Low on Merlot

I swore to my friends, all two of them, that if I ever found myself single again I'd be single for the rest of my life. Two years after my divorce, however, loneliness had wrapped its icy grip around every fiber of my being. Two years of being the fifth wheel, two years of cuddling with pillows at night, and, believe it or not, but two years of actually being jealous of hearing my friends talk about their relationship problems forced me back onto the dating scene with a vengeance.

            I was an ace at second dates, topping myself was an easy feat. The problem? Topping myself was easy because I tend to set the bar very low on the first date. There typically was no second date. One of my friends, Jerry, suggested finding someone who would find my awkwardness cute. Obviously, that was easier said than done. First and foremost, I had no idea I was awkward. Secondly, turns out women who hung out at libraries, bookstores, poetry lounges and such preferred the smooth and suave despite being somewhat awkward themselves. "You're going about this all wrong, Franky D," Jerry had chastised. "Nerds want the suave guys, hot chicks want... well, you."

            Walking down a busy sidewalk downtown to meet my friends at our favorite night spot I couldn't help but hear Jerry's voice. The whole 'opposites attract' theory does hold weight after all. The thought of a hot woman wanting me felt quite weightless, though. I stopped and studied my appearance in the reflection of a window about a block from my destination. "I'm not bad looking," I decided. I made sure I kept a fresh haircut, stayed clean shaven, and casually kept up with the latest trends...

            "Try untucking the shirt," a voice behind me suggested, both confident and melodic. I looked over my left shoulder. No one there. Over my right shoulder... over my right shoulder was dark and beautiful sunset surrounded by a waterfall of jet black silk. A tall slender pillar of perfection with skin more fair than unreachable snow in the moonlight of a full moon on a clear night sky. If I knew it were impossible I'd swear her eyes were pitch black, but, that was impossible, right? Somehow settling on dark brown just didn't... it just didn't. The rest, big and bright. More walnut shape than almond. If there was a such thing as the perfect red, perhaps the first red ever, she wore it upon her lips, each the size of a small woman's pinky fingers.

            "What do you think?" I asked without realizing I ever untucked it.

            "Outside of the bottom button you missed, perfect," she teased. "She doesn't stand a chance." I struggled to pull my eyes from hers even while buttoning my bottom button. There was the slightest hint of question in her voice, in her eyes.

            "There is no her," I answered. "Not anymore, anyway." I felt my eyes go wide. Why would I say that? Too much too soon. Perhaps I am awkward.

            "Bad breakup? Widower?"

            "Divorced. Two years.

            "I imagine it was her loss," she said, sincerity genuine in her melodic voice.

            "Maybe if you believe in addition by subtraction," I answered, only half joking. Her laugh, however, was nothing short of infectious. In fact, I felt she was in control of my laughter.

            "My friends call me Ezra," She said, smile still glowing. I'm not sure how long I stared at her before I realized I'm supposed to respond.

            "And what would someone potentially wanting to be more than friends call you?" I asked. I couldn't believe I asked, but I did. I don't know where the question came from. I tried to allow my shoulders to slump and my gaze find its way to the ground knowing she was about to walk away, but I didn't. I couldn't. I have no idea where this new found confidence was coming from, but I decided not to fight it.

            Her grin fell to a smirk, eyelids lowered ever so slightly. "Well, now. Quite the silver tongue I see. I suppose you can call me Ezzy..."

            "Franky," I answered. Franky? Damn you, Jerry. "Frank," I corrected.

            "Frank. I like Frank."

            "Frank likes you," I answered back, fighting the impulse to apologize.

            "In that case, Frank, would you also be willing to call me... tomorrow evening?" I honestly could not believe this was going so well. Something so random coincidentally right on time. I was never this lucky. Ever.

            "I'd be a fool not to," I said accepting her card. "If you don't have plans for dinner..."

            "Only if I may consider it a date," she answered. I wanted to turn and look myself over in the mirror again. Did I have a million dollars hanging out my pocket? And why am I so... dare I say, suave tonight? I don't speak like this. I can't speak like this! Again, don't fight it.

            "It'd be a travesty if you did not." I felt like the million bucks that had to be hanging out my pocket when her smirk grew into a smile once more.

             She stepped closer to me licking her lips as she came. No. This was not about to happen. My luck was not this good. Nothing could make my luck this good. Things like this didn't happen to me. Didn't happen to people like me. I licked my own lips, nowhere near as sexy as she licked hers. She used  practiced and perfected seduction where as I was simply nervous and trying to sweat. Don't fight it. She bit her bottom lip as she reached out for me, eyes paralyzing everything in my body keeping me alive. Fine, I won't fight it. I started to lean in as she grabbed the bottom of my shirt.

            "Just don't wear this shirt again," she said jokingly as she buttoned the bottom button again. I blinked myself back to reality, feeling like had traveled a thousand miles through a thousand years to find myself back in my body.

            My mouth opened, but nothing came out. I cleared my throat to buy me some time to find that smooth confidence I had only moments earlier. "I... I'll throw it away I said in all seriousness." She laughed.

            "You need not, but I appreciate the sentiment," she chuckled. "I'm afraid I must be going." She took a few steps backward before she began to turn her back to me, allowing  the bottom of my shirt to be pulled from her grip. "Call me, Franky." Again my mouth moved with nothing coming out. It took all I could muster to manage a single nod. And like that she was gone. Absorbed into the crowd of pedestrians walking in and out of the night.

***

            Jerry and Lance, my other friend, didn't believe a word of my story. They did pay for my drinks the entire night for such an entertaining story. A win in and of itself. Bright Cellars was hosting an event and I was able to indulge in everything they had on their dime. I spent the entirety of the next day replaying and living in that encounter over and over again. What could she see in me?

            Amidst my daydreaming I went to the barbershop and spent my lunch budget for the next two months on a new shirt. A dark, ash gray silk button down number with black tilted halos stitched all about it. I spent the rest of the afternoon researching the finest restaurants in the city. I ignored multiple calls from both Jerry and Lance, I didn't need their seeds of doubt getting in my way tonight.

            Finally, the sun began to hide behind the horizon and I watched the clock intently. What was a good time to call? Seven? No. Too eager. I died twice waiting for seven thirty.

            I called...

            "Hello?" She answerd, voice no less melodic over the phone.

            "Hi, It's Frank... Ezra?"

            "How disappointing." The voice on the other end said.

            I knew it. I knew it! Not me. Not ever me! If it's too good to be true... I just didn't think women still did the give-the-wrong-number thing anymore. Or maybe I dialed the number wrong. I reached for her card. "I'm sorry, I may have the wrong number."

            "No, you don't Frank. I was just hoping I'd still be Ezzy..." Ugh! How many times can a man die and come back to life in one day?

            "My humblest apologies!" I said, almost frantically. "Ezzy, of course!"

***

            She teased me for a bit and decided where to meet. I didn't think she could be more beautiful than before last night,  but this evening she could draw jealousy from an angel. Her outfit had to cost more than I was alive. A long-sleeved pencil dress of shimmering black scales that seemed to slither about her body of its own accord. I felt as invisible as a drop of water in the ocean standing next to her, but, somehow my confidence had returned.

            "That is a much better shirt," Ezzy said running her fingertips over the stitches as if reading brail. "Exquisite!"

            It was my turn to laugh at that, drawing a puzzled look from her. "You speak of exquisite? You are the very definition of this evening! The only thing exquisite about me is that you voluntarily keep my company. Alas! I wear your pity like the most exquisite finery!" We both laughed, although I found myself wondering at my dialect again. She enjoyed it. That's all that matters. Don't fight it.

            We walked and talked for hours that felt like seconds, getting to know each other in moments. Finally we stopped in front Cuellar's, the highest end restaurant I knew about in the city. I don't know anyone, personally or otherwise, who had ever dined here. "You promised me dinner, didn't you?"

            I reflexively looked up at the sign. Even if we could get in I doubt I could get little more than a half a salad and a glass of water, and that might literally cost the shirt right off my back. "Ezzy, Cuellar's is the most exclusive restaurant in town. They're backed up for months and a reservation costs more than anything on the menu. We can't get in here. Especially not tonight. Even tonight the line is wrapped around the building."

            She looked at me and smiled. "Nonsense. I know the owner." She winked at me and walked to the front of the line and to the doorman. She whispered something  in his ear. He looked at me then held the door open. "Coming?" she asked over her shoulder.

            Inside Cuellar's was like a castle out of a storybook from the stone walls to the tapestry. "How do you know the owner?" I asked, hoping I didn't sound suspicious.

            She had a longing in her eye when she spoke. "We're in the same wine tasting club." She raised a finger and a waiter hurried over. She whispered in his ear and he rushed off, returning with an obviously expensive bottle of wine and poured us each a glass and left the bottle on the table. "My favorite merlot," she said inhaling deeply before downing the entire glass.

            I spun the bottle and read the label. "I thought I had tasted Bright Cellars' entire collection. I've never heard of this before." She only smiled and I looked  down at my own glass of merlot. I picked it up and took a gulp...

            "Is this... is this blood?"

            I looked up to find Ezzy's, Ezra's red eyes staring at me, her fanged smile mocking me. Red eyes and fangs... Only then did I notice there was a set of red eyes and fangs at every table.

            "I'm afraid I brought you here for a very specific reason," every set of fangs said to the companion at each table. "You see, we're low on merlot."