Simon said. “What’s in it?”
“Something local,” Leonard replied.

They stared at each other over the flickering candles.
Simon’s smile widened. “Oh, darling. You shouldn’t have.”
“I really should,” Leonard said.

When Simon drained the last of his wine, his head lolled back like a marionette with cut strings.

“Was it the lamb?” he asked weakly.
“It was the lamb,” Leonard said, his tone almost affectionate. “And the wine. You always said a proper pairing matters.”

Simon chuckled, slow and wet in his throat. “You’ve…got the touch.”

Leonard stood, circling the table like a vulture deciding where to begin. “I thought about waiting until you weren’t expecting it. But then I realized—what fun would that be?”

Simon’s eyes glazed, but a thin smile curled his lips. “If you’d served me dessert first, I’d have been suspicious.”

“Oh, there’s dessert,” Leonard said. “But you’re not eating it.”

From the sideboard, he produced a pale porcelain dish, covered in silver foil. When he peeled it back, the scent of cold sweetness filled the room. On the plate was a heart, glossy with a ruby glaze.

Simon blinked slowly. “You didn’t.”
“I told you,” Leonard said, almost gently, “local ingredients.”

As Simon’s breathing slowed to a whistle, Leonard dipped a spoon into the heart, savoring the taste. “Mm,” he murmured. “Still warm.”

Simon gave one last, rattling laugh. “You win, darling.”

“I always do,” Leonard whispered, and kept eating until the candles guttered out.

***

Two Weeks Later

The black ribbon on the door had been Leonard’s idea. A tasteful touch, a sign of mourning. It wasn’t for Simon — not really. It was for them. The guests. The business. The show must go on.

In the dining room, the long mahogany table gleamed, candles set in pairs, silver polished until it could blind a priest. At the head of the table sat an empty chair with a martini glass in front of it.

“Simon always loved a martini,” Leonard told the guests as they sipped champagne. “We like to keep him present.”

What he didn’t say was that Simon was present — in the little silver shakers, ground to a fine pink salt that gave the roasted quail a certain…je ne sais quoi.

The guests loved the new “signature seasoning.” Beverly, draped in her usual pearls, patted his hand and whispered, “You’ve outdone yourself. There’s something in this that’s almost…familiar.”

Leonard smiled. “It’s all in the heart.”

By dessert — cherry clafoutis with cream — the room was filled with the quiet, grateful sighs of those ready to meet their end. The parting gift went smoothly, as always. They died smiling, just like Simon had.

Later, Leonard sat alone at the table, swirling the dregs of Simon’s martini. The candlelight caught the silver shaker on the sideboard. He topped off his glass, salted the rim with a pinch of his “local ingredient,” and raised it to the empty chair.

“Cheers, love,” he said. “You taste divine.”

***

Obituary

Simon Everett Bellamy, 48

Simon Everett Bellamy, noted bon vivant, raconteur, and self-proclaimed “consulting hedonist,” passed away unexpectedly on the evening of September 14th, leaving behind a legacy of laughter, impeccable style, and an extensive martini glass collection.

Born in Brighton, Simon traveled widely, living everywhere from Barcelona to New Orleans, always in pursuit of “good company, good gin, and good exits.” Friends recall his talent for storytelling, his wicked sense of humor, and his penchant for arriving fashionably late and leaving suspiciously early.

Simon was a founding partner of the exclusive Last Supper Club, a private dining society whose motto — Come hungry, leave satisfied — will forever be associated with his name.

He is survived by his business partner, Leonard Ashcroft, who described Simon as “a man of rare taste, rich spirit, and just the right amount of salt.”

A private memorial dinner will be held in Simon’s honor. Guests are invited to wear black, raise a glass, and savor each bite. As Simon himself often said: If you’re going out, go well-fed.

*****

And, you know I mustn’t neglect the obligatory shameless self-promotion. New Yesterdays is available through the following links: Books-A-Million, Barnes & Noble, and Amazon as well as your favorite bookshops. The Audiobook is available from Libro.fm, as well as Amazon.