Mysterious Merlot

I have never been the sort of woman to accompany a virtual stranger home on a first date. But, he was handsome, charming, well-educated, and the conversation at dinner felt so natural that it seemed a shame to allow the arbitrary ending of a meal to dictate the conclusion of a pleasurable evening. I suppose the two bottles of wine we’d shared over our decadent meal probably factored into it, too. Regardless of how I came to be here, I couldn’t help but fidget a bit as my mind began to clear and it sunk in that I was alone with a man I hadn’t known the day before.

“Would you like a drink?” He smiled, and my nerves eased a little.

“Do you have any wine?”

“Red or white?”

“Whatever you have,” I shrugged.

“Glass of Merlot?”

“That sounds lovely, thanks.”

I waited as the tall, dark haired gentleman with whom I’d just shared a five course dinner disappeared behind a sliding oak paneled door. I used his absence to assess my unfamiliar surroundings. The apartment was impressive. He owned this historic brownstone - the whole building - and it was decorated with a blend of exquisite modern pieces and lush masculine details which somehow felt both elitist and understated at the same time.

“Are you a fan of abstract art?”

I jumped, startled to discover him standing behind me, a glass of Merlot in each hand, “I don’t know much about it to be honest.”

He handed me a glass of wine, and I took a sip to hide my unease. I wasn’t a fan of abstract art, but the large white canvas covered with disorienting ruby strokes intermingled with seemingly random spots of crimson was captivating, and perhaps a little unnerving.

“This is a very special piece for me. I was friendly with the artist. She made this for me shortly before she disappeared.”

I shivered, “Disappeared?”

“Presumed dead. Very sad.”

“I’m so sorry. What happened?”

“I prefer not to talk about it,” he frowned, looking down at his wine and swirling it before breathing in its rich bouquet.

“I have some similar pieces in my gallery, if you’d like to take a look?

“Your gallery?” I tried not to sound too impressed, but more and more I was flattered that such a wealthy, worldly man was showing so much interest in me. I blushed as I realized a part of me was imagining joining him in his gilded world.

He smiled that irresistible smile of his and motioned towards the other side of the room. I followed without hesitation. I could not help but think this felt somewhat rehearsed, and yet I felt a willingness to allow myself to be seduced. I took a sip of the wine, allowing the amorous nectar to course through my veins.

He opened a hidden oak door by pushing a button carefully concealed behind a book called “The Lodger.” My jaw gaped as he led me through a secret passage; it was like something out of a film. The passageway opened onto a larger room; it had the feel of a sunken conversation pit with built in leather seating and a glitzy bar in the corner. The walls were covered with canvases similar to the one I’d just been admiring. White, with splashes of red. My spine tingled.

“Are these all by the same artist?”

He laughed, “No, no. These were made by many women I’ve known over the years. Great artists, every one. All, sadly, gave their lives to these masterpieces.”

The works all looked so similar to me. I gazed at each of them, growing dizzy and confused, “I don’t understand.”

“Would you like to be the next contributor to my collection?”

“I think I’d like to go home.”

Dizziness overtook me; the world went black.