Chapter 32 – The Rest of the Evening
God, those potatoes are great with roast chicken and Chateauneuf du Pape. What a combo. That decanter went back to the kitchen empty, and we decided we needed a break before the last course with the $800 bottle of California cabernet. I got up and went into the kitchen where I sprayed the chef with more Deneuvian charm, this stuff champagne and riesling infused, asking him if we could have just a little break before his roast vegetables in espagnole sauce. He asked how long, and I said twenty minutes. Of course he said, Yes, I was back in good form now, all pissiness gone, him proverbial putty in the hands, the other cooks and dishwashers watching him transform from king of the kastle, dictator of the domain, pryor of the provence, to marshmallow of the manor. I smiled and waved to everyone, went back to the dining room and took Tommy’s hand, leading him down the staircase and outside to the patio fronting on the beach. I linked arms with him and we walked down the boardwalk to its end out over the dunes, the walking feeling good after almost two hours in the dining room. We gave our voices and brains a rest too, relaxing all our parts and gathering energy for the final push with the food and wine.
Twenty minutes later we were seated back in the dining room, and the waiter brought the final decanter. I said to him, “Do me a favor, would you, hon? Go down to the valet and tell him that under no circumstances is he to give me the keys to the Mustang tonight. No matter what I do or say, he’s not to let me or him,” nodding at Tommy, “drive.” I paused. “After you bring the food, hon.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
Tommy looked at me, I said, “I don’t drive after two drinks.”
“We’ve had more than two drinks?”
“Three bottles is more than two drinks, I think, and we have one more bottle to go. That one right there,” I said, pointing at the decanter, really ready to taste the Screaming Eagle. I love Screaming Eagle.
Tommy said, “I understand, but it’s too bad. I really was looking forward to seeing you drive tonight.”
“Better this way.”
The waiter brought the platter and set it down in front of us, then served each a helping, and poured the first glass of California juice. I was ready to take my first sip when Tommy said, “Ah, what exactly is this way?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, you said ‘better this way’, meaning not driving home, so there has to be another way, right, and I’m asking what that way is.”
“I still don’t get you,” a little irritation creeping in, me badly wanting to hear the scream of the eagle.
“Gwen, we’re getting sloshed together in a hotel. A luxury hotel on the beach, the sound of waves, the smell of salt air, palms trees swaying in the wind. And, may I remind you of the rules; your rules. The platonic thing. The thing harking back to the old Greek guy who came up with that horrible idea in the first place, the rotter. That guy has spoiled more people’s fun than Hitler. So given those conditions, exactly what is the better way we now face?”
I looked at the veggies in espagnole sauce that smelled so good, and looked at the dark rich wine in the huge Riedel glass that called my lips, and said, “You trying to spoil my fun here with this last fantastic pairing of food and wine?”
“Just curious. Just wondering where I’m going to stable my wild horses tonight. No problem.”
“You saying you got wild horses going, Tommy, that being a metaphor for libidinous inclinations?”
“I’m human, honey, and you are you, and you’ve been flinging all that Deneuvian stuff around at everybody, and some of it attached itself to me, and now there are consequences in the form of metaphorical horses, and they gotta go somewhere. Law of nature.”
This guy is a lotta fun, I thought, but didn’t answer him, the lure of the veggies and wine taking command. He followed my lead here, which was to enjoy them without talking. The chef came out and we said everything was great, and thank you, and he said anytime, doesn’t matter if the dining room is open or not. When he left, half the wine in the decanter was gone, as were the food plates. We both sat back and looked at each other. Finally I said, “How’re the horses? It’s my understanding those types of male horses are susceptible to the effects of alcohol. Sometimes the effect is to make them wilder, and sometimes the effect is to calm them down.”
He stared at his glass for a minute, then put it up to his ear, said, “Screaming great wine.” He sipped, set the glass on the white tablecloth and said, “You turned the keys to the car over to the valet. I turned the reins to the horses over to Plato. He’s sitting on my shoulder, very strong presence, making sure I stay a good boy.”
I said, “We have a weird thing going here, don’t we? The inner outer talk was very interesting. The eating and drinking thing, too. Now what, with Plato hanging out with us, a third wheel?”
“It’s your thing, Gwenny. I’m just along for the ride.”
I picked up my purse, took out my cell, and dialed Gale. “Hey babe. How you doin’?”
“We’re bored. Wanna steal more stuff from the museum. The silver and the table.”
“Yeah, well, more on that later. Can you come and pick us up?”
“Who’s we?”
“Who ya think?”
“Where?”
“The Sanctuary.”
“You’re at a hotel with Steve McQueen?”
“He’s not Steve McQueen. Not quite. Almost.”
“Why do you need a ride home?”
“We’re sloshed.”
“You’re at a luxury hotel on the beach, sloshed, nine o’clock at night, and you want to come home? That’s a new one.”
“We’re not alone.”
“Oh yeah, who’s with you?”
“Plato.”
“Who? This now a three-way? It’s getting worse.”
“Gale, who was it hooked up with ZZ Top the other day? You able to find what you were looking for under that long beard? It have a tattoo on it, like everything else on the guy?” I looked over at Tommy who seemed interested in the half of the conversation he could hear.
“ZZ Top is the name of the band, not his name. And he was nice. Sang me to sleep with a nice little Texas lullaby.”
“You coming, Gale? Is Jinny with you? He survive the female member of the family?”
I heard her say something away from the phone, then, “Yeah, we’ll be there, twenty minutes, pick up the pieces of your shattered marriage, your truncated relationship, your torn covenant of love.” I was glad Tommy couldn’t hear, might’ve made him lose all that great food we’d had.
I punched the off button and said, “Our ride home’s coming in twenty minutes. Is that enough time to ditch Plato and get a room?”
He smiled, took my arm, and led us out to chairs on the ocean side patio. After a minute he asked me, “What art do you like the most? What type?”
I knew the answer to that right away and said, “Music. That’s what I love the most. Songs like Paul McCartney’s, singing like Renee Fleming’s.”
“Art takes different forms, doesn’t it? Some forms are ephemeral, like the great wine we just drank. And performances of music. You go hear it, and then it’s gone.” I wondered where he was going with this, but was all ears. He took a deep breath and sagged back in his chair, relaxing, then went on, “But some forms are solid. Once they are created, they stay in the same form. Like a chair. A perfectly made, perfectly crafted chair. A work of art.” Now I knew where he was going. What a mind. Even through all that wine he was thinking, questing.
I said, “Or like a painting, maybe. Solid, always there after it’s made, not transitory. Always able to be enjoyed, treasured, valued.”
“Yeah, like a painting. You like paintings, Gwen?”
“I do, Tommy Crown. I do. My favorite type of art after music.”
He nodded and smiled, not at me, but to himself, it seemed. A benevolent smile, kind. And that was
the end of our conversation that night; a great evening. Ten minutes later we heard the door through the wall of glass open and Gale say, “Here are the lovebirds, perpetrators of lust and longing, blackeners of soulful promises, destroyers of dreams of purity.”
Jinny stood next to us and said, “Thank god we’re here. She was talking like that the whole way down here. Didn’t understand a word of it. How you guys?”
“We’re good. Thanks for coming,” I said.
“What ya been doing here?” Jinny asked innocently, not thinking like Gale thinks.
“Eating and drinking. Talking.” He nodded, smiled, transparent, not like Gale the devious one. “Jinny, are you an outer person or an inner person?”
He didn’t hesitate but answered, “Outer.”
I looked at Gale and said, “How about you? You an inner or outer person?”
She said, “Outer.”
I looked at Tommy and he smiled, saying, “You got smart friends.”
Gwenny June's Tommy Crown Affair Page 32
