Codeword: Merlot

I don't know how any of this is supposed to go. It has been almost twelve years and the times have changed. I found her on an app. Or more like she found me. I didn't think anyone would have private messaged me first, but she did. My profile was an open book. I didn't want for anyone to guess who I really was as a person. I even went as far as to list my seasonal allergies. The questions were standard, I didn't hold back when it came to job and personal history either. I wanted to make sure that I didn't beat around bush about who I was and what I do. I was famous enough for my readers, but not famous enough where I could walk in a restaurant and be noticed. It was a perfect blend that I was happy with.

I didn't know if dating apps were the right path for me to take, but I needed to get back out in the world. Her picture reminded me of how old I was getting. Her youthful features and outgoing profile made me a little nervous. She is almost eleven years younger, and I did not know if our personal conversations would manifest into spoken words. On the screen we would converse for hours about literature, life, death, careers, and of course, our first date. I sat at the table alone and ordered myself a beer, I was thirty minutes early to our appointment and I needed to get loose.

I scanned the restaurant she chose. You know what? In all my years living in this city, I never heard of this place. It was nice. The atmosphere wasn't some pretentious upscale joint I am always dragged to when I attend our publisher dinners, especially when they invite our potential producers when they discuss making a movie out of one of my novels. I would have been happy with a five-dollar burger and beer from our local brewhouses. No, this was nice. I scanned the room while taking a drink, it looked like everyone was in pairs. Odd that there are no families or groups. I guess this place caters to couples or first dates. I don't want to think too much into it. I need to prepare for this potential disaster of a dinner.

I ordered another beer. I wanted something with a little kick so I ordered another hoppy stronger brew. This one came at seven percent alcohol and I was excited that it came from a local brewery. I liked it when local supported local. That is how I got my big break into the writing world. I used to do book signings and events at local family-owned businesses and bars to bring people out and support local artisans. It has been a year since the last COVID case and "great purge." I figured I would do my part to bring business back.

I am keeping my phone in my pocket. I don't want to be on it and her to show up, that would look horrible on my part. I had my smart watch on just in case she text or called to let me know she was going to run late. She might be pre-gaming as well too. I stared at my beer and caught the eye of a man looking at me from the section two tables away and to the right. I looked up and he stared at me for a second then returned his eyes to the conversation in front of him.

I see her from the entrance glass door. She looks stunning. She wore a women's business casual ensemble. It was classy yet comfortable. I immediately felt underdressed in my polo and khakis. Her dark trousers allowed for her simple light blue form fitting button down shirt to pop with her darker blue cashmere scarf. She wore her hair down and wore modest diamond earrings. She completed the outfit with a smart watch and low dark blue heels. She looked like she could take command of a board room and then pull her hair back to skin a buck. I drew a blank and snapped back to reality as she made her way to the table with a beautiful smile.

"Hi! You weren't waiting long I hope." She said while I stood and pushed out her chair for her.

"No, not at all. I honestly got here way too early to settle some nerves."

Why did I say that? Just play it cool man.

She sat and immediately our waiter stood at our sides to take whatever order she wished.

"To drink ma'am?" The twenty something waiter asked with one hand behand his back as the other was preparing the area for her.

"I'll have what he is having."

No awkward silence. We talked immediately. She began the conversation about her day. I liked to read about her events at the end of her workday. She would sometimes send a picture of her and her Doberman laying on her couch in her downtown high-rise building and vent to me about her day. She is an advertising firm's creative director. I liked to hear how she figured out a way to make pens and pencils appealing.

"I'm babbling. I'm sorry."

She stopped and took a drink from her glass of beer.

"No, not at all. It keeps me from making a fool of myself by trying to come up with something to say. No, please. I'm enjoying this."

I had this quick memory of the last time I had a first date. It was almost twelve years ago. I missed her.

She continued.

"So do you know when the contest is supposed to begin?”

Ah yes, the contest. The dating app had this small advertisement for your first official in person date. The price was hefty. I had a real good second quarter of book sales and my advance on the television series hit the week prior, so I offered to pay for it. There wasn't a lot of detail in the messages we received, only that the couples who made it to the end could win one million dollars each and a "lifetime of perks."

"That interview process was really weird too. I kind of feel we auditioned for some reality show."

The interview consisted of health questions, and have I ever had to fight dirty to win. Immediately following the interview, we both received waivers we had to sign in order to participate in this contest. We talked about it and both agreed that nothing dangerous could really come from this, right?

The dinner was exquisite. I chose a medium rare steak with potatoes while she had chicken marsala. We talked and laughed. Our waiter approached our table towards the end of our meal.

"Anything else I can get for you both? A dessert perhaps?"

We looked at each other and I gave a nod.

"No thank you on the dessert, but we would like to order a glass of Merlot please. A glass of Petrus to be exact." I was sure I was butchering the proper pronunciation.

"Fine choice, I will be back with those very quickly." He bowed slightly and walked away from our table.

I didn't know what we were in for. There were no further instructions other than when we were ready to begin the contest, to order a glass of Petrus Merlot, a very expensive wine.

Our waiter returned and instructed another to clear the table. He presented the glasses to us in a manner of elegance and grace. He inspected the glasses for clarity and perfection. He carefully placed each glass together on the table, then presented the bottle. The bottle had an unimpressive label adhered to a green bottle. The label read: 1955 PETRVS POMEROL. I knew enough about alcohol that the label doesn't have to be glamorous for the booze to be great. The pours were precise and done with etiquette. Each glass now laid in front of us.

"Well, here is to an adventure." I said raising my glass after smelling the aroma and pretending to know what "wine legs" were.

"Cheers." She said, clinking our drinks together.

It was dry, and robust. I taste small amounts of licorice and maybe vanilla? It tasted fresh. This is a remarkable wine compared to those I've had in my lifetime. I must savor this. Why does my face feel weird? I snapped into a moment of clear conscience. My mouth was moving but nothing was coming out. She was already falling into a sleep. The rest of the patrons reached under their tables and pulled out full masks. I can't see what they are. They all are getting up at the same time and moving the tables and chairs. The windows and doors are being covered by storm blinds. Someone very gently pulled her chair out and with careful hands placed her on a low reclining chair that was brought from what seems like thin air. I feel my body being moved as well. I can't keep my eyes open.

I smell ammonia. My vision is blurry.

"Hey, are you okay?" My muscle strength is slowly returning.

"Yeah, I'm okay."

We were still in the restaurant. The tables and chairs were neatly stacked across the walls. We seem to be the only ones in here in the middle of the room. It has been a while, but it was time to assess the situation. Wallet. My back pocket is empty. Keys. Gone as well. Clothes. Still on and untampered. My pocketknife. Still there. That is interesting.

"Did they take your IDs?" I asked while continuing to gain strength to stand and look around with a clearer set of eyes.

"Yeah, and keys."

"What about your .38 in your ankle holster?" I asked examining the bottle of Petrus left in between us. The look of impressiveness came to her face. I needed to see what was shining under an intentionally left lamp.

"I wasn't always a writer remember."

"Yeah, and I wasn't always the corporate type. I wish I hadn't chosen heels for our date."

The table had an array of small weapons and hunting clothing.

"Okay, I am officially a little worried what this contest is." I picked up a Bowie knife and attached it to my hip.

We tried to open the storm blind. An emergency broadcast signal blared through the speakers that were playing a mix of soft rock and smooth jazz just a few hours before.

"Hello Mr. Reyes and Ms. Whitney." A digitally altered voice broadcasted over the surround sound.

"You Mr. Reyes, a former military man who did everything for his county and put his job before his family on many of occasions. Which ultimately led to your wife's disappearance. And Ms. Whitney, you had to fight, sometimes literally, everyday to get to your position in life. This is a chance for you both to find solace in each other's company. Together you must work as a team in order to survive my realm. Welcome to The Contest. Survive and you may walk out with money and a newfound perspective on life. Lose, and, well, you can imagine what that might entail. Happy hunting."

I looked at her and directly behind, a portion of the wall lit up. Encased in a locked glass box, two recognizable gas masks. I looked up. Multiple vents opened and a colorless smoke started to emit from the exposed airways. A faint smell hit my nostrils. I remember this very well.

"Its CS gas, we gotta get to the gas masks now!"

A man looks on a massive screen with multiple video feeds.

"Okay, I am very confident that they will figure out the combination lock with the riddle. After they don their masks, they will still have to ventilate the room. Let's tell the others that team four has started." 1956 Petrus by his side.