To taste wine is an art.\u00a0 Never would he say to his current lover, (Anna, a nice woman, very attractive but\u00a0superficial regarding the finer pleasures of life), that to taste wine is an art. She would look at him, he knew, \u00a0with those incredible violet eyes and try not to laugh.\u00a0 A woman who tries not to laugh is so unattractive when holding\u00a0a very expensive crystal wine glass in her delicate hand.\u00a0 The very expensive red glow in the delicate crystal globe sloshes around like a well-bodied beer because of her momentary lapse of decorum; unacceptable.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n
A well-mannered waiter met him at the rather low door, ushering him to a small, well used, round, wooden table in a red-black lit room where other patrons whispered over well laden plates and full wine glasses.\u00a0 The ancient Vermont inn had its charm and reminded him of the lady, (not his current lover, mind you) he was to meet.\u00a0 He thrilled\u00a0at the thought of seeing her again just so he could assure himself he was aging well.\u00a0 She would not age well, her youth was her strength but now they were both well into middle age.\u00a0 But what would Anna think of him, meeting another woman in a town in Northern Vermont?<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n
He took his seat.\u00a0 He was early, by her suggestion. \u00a0Her note encouraged him to try the wine.\u00a0 The red she wrote, is exceptional and memorable.\u00a0 She would meet him in the evening and become reacquainted.\u00a0 They had parted on good terms\u2014one of the few in his life. \u00a0He was excited to see her again, over his first passion; wine.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n
When he was younger, he had just enough money to live and to taste wine.\u00a0 A few women would sleep with him because they found him attractive.\u00a0 There were the occasional (he cringed to use the term, so crass) one-night stands for the wine he introduced them to, making him irresistible.\u00a0 He tried to avoid such relationships, women needed savoring and appreciating and sipped.\u00a0 Nor was he egotistic; the wine did the job, not his manners, his mind or his body so he had nothing to boast about in the knee bumping male club that so many men felt compelled to strut about in.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n
No, women were beautiful just like wine but attachment was out of the question.\u00a0 A bottle of deep, rich, red wine that sits upon the shelf is a sin.\u00a0 Wine by its very creation, artistic evolution and existence demands time, thought and undistracted taste buds. \u00a0 Empty bottles are a somewhat crass end but oh, there are more discoveries.\u00a0 The problem is, he\u00a0did not inherit\u00a0a vast fortune, and not suited to drive the chariots of the business of gain he found himself disadvantaged when wine and women are so attractive in this life.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n
He smiled to himself, looking out at the dingy, wet, street: \u201cWine and women.\u201d, The connotation of that statement should not sum up a selfish snob or cold-blooded lover in the minds of the world\u2014female minds in point\u2014for he was an exception to the statement. \u00a0He did not want to decide between one or the other\u2014he wanted both and he wanted the best of both.\u00a0 So what was he to do?\u00a0 The only thing he could do\u2014both within moderation.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n
He had to admit that when he was in his thirties; he spent too much time alone.\u00a0 He refrained from younger women\u2014unteachable in the art of wine tasting and too fast, too virginal, too needy.\u00a0 He took comfort with some older women, but they often found him comical in a way he found insulting.\u00a0 But the woman he traveled to meet, in this romantic little Vermont inn, ah, he had been close to falling in love with her.\u00a0 Until one night, alone and with an exquisite, dry white, he wrote a poem about\u00a0what love was.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n
Was.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n
He wrote that one word on a yellow pad of paper and stared at it through the entire bottle.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n
“Was.”<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n
The next day, he met her for lunch and ordered everything red.\u00a0 The filet, the sauces, the wine and broke it off with her.\u00a0 She didn\u2019t cry over the time they had spent.\u00a0 Knowing the time would come, she explained, she had prepared herself for the breakup.\u00a0 She had no hopes their relationship would last to marriage, children, Christmases before the fireplace.\u00a0 Thanking him for the time they had together, eating the dinner ordered for her she left him without looking back.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n
He was astounded.\u00a0 He watched her walk out of the restaurant and never heard from her again.\u00a0 And 20 years later he received a letter from her.\u00a0 He knew beyond a doubt he must see her again.\u00a0 The old photo, she enclosed, the two of them together, wineglasses in hand.\u00a0 They were at some party they attended so he found himself intrigued.\u00a0 She had kept a photo of them together.\u00a0 \u00a0He looked up the address, the town, the place she showed and assured her in a return letter he would be there.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n
He tasted the wine the waiter brought; a taste all of its own, a raw, exciting taste, that made him tense and feel within him an urge to pace.\u00a0 He felt himself immerse in a pleasure that made him edgy and\u2026 (could it be possible?) feel just a little mean, just a little rough.\u00a0 She was no doubt still beautiful in a homely faded sort of way. Probably married.\u00a0 Who but married people live in Vermont?\u00a0 Perhaps she and her husband had an upscale bed-and-breakfast.\u00a0 If she had children, perhaps they were off to college, getting a degree in hotel management.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n
No, he had to stop.\u00a0 He took another sip of wine and felt again that edge that good hurt of taste he never experienced before.\u00a0 He wanted to capture that actual taste upon his tongue and not the overwhelming afterglow of emotion the wine brought for him.\u00a0 A sweet grape, an almost euphoric floral start at the tip of his tongue that chilled to an ash, an almost wonton woman taste that shimmered down his throat and warmed his belly.\u00a0 He felt as if her hand (was he confusing the wine\u2019s taste with the woman already? That amused his more clinical mind) was just above his belt, flat, warm and steady.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n
\u201cHello Roger,\u201d\u00a0 The voice was as he remembered it, soft but now with an edge of worldly knowledge about it.\u00a0 He started and looked up.\u00a0 She wore a tight fitting dress, a deep burgundy.\u00a0 Her skin was a soft glowing cream and her hair, now long, was glossy down her back.\u00a0 She had not aged at all, the beauty of her youth had not abandoned her as he thought it would.\u00a0 He felt himself stammer, stopped himself, stood, and proffered her a chair.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n
\u201cAlways the gentleman.\u201d<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n
His astonishment at her beauty kept him in silence.\u00a0 Could it be the same woman?\u00a0 She sat, looked up at him; without a doubt, she was the same woman.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n
\u201cHow are you, Roger?\u201d<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n
\u201cGood, I\u2019m good.\u201d<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n
\u201cDo you like the wine?\u201d<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n
\u201cYes, I\u2019ve tasted nothing like it.\u201d<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n
\u201cNor will you again.\u201d<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n
He remembered little\u2014except that he cannot face\u00a0the light of day and is\u00a0driven to drink rather than savor the taste of his desires.<\/p>\r\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
A woman who tries not to laugh is so unattractive when holding a very expensive crystal wine glass in her delicate hand. The very expensive red glow in the delicate crystal globe sloshes around like a well-bodied beer because of her momentary lapse of decorum; unacceptable.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":2216,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"nf_dc_page":"","_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[3,45],"tags":[11,36,18],"class_list":["post-1101","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-short-fiction","category-vampire","tag-amwriting","tag-amwritingfiction","tag-vampire"],"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"amp_enabled":true,"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/lydiaink.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/08\/Vampire-never-write.png?fit=1536%2C1024&ssl=1","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/lydiaink.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1101","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/lydiaink.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/lydiaink.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lydiaink.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lydiaink.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1101"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"https:\/\/lydiaink.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1101\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2217,"href":"https:\/\/lydiaink.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1101\/revisions\/2217"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lydiaink.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/2216"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/lydiaink.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1101"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lydiaink.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1101"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lydiaink.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1101"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}