Chapter 31 – Sloshed at The Sanctuary
Neither of us drank any of the champagne after the waiter poured the first glass, knowing it was better after some of the bubbles had bubbled off and a little of the chill had dissipated into the air of the dining room. When we did sip it was delicious. Ten minutes later we paired it with the tuna, and I said, “Perfect match. Well done.”
Tommy said, “You like champagne. What is special about it for you?”
“I like it for two reasons, one practical and one cultural. It’s a wine that not only is great alone as a cocktail, but is incredibly versatile with food. It goes so well with so many different types of food and so many occasions. Something about the bubbles that makes it a fit with strong foods and delicate foods, red and white, meat and vegetable, sweet and savory. God, it’s good with this tuna.”
“And the cultural thing?”
“You know, England conquered half the world in the 17th and 18th centuries, and Italian art spread through Europe during and after the Renaissance, and Germany was everywhere in the 19th and 20th centuries; but France; French culture; is the stealth culture. It’s seeped throughout Europe and around the world over the last 500 years because so much of it over time has achieved the level of classicism, and that goes for its wines. French wine isn’t necessarily the best, it just seems to be the best. It’s clothed in fabric that so many people in so many places find beautiful and worthwhile. And champagne is the epitome of French wine; hence the cultural value.”
He said, “You look good with golden bubbles in front of your face.”
I sighed and said, “I’m feeling better now with a glass of this in me, and a little food, and the prospects of what’s coming our way. I’ve been a priss the last couple of days.” Most guys would’ve asked what I meant by that; try to get me to reveal feelings, or a weakness. He didn’t; just sat looking at me calmly, sipping a little, neutral. I went on, “Another reason I like champagne is because she likes champagne.”
“Deneuve?”
“You have a good memory,” I said.
“Tell me about her.”
“Roger and I were in France a few years ago working on a wine project.” I didn’t mention the project was associated, indirectly, with the heist we pulled off at the Hermitage Museum in Russia. “It turns out Catherine is godmother to a boy whose life Roger saved one time. And we were introduced to her, and she went with us on a wine buying trip around Burgundy and Bordeaux, and we became friends.” The waiter came to the table and poured us second glasses. “A year after that she visited us here because she was on her way to Los Angeles to meet with Steven about a documentary on the culture of champagne.”
“Steven, who?”
“Spielberg.”
“Oh.”
“And she met Anna here, and she got Anna in the film, and I spent some time in Champagne with them while they were filming, and I learned a lot about French culture and about this wine.” As noted above, I didn’t mention that Catherine met Anna the morning after the night Anna snuck into our house with a gun in her hand, us being saved by our somewhat special dog with his somewhat special talent (talents, according to him though as yet not demonstrated to us, i.e., his mention of knowing something about French women, which was weird, right?). “Why do you like champagne?”
Tommy hesitated, then said, simply, “Conducive to sex. I like what Helen Gurley Brown said about it: ‘Two warm bodies and one cold bottle of Champagne will produce something more wonderful than would happen without the Champagne.’"
I smiled and said, “I like what Grahame Green had to say about it and men: ‘Champagne, if you are seeking the truth, is better than a lie detector. It encourages a man to be expansive, even reckless, while lie detectors are only a challenge to tell lies successfully.’ Does that happen to you? Do you expand? Get reckless?”
“Maybe, but that’s for others to judge. I can say without qualification that it’s never induced me to launch a car airborne before.”
“Pity; try it sometime.”
“I’m also not the one who’s ordered four bottles of wine for two people.”
“But you will help me drink them, won’t you?”
“To the last drop.”
The waiter came to the table and asked if we were ready for the second course. I nodded and said to Tommy, “You like German riesling, just a tinge of sweetness that is offset with acidity? My favorite white wine, after champagne. I’m glad you picked the crab cakes. Gonna be great.”
He said, “I took a boat trip up the Rheine River one time, and it’s amazing to see how steep the slopes are, covered in vineyards, all the grapes going to make riesling. Yes, I love it too. It’s the only grape I know that never makes a bad bottle.”
The waiter brought the decanter and the platter of crab cakes, and they worked perfectly together. After a small glass of the wine and two small cakes I said, “You ever listen to the album Paul McCartney recorded live here in Charleston?” He shook his head, No. “He spent time here, writing new songs, then performed them with Renee Fleming.”
“The opera singer?”
I nodded, Yes. “They were incredible together. You should get the CD. I have extra copies, can give you one. Their singing is great, and the melodies of the songs are great, but it’s the lyrics that mean a lot to me. You know what they’re about?”
Tommy eyed another crab cake and the bottle of riesling, but knew he had chicken coming with a kind of potato dish he loves. “Tell me,” he said.
“The entire piece of music is a rock opera, something like forty songs, and the theme that runs through most of them is what it takes for a man and a woman to have a great long-term relationship. Some of the songs are about what makes for success and a few are about what makes for failure. And I think he’s right.”
Tommy was about to take his last bite of crab cake but stopped the fork lift to his mouth halfway up, and looked at me. Setting the fork down on the plate, he picked up his wine glass and took the smallest sip. Watching this, almost mesmerized seeing the glass at his mouth, I noticed he has the same slightly protruding upper lip Steve McQueen had. He sipped slowly, slowly, and I had to restrain myself from leaning across the table, pulling down on the arm that held the glass, and biting his mouth. I said to myself, ‘Jesus girl, you haven’t even had half the wine yet.’ He said, “Is McCartney an inner or an outer person when it comes to relationships?”
It took a lot to get me to refocus from his upper lip to his words, but his question did the trick, because it shocked me. I said, “You asking what I think you’re asking?”
“I don’t know, Gwen. I have my ideas about what makes for success or failure in a relationship, and if McCartney has the same ideas, then I really want to hear these songs. Especially since I love Renee Fleming’s singing. What a voice.”
“You tell me your ideas and I’ll tell you if they’re similar to Paul’s.”
“You’re on a first name basis with Paul McCartney?”
I didn’t nod or say Yes, not wanting to show off, but said, “The performances of his rock opera were in a theater here I own. Small place. And we had some involvement with him and his daughter, Stella.”
I left it at that, not mentioning anything about the kidnapping, but he said, “You were involved in that? The kidnapping of Paul McCartney? Three years ago?” Again I didn’t nod Yes or answer, and he went on, “Ok, so, let’s see, the inner and outer thing. The inner person and the outer person, what’s the difference?” He got some time to think while the waiter removed the plates and the almost but not quite empty bottle of riesling, him asking if we were ready for the chicken and garlicky potatoes. I looked at Tommy and he said, “Bring it on.” The waiter went to the kitchen and Tommy went on, “It’s simple, really, and important. I can get it in before he comes back with the food. Most people, especially women, are inner people. They view the world as if qualities and characteristics are in
side people. They think people start their lives inside, and then move outside themselves and act on the world. These types of people are the ones who say things like, ‘You can be anything you want to be’ or ‘Your life is up to you.’ Dumb stuff like that. And they are the ones who ask, when thinking of engaging with another person in an intimate relationship, ‘Is he honest? Sincere? A man of integrity? A good communicator?’ They think that is how you should evaluate the potential for having a successful relationship with someone. They think in terms of inner qualities.”
By this time I’d gotten my focus off his upper lip and onto his words, which are both compelling and wonderfully familiar, because the ideas in his words are the same as the ideas in the songs Paul McCartney had written for his rock opera when he was kidnapped and locked in a massive concrete World War II era bunker over on Sullivan’s Island, three years earlier. I won’t digress into that story other than to say it was a wild ride. But back to Tommy, who was saying, “I don’t think that’s a good way to look at things. I’m an outer person, and think all that stuff about inner qualities is a bunch of crap.” He paused, looking at the door to the kitchen to see if the waiter was coming, then back at me to see how I was receiving his opinions.
I said, “Keep going, Paul.”
“It’s nothing complicated. I just think that relationships lie outside the two people, in the activities they do, or don’t do, together. The inner people have to make things deep and complex; we outer people want to make things simpler. When two people like, really like, to do the same things together, out in the world, they have a better chance of staying together, contentedly, than those who don’t. When they do the same things together again and again, week after week, year after year, they’re going to like each other over the long haul.”
“Like what?” I asked. “What kinds of things, activities?”
“Just stuff. Hiking, doing church things, traveling, barbecuing in the back yard, going to football games, playing bridge, reading in bed at night, digging in the garden and watching things grow over the summer. Simple stuff. And what’s maybe more important is when people don’t have that. When one person wants to go out on the town and the other wants to watch TV. When that happens a lot, sayonara, they’re doomed.”
Tommy smiled at the waiter who placed the decanter of Rhone wine on the table and followed that with the platter of roasted chicken and the small dishes of shaved potatoes in butter garlic, and duck fat. He poured the wine and looked at me, clearly wanting to try the chicken. I said, “You really like duck fat, don’t you?”
He laughed and said, “I do love that dish, especially with this wine.”
“Ok, you can eat. You pass the test. I agree with you on the inner outer thing, and so does McCartney. That’s the point he made in the rock opera he wrote here, that’s the theme.”
He said, “So you’re an outer person?”
“I am.”
“And the inner stuff?”
“Crap.”
“You and Roger have a lot of things you like doing together?”
“We do.”
“He steal things, too?”
I smiled, and plunged into the duck fat, feeling great.
Gwenny June's Tommy Crown Affair Page 31
