Date Night

“Sir? Is there a problem with the wine?”

I peered up at the curious face of the sommelier, who had been staring at me for a few seconds now. He was a broad-shouldered but stout man who spoke with a thick foreign accent, one I could not identify. He was looking at me with a serious expression that I could not place. I sensed that there was some procedure that I was not aware of and which he was, with great effort and delicacy, trying to guide me toward.

I shifted my glance to my date sitting across from me. She smiled at me with a closed mouth, but her eyebrows moved upward as if to say, “Well?” The anticipation in her gaze brought me back to the task.

I looked back at the sommelier and picked up the glass, raised it to my nose and took a long inhale. I glanced mid-inhale at the sommelier, who now seemed quite taken aback by this action.

Too long!

I immediately moved the glass down from my nose. I had completely forgotten if he had asked me a question while pouring it, and the sommelier’s description when he had brought it out made little sense to me. So, with nothing to say, I flashed a coy smile back at my date and took a sharp, loud slurp of the wine.

“Hmm… wow… how unexpected!”

I choked back a cough immediately, almost spitting out the small sip I had taken.

I looked back at the sommelier, who now carried a hardly perceptible grin and very wide eyes. Was he onto me? Was this wine, indeed, not very interesting at all?

Damn! What a wretched situation this was.

My rented suit was starting to feel very tight around the collar. I cursed myself for letting my lies get me into these messes. Was high society really so attractive to these women?

I held the glass up to my eye and swirled the wine, catching the distorted face of my date across from me. Quickly, I moved it back down, realizing that I should have done this before taking a sip. I dared not look at her directly and have my expression expose how stupid I felt.

The wine itself was horrid. It was thick and very dark, almost black, and tasted of nothing I had ever tasted before. I immediately wanted to wash the lingering aftertaste with water, but dared not look foolish.

“Unexpected, sir? Please, go on.”

The grin on the sommelier’s face was becoming more perceivable. The bastard! He was trying to expose me!

I wouldn’t allow some snobby, presumably French villain to embarrass me in front of this beautiful woman. I just had to bullshit for a moment, just bob for the right apple, and hope it’s not rotten.

“Very earthy, almost a… manure taste.”

I said this while looking very closely at the glass, then shot a look back at him, wide-eyed myself now. His grin was gone and replaced with what could only be described as suspicion, and possibly shock.

HAH! I’ve hit the nail on the head.

Now you see how I’ve come to be in the company of this beautiful creature across from me. With wit! I’m a chameleon; there’s nothing I can’t adapt to.

“Manure, sir?”

“Yes, and I would say it sort of… crawls down the throat.” I coughed again.

I was talking shit now, and he knew it. But my date, luckily not very familiar with wine at all, was, to my perception, looking very impressed indeed. I knew his professionalism would not allow him to outwardly disagree with me, and so presumably he was confined to listen and agree with this charade.

The sommelier, whose mouth was now in a large grin that didn’t quite reach his wide eyes, began to pour some more wine into my glass.

“What an exquisite palate you have, sir! Is the wine not to your liking? You ordered it by name?”

I had indeed ordered it by name from the advice of a friend, who I should have known knew nothing of wine. Of course, I knew nothing of wine, which is exactly why I wouldn’t give anyone recommendations. I couldn’t say it was trash now. I had to commit.

“No, no. It’s fine. Please continue.”

“I may not have heard of these notes before, and I am forever a student. What else might there be here?” he prodded.

Were sommeliers always such asses? Surely he was just playing games with me and would laugh at any moment.

His eyes were like moons staring into mine, making his pupils seem extremely small and alien. His bowling-ball frame seemed to grow larger as well.

What the hell was going on?!

I nervously looked back at my date, who now was an audience to our secret dance. Her eyes were just as wide as his, but her expression was almost one of worship, and I, her false deity, was beginning to crumble.

What was I to do?

“Oh, well…”

I slurped again. Again, I fought a cough from my throat.

What the hell was in this, cough juice?

“You are the expert, but perhaps I taste some… cheesiness?”

I said this with an uncertain, cowardly tone. I was out of my depth. The jig was up. There was a demonic fire in the sommelier’s eyes now. They were peering into my soul, seeing every lie I had ever told.

“Cheese!”

He said it much louder and more suddenly than I was expecting, making both me and my date startle.

“Indeed, good sir! Such a refined and delicate expression! Again, I have not heard this description before. Anything else?”

Why was he doing this?! Was this some sort of game? Was his wife cheating on him? Did his house burn down? Why was he so intent on destroying me?

Or was it me? Did I deserve to be mocked and humiliated?

Perhaps I did. Perhaps this was divine karma.

But I won’t go down so easily. Until there was dirt in my eye, I wouldn’t let him win!

“Chlorine!” I said loudly, as if it had just occurred to me while staring at him, leaning forward slightly. My eyes lay unblinking over his—no weakness would escape me.

The sommelier’s grin was not so much a grin but a toothy smile now.

“Chlorine?!” he mirrored.

“Fascinating, sir!”

My date now had a look of bewilderment on her face, but I was past caring for her.

“Yes, chlorine. Would you agree, it sort of sanitizes the nostrils?”

“Yes… YES! Marvelous, sir, your palate is world-class! Please, don’t stop!”

“Mushroom soup, and, and salted pork!” I barked.

“HMMMM~”

He rubbed circles on his stomach as if he were eating it himself. How far would he go? A fire was lit under me. I would not stop.

You think I have pride? You’re the prideful one, and it’ll be the death of you!

“It’s artistic, democratic!” I said quickly, my voice getting louder.

His arms were now lifted above his head, his palms facing outward. I had seen similar gestures made in churches when the hymns had been sung with extra passion. The sommelier’s eyes were closed, as if he were hearing the word of the Lord in prayer.

I felt a rush. I felt as though I was conducting an orchestra. I had him. He was at my will.

“The blood of Jesus! It’s divine!”

Our cadence had gotten quicker. We were riding off each other’s energy.

“Mon Dieu! Révélation!” he preached.

He clasped his hands together and looked up at the ceiling. He had lost himself in orgasmic exaggeration. I followed suit.

“Si! Señor,” I struck back.

“It screams, it punishes!” I might as well have been possessed.

“HALLELU…”

A hand clasped around his shoulder and spun him around on his heels. Another waiter had come and was looking at him with a furious frown.

The sommelier seemed like he didn’t know where he was as he looked at the newcomer with fear. Then, seemingly regaining his surroundings in an instant, he gave us a small nod, avoiding eye contact, and walked back to the kitchen.

The waiter put down a basket of bread and said something I could not hear.

My date was now looking very pale, as though she could become sick at any moment. I stared at the bread, blankly. The chill of shock had frozen me in body and mind. There was sweat on my brow, but I didn’t wipe it.

“Sir?”

My surprised eyes shot up to the waiter, who was still standing at our table.

“Is there something wrong with the bread?”