The Forgotten Secret Exhibit Room

Biology major Rene Penoy, fixed her strap, then placed the photographs on the desk, hearing the phone ring. Picking up the receiver, the feature school newspaper image hunter, welcomed the other voice, telling the curiosity seeker, where she currently provided talented services, obtaining course financial aid credit as compensation.

“Oh, hi, Mr. Gazzetino,” Rene professionally spoke, “you liked the writing that D’Ampezzo submitted and wanted an update. Uh, huh, and how much will you fund for the added research? One-month unlimited pasta, delivered straight to the campus.”

Nearly dropping the communication device connected to a chord, Rene mentioned, “I will tell him.”

Within a second D’Ampezzo emerged, “tell me what?”

“Big time publication wants more on your Cora Tina piece,” Rene reported, “and are willing to pay in pasta.”

“Pasta?”

“Twenty-eight to thirty-one days, free,” Rene handed over the conversation.

“Mr. Gazzetino, such a nice gesture,” D’Ampezzo exclaimed accepting further instructions, “find out, ‘what exhibit is in the secret room?’,” D’Ampezzo repeated, “Sure I can do that, but make sure the wages, provide enough bread sticks.”

Feeling a nudge D’Ampezzo continued, “and garlic rolls.”

When the weekend arrived, Rene and D’Ampezzo decided to embark, travel up to the gothic mansion, goal, ‘discover what mystery plagues the local combative competitive graveyard’.

“Where are we going?” Rene questioned,

“Apparently, last century a major international get together got way out of control and the peaceful athletic event turned into a win at all cost attitude police action, partners dropped one another and bears prowling the area sold discounted picnic baskets.”

Hearing the emergency break release, the luxury coach departed the depot, slowly approaching the only road leaving the valley. Almost instantly, as it endured the twenty-six-mile route, the multiple passenger transit vehicle pulled over, “hope you all enjoy the museum,” the tired driver slurred, letting customers exit, “shuttle back to town, every quarter hour and if you want to experience the got it castle, stay seated.”

“They say Milan who runs the museum was a champion at the doomed sporting spectacle,” D’Ampezzo continued the campfire story, “until the egos and starving for money priorities, ruined the party.”

“Back then everyone was drafted recreational amateurs,” Rene interjected, “and needed to eat.”

“In fact, legend states a plane once crashed at the peak and a surviving footballer digested a deceased left wing,” D’Ampezzo recounted, “it is my understanding, he missed getting a bite before his flight, due to a lover’s quarrel.”

“Do you think that is what is hidden from the public?” Rene pecked away, “a microwave?”

“Possibly,” D’Ampezzo assured, as the bus returned, pounding the pavement.

Unlike completing the course using leg muscles, the excursion ascending the mountain didn’t take that long. Not even the fifteen-minute fame time allotment challenged the result logged by mass transportation technology.

“Here we are,” D’Ampezzo mentioned and Rene collected her tripod.

Being humble, the pair allowed tourist patrons, first exodus opportunities before heading towards the cemetery estate hospitality center. “This is where medalists go to die,” D’Ampezzo whispered.

“Rest,” Rene paused, “Rest in Peace.”

Navigating the cement path, avoiding the cell phone shutterbugs arriving, together the journalism team interacted with the sliding electronic doors. “Wow, ‘open sesame’ is really being played up,” D’Ampezzo noted.

“This place is turning into an amusement park,” Rene complained.

“How can I help you?” Introduced the registration desk, and Rene made a subtle ducking motion. "They think we want a room,” the health care mind warned, assessing the scene.

Entering a small lobby, decorated with cold modern furniture, the canteen displaying diner style plastic Ketchup containers appeared luring anyone craving healthy meals.

“Welcome to Social Central,” a trusting character greeted.

“It's a bar,” Rene demanded.

“Counter,” the employee took out a laminated table setting, then provided menus, “happy hour appetizers available soon.”

“Well,” Rene started, “thank you,”

“Master Norman,” the stranger retreated.

“Master Norman,” D’Ampezzo reinforced, “whatever we order is on the paper.”

“The school,” Rene properly corrected.

Master Norman, returned notepad in hand, “hey my friend,” D’Ampezzo confronted the purpose behind the visit, “do you know anything about the room?”

Quickly halting, Master Norman turned around, “since I am the only one with the key, I give private tours, but you need reservations.”

“Do you have an opening?” Rene inquired.

“If your plates are clean,” Master Norman smirked, finding his datebook, marking the appointment booking.

Following dropping a tip, Master Norman retrieved a glass case behind the cashier and pulled out a golden key, “shall we go?” He alerted the college students.

Escorting the pair towards the elevator, “we no longer need to use the stairs. We have modern cutting-edge advancements at our fingertips,” Master Norman made clear.

“They are turning this place into an amusement park,” Rene again stated.

“Accessible to everyone,” Master Norman pressed the button.

Following all three entering the carriage, Master Norman quizzed the visitors, “up or down?” D’Ampezzo and Rene answered, shrugging their shoulders.

Pressing the lower-level selection, Master Norman clarified the decision, “No one knew what it was,” he explained, “and they wrapped the contraption using elegant carpeting and a basement ballroom. You will see it is still first class,” Master Norman smiled.

Strolling across the corridor, Master Norman led them to the proper location and next to the entrance, catering remains, filled with light finger foods, occupying mobile serving trays requesting attention, plagued the underground adventure, "whatever is in there? Must be hungry,” D'Ampezzo observed.

“Actually, that all comes from a wedding upstairs, kitchen is right there,” Master Norman clarified unlocking the unknown variable, “and here, my friends, the Magnificent Flying Cigarette Machine.”

“A flying cigarette machine?”

“Straight from Europe,” Master Norman started reading notecards explaining the encased invention and painted balloons.

“What is holding it in place?” Rene investigated.

“Powerful wheel stops, grounds the aerial delivery service,” Master Norman discovered, searching the provided information cheat sheet, “it will never move from this spot, and the fortress doesn’t charge parking fees.”

“That's good,” Rene seemed relieved, creating camera skeuomorph effects.

“Complementary parking, very nice,”

“D’Ampezzo,” Rene magically changed film, “that is an artistic statement, and the exhibition doesn’t fly, it sits here sending interpretive opinionated editorials.”

“Flying cigarettes?” D’Ampezzo, “what was the artist message?”

“You're testing our nerves, cigarettes kill, alcohol messes with your mind and,”

“Hate to tell you my young dear,” Master Norman interrupted, “it takes off and the balloon paintings fuel the mission.”

“An example of an original windborne war machine combined with an early biological weapon,” Rene noted, “simply fascinating.”

“Yes, I guess the artist, thought about what happens if you drop the ‘C’ word bomb.”

“Once again,” Master Norman spoke up, “this is not a piece of art, it's captured prisoner trapped.”

Laughing Rene and D’Ampezzo collected their gear, “thank you Master Norman.”

“Learn children, learn,” Master Norman suggested watching the academics take the staircase.

Commuting through the lobby, the professional couple passed the dining area, presenting a big sign announcing, “Kitchen Closed, Bar Open” and both responded quietly, “the library awaits.”