He had gray hair, tall and lean for his age, and he was carrying a small wooden box, oval, held together with tiny brass pegs.
“I brought this for you.”
This was our first meeting, always a moment of nerves, expectancy, wonder, and usually my own emotional pleasure. I enjoy impressing people with my wit and pretty face and you only get that first chance to make an impression. It’s also my chance to suss out a new client. Is he pushy? Will I need to keep my panties on the reinforce boundaries or will I be able to hover inches from his face, secure in the knowledge that he’ll hold himself back? Can I reach my taser?
“Thank you! It beautiful, where did you get it?””
“I had this old maple in my back yard that needed to be cut down. Turns out it’s [some special kind that’s got a gorgeous wavy grain but I don’t remember] so I saved the lumber.”
“You made this!?” I was astonished. I looked closer at the tight fastenings, the little brass circles flush with the wood grain, lustrous, bright, shimmering, and full of chocolates. “Did you make these, too?”
“They’re orange truffles. I hope you like chocolate.”
In two minutes this man, some seventy-something retiree, had made me feel simultaneously like an adored mistress and the laziest sod to walk the earth. The details of our meeting fade away but that stands out, as does our second and only other meeting.
“Would you give this to Adelle? It’s her label.”
He had just presented me with four tall, dark bottles, capped with a ruby wax seal. Labeled ‘Christina Rouge’, ‘Christina Cabernet Franc’, ‘Christina Cabernet Sauvignon’, and ‘Adelle Rouge’ and simple, clear labels. The three ‘Christina’ bottles had a simple silhouette, hand sketched with only four lines, of a woman’s curved ass and the outline of one hip. The one labeled ‘Adelle’ had a dark label that, if one looked closely, hid a demure photo drawn from Adelle’s website, contrast turned down low so it would be subtle.
“Now when you open this, don’t drink it right away. Give it at least a day or two. I don’t have enough barrels to do the full aging so it’ll need to breathe.”
Once again my aged client had shown me up, but in an even bigger way than before. He was dedicated to staying active and though I’ve never seen or heard from him since, I’m sure he’s still around. Or I hope, at least.
I opened one today. I had the first sips as I began to write this. It seemed fitting that it should spark such clear memories and that I should write them down while they still fluttered in my mind’s eye, one of many pleasurable memories my beloved clients create with me. The wax was difficult to remove and I prayed that the intervening years hadn’t spoiled it. It is delicious.