Degustation
The man stared straight at them, with one eye squinted, tightly in a Popeye style flourish; "What did you just say, young man?" The couple, young, thirties, dapper, and thoroughly modern, both; sat trapped in each other's eyes unable to react for a few seconds.
"Sorry" said the man, in a voice which was equal parts choir director and paternal. "Its just that since then my wife passed on, I eavesdrop whenever I am out having a meal. I suppose its because of a longing inside me which wants to engage in deep conversations...We used to have wonderful conversations over meals stretching at times into the 4 or 5-hour mark." He swirled the wineglass, and let out a loud sigh. Taking the cotton napkin from his lap he dabbed at his upper lip, dropping his gaze like an unpopular child picked last for a team.
The man smirked slightly at his wife, and turned to meet the man's gaze. "We have all listened in on a conversation or two when dining alone have we not my dear?"
He laughed in a semi relaxed but guarded manor and gave his wife a wink. I was talking to my wife about a small Island of the Florida coast called Amelia.
The man, visibly excited, 'That is what I thought you said! He was so animated that he visibly breathed at a slightly higher pace and moved his sizable frame slightly closer towards the man.
"Not many people know of dear Amelia Island unless they are of certain East Coast families of wealth and class or golf playboys. I am Paddy Glimpse; perhaps the name rings a bell with you?"
They both sat, locked again, in each other's eyes while both tried to set up a connection to the man's silly name. She was the first to speak this time.
"I was telling my husband of the tedious holidays I spent on Amelia as a child she mused. All of my friends when places like Aspen, or Miami, or the Alps, but my grandfather was from old money and insisted we spend holidays at the family bungalow on Amelia, sadly, they were never many children around and I used to loathe the time there."
"Aye", he nodded, and perhaps sensing a further inroad to conversation, he motioned to the air. "My daughter had the same reaction the one time I took her there for a small weekend trip. Devised as a trip in which to reconnect ..." He paused, and looked to be taking a mental inventory of his relationships. "She was becoming woman, and yet I foolishly tried to cling to her."
It was awkward in its tone and intimacy but endearing to the wife. She could not help but think of her own father and how strained relationships become when she started "blooming" as they say. Her glass green eyes shined nostalgic as she swirled the straw in her mojito. The husband sensing by jealousy perhaps, she lost her train of thought, broke in with a halfhearted anger. "Hey...you met me there doesn't that count for anything he blurted."
"True, my dear, so true-we did meet there on a tennis court, black Friday 1986, but you were less then endearing if I recall Charles, further, you stole my last ball and ran off laughing like a jackal." The both laughed at the memory having long ago lost that particular childhood memory to the passage of time. The man, his face shadowed under the surrounding lighting and candles, spread out across the dining room almost, looked as if he had fallen asleep. When there laughter had subsided into a quiet silence, he coughed and shifted his weight in his chair.
"Sorry to have bothered you" he said, "I just got so swept up in hearing the magical Islands name that I only half consciously blurted out my rude interjection. I will leave you two to enjoy the rest of your meal, thank you for the memories."
The both paused, looking at each other, in a gaze which had rarely wavered in fifteen years
"Why don't you join us for an aperitif we seem finished with our meals" She surmised.
"Yes, please Mr....Glimpse was it"
"Glimpse, yes, Paddy Glimpse" he knew this moment was coming. He yearned for it, practiced it, and perfected it to a subtle sleigh of tongue and ear over the last the thirty years. "Are you sure good sir? And Madame? I would hate to further impose on your evening" He spoke solemnly and again took on the awkward look of an unpopular child.
"We insist" the both blurted in unison.
The waiter having sensed a merger of tables and the scent of a bigger tip came over to aid the man in settling in at the couples round table. "Might I be so bold to present our after dinner selection of drinks and aperitifs, monsieurs and Madame asked the waiter?
The gentlemen insisted they retire the plush lounge area in the behind the cozy front room. The Boathouse was not known for its beer or wine selection. It did, however, offer an accommodating Pennsylvanian charm which wafted off the rubbed wood walls. Its nautical themes and graceful selections of: cognac, ports and single malts presented a pleasant and antique aroma. An inviting spot for conversation before the late night crowd bullied in and the TV's lit every corner with a barrage of sports and pop culture. This was the crucial twilight of the grift; a spot he had worked hard to find himself in. It was not hard for someone who did simple things extremely well to materialize complex and solid histories from the sand of clues everyone leaves in plain sight.
"A round of Courvoisier Ert, bring the bottle to the table, and perhaps my companions might wish for some dessert. The sentence hung, broken as he surmised it would.
"Ert! "
She blurted..."Like Romain de Tirtoff. ..That Ert?
"Why, yes", he mused, trying not to betray the tender snare he had lain at these two rubes feet.
'I take it you are familiar with the fashion designer and illustrator? This particular line of Cognac began life in 1988 by the Art Deco master. Ert created seven lush decanters depicting the cognac-making process. The spirit of the artist is captured inside as well: The 1892 vintage the year of Erts birth is part of the recipe." He let the last line swirl and blossom its aroma of interest he could see her absentmindedly touching the two key chains he spotted when they first sat down. One was a miniature version of the Amelia Island lighthouse, the second being a reproduction of Ert's Harper Bizarre Cover from Mar. 1934. The bold red and subdued green and yellows of the spring fashion issue.
"If only I could be persuaded by 850 dollar Cognac every time we have to relive your fashion school days, I might be inclined to listen to your gushing over R.T. Bemoaned her husband.
Thad had always loathed when Francine talked about her days at the art institute. The four years spent in Rhode Islands had been the only time in her life after the age of fifteen that she was not under his thumb and smug influence. He had her followed by a seedy private dick once, under the guise of looking out for her safety. What the PI found out remains undisclosed, for he refused to give any information to Thad while also refusing to give back the 10,000 dollar retainer. How it would burn him like a magnifier glass in the sun to know her lover, a wealthy sister to an 80's icon had been so used to stalked by paparazzi that they spotted the PI before any to report had happened. After doubling his fee the man was more than happy to walk away.
Thad had always been insecure, Francis-better known as Franky in her art school days, was an ideal trophy. Born and reared in one of those blue blood incestuous towns littering the Eastern seaboard; Cropping up in the news when outsiders dare to report to the rest of the world what the incredibly wealthy do to pass the time. Her father had been a lawyer and later, a Professor, at a world renowned school of law. Her mother was a bit player on the Broadway scene for years as a semi well-known designer and a custom-tailor to the stars. They had deep wealth and all the right pedigree, Thad's own father had said as much over a cigar on the porch that fated Black Friday decades ago.
This was an investment that slowly turned into a maniacal lust mixed with genuine love. He wanted to nurture and grow that investment and keep the other men away. In the end, Thad would have been better-off keeping the women away, but this, like many of life's great agonies reveal themselves slowly like an onion peeled for chopping-the pungent tears of second-guessing are always worse than the first sting. They were both inspecting the deco bottle and talking about how this one represented Degustation, or "tasting" when the spirit swirls the aroma releases and rises. Funny, thought Thad, what was swirled up in people when given the slightest subtle diversion from ordinary routine. He loathed the Boathouse, and Conckshoken but they were to arrive at her mother's that evening in Rittenhouse Square to hear the last will and testament from her Francis's father's will. Francis always insisted stopping at the Boathouse. She said it reminded her of a time in American history that was free and built on outsider artist tendencies by people whom wanted to forge a utopia of sorts on the outskirts of the city. He suddenly snapped back into focus and gestured toward the bottle on the table.
"This is a fine Cognac, regardless of bottle or technique he was slurring slightly, having already had four Manhattan with his dinner.
"Fill me cup m'or Sir"
He quipped in a pathetic Oliver Twist impersonation, which he insisted, in an argument once with Francine, had won him a Spotlight award in the college production where he had the lead. The old man, who had lost the downcast eyes of the previous hour, watched him like a vulture watches carrion, sensing the final kill. He poured Thad a fresh glass of the ambrosia nectar, and politely turned towards Francine
"Do you mind if a light a cigar-the one vice even thirty-five years of marriage could not cure me from" he let loose a chuckle and his paunch rose slightly as his cheeks flushed a boozy crimson.
"Not at all Mr. Glimpse," she fumbled out a package of Dunhill Menthol 100's and a cheap lighter.
"I have been dying for a puff since the soup came" she laughed in a childish and outright heart melting manner. The old man let the fleeting thought of her smile and body tickle the front of his imagination and lamented that he was not thirty years younger before forcing his mind back to the task. Neither She nor Thad had noticed the small envelope of powder palmed in Paddy's hand, nor the almost instant action of depositing the sedative into Thad's cup. In a few more seconds Thad would feel a burning need to urinate (a bi product of the sedative before the chemical burn delivered him semi-conscious for the rest of the evening)
The man would half follow and half drag, the young man into the rest room relieving him of both his identity and the three thousand dollars cash in his Armani wallet. The entire grift unfolded with ease all because of a chance sighting of his wife's collection of childish key chains and a selective eavesdropping and the whole poor old widow in need of conversation bit. He finished counting the cash and securing the credit cards and ID into his hidden sock pouch when he hit the ground with a powerful blow to the side of his head. He had lost sight of his survey of the surrounding patrons in the lounge failing to notice a dangerous looking young woman who had been at a table just opposite the couple on the other side. He was getting old and losing the rigid discipline that made him excel at his profession.
"Jesus Franky, the guy was grifting you"
"It dawned on me just about the time I spotted the palmed envelope, but for a moment I thought I might be able to take the guy for some cash, at a later time." Franky mused "Should let him keep a grand just for making our job easier but cash only does so much in prison.
It was not easy framing your husband for your mother's murder on the night when your poor father's will was to read aloud. It was even harder tracking down a washed up private investigator turned grifter. Attached in a most unusual way to said ex-husband...but sometimes you just have to swirl the body to unlock the full potential behind a plot which ages like fine cognac...sometimes the biggest grift takes years to distill.
The man stared straight at them, with one eye squinted, tightly in a Popeye style flourish; "What did you just say, young man?" The couple, young, thirties, dapper, and thoroughly modern, both; sat trapped in each other's eyes unable to react for a few seconds.
"Sorry" said the man, in a voice which was equal parts choir director and paternal. "Its just that since then my wife passed on, I eavesdrop whenever I am out having a meal. I suppose its because of a longing inside me which wants to engage in deep conversations...We used to have wonderful conversations over meals stretching at times into the 4 or 5-hour mark." He swirled the wineglass, and let out a loud sigh. Taking the cotton napkin from his lap he dabbed at his upper lip, dropping his gaze like an unpopular child picked last for a team.
The man smirked slightly at his wife, and turned to meet the man's gaze. "We have all listened in on a conversation or two when dining alone have we not my dear?"
He laughed in a semi relaxed but guarded manor and gave his wife a wink. I was talking to my wife about a small Island of the Florida coast called Amelia.
The man, visibly excited, 'That is what I thought you said! He was so animated that he visibly breathed at a slightly higher pace and moved his sizable frame slightly closer towards the man.
"Not many people know of dear Amelia Island unless they are of certain East Coast families of wealth and class or golf playboys. I am Paddy Glimpse; perhaps the name rings a bell with you?"
They both sat, locked again, in each other's eyes while both tried to set up a connection to the man's silly name. She was the first to speak this time.
"I was telling my husband of the tedious holidays I spent on Amelia as a child she mused. All of my friends when places like Aspen, or Miami, or the Alps, but my grandfather was from old money and insisted we spend holidays at the family bungalow on Amelia, sadly, they were never many children around and I used to loathe the time there."
"Aye", he nodded, and perhaps sensing a further inroad to conversation, he motioned to the air. "My daughter had the same reaction the one time I took her there for a small weekend trip. Devised as a trip in which to reconnect ..." He paused, and looked to be taking a mental inventory of his relationships. "She was becoming woman, and yet I foolishly tried to cling to her."
It was awkward in its tone and intimacy but endearing to the wife. She could not help but think of her own father and how strained relationships become when she started "blooming" as they say. Her glass green eyes shined nostalgic as she swirled the straw in her mojito. The husband sensing by jealousy perhaps, she lost her train of thought, broke in with a halfhearted anger. "Hey...you met me there doesn't that count for anything he blurted."
"True, my dear, so true-we did meet there on a tennis court, black Friday 1986, but you were less then endearing if I recall Charles, further, you stole my last ball and ran off laughing like a jackal." The both laughed at the memory having long ago lost that particular childhood memory to the passage of time. The man, his face shadowed under the surrounding lighting and candles, spread out across the dining room almost, looked as if he had fallen asleep. When there laughter had subsided into a quiet silence, he coughed and shifted his weight in his chair.
"Sorry to have bothered you" he said, "I just got so swept up in hearing the magical Islands name that I only half consciously blurted out my rude interjection. I will leave you two to enjoy the rest of your meal, thank you for the memories."
The both paused, looking at each other, in a gaze which had rarely wavered in fifteen years
"Why don't you join us for an aperitif we seem finished with our meals" She surmised.
"Yes, please Mr....Glimpse was it"
"Glimpse, yes, Paddy Glimpse" he knew this moment was coming. He yearned for it, practiced it, and perfected it to a subtle sleigh of tongue and ear over the last the thirty years. "Are you sure good sir? And Madame? I would hate to further impose on your evening" He spoke solemnly and again took on the awkward look of an unpopular child.
"We insist" the both blurted in unison.
The waiter having sensed a merger of tables and the scent of a bigger tip came over to aid the man in settling in at the couples round table. "Might I be so bold to present our after dinner selection of drinks and aperitifs, monsieurs and Madame asked the waiter?
The gentlemen insisted they retire the plush lounge area in the behind the cozy front room. The Boathouse was not known for its beer or wine selection. It did, however, offer an accommodating Pennsylvanian charm which wafted off the rubbed wood walls. Its nautical themes and graceful selections of: cognac, ports and single malts presented a pleasant and antique aroma. An inviting spot for conversation before the late night crowd bullied in and the TV's lit every corner with a barrage of sports and pop culture. This was the crucial twilight of the grift; a spot he had worked hard to find himself in. It was not hard for someone who did simple things extremely well to materialize complex and solid histories from the sand of clues everyone leaves in plain sight.
"A round of Courvoisier Ert, bring the bottle to the table, and perhaps my companions might wish for some dessert. The sentence hung, broken as he surmised it would.
"Ert! "
She blurted..."Like Romain de Tirtoff. ..That Ert?
"Why, yes", he mused, trying not to betray the tender snare he had lain at these two rubes feet.
'I take it you are familiar with the fashion designer and illustrator? This particular line of Cognac began life in 1988 by the Art Deco master. Ert created seven lush decanters depicting the cognac-making process. The spirit of the artist is captured inside as well: The 1892 vintage the year of Erts birth is part of the recipe." He let the last line swirl and blossom its aroma of interest he could see her absentmindedly touching the two key chains he spotted when they first sat down. One was a miniature version of the Amelia Island lighthouse, the second being a reproduction of Ert's Harper Bizarre Cover from Mar. 1934. The bold red and subdued green and yellows of the spring fashion issue.
"If only I could be persuaded by 850 dollar Cognac every time we have to relive your fashion school days, I might be inclined to listen to your gushing over R.T. Bemoaned her husband.
Thad had always loathed when Francine talked about her days at the art institute. The four years spent in Rhode Islands had been the only time in her life after the age of fifteen that she was not under his thumb and smug influence. He had her followed by a seedy private dick once, under the guise of looking out for her safety. What the PI found out remains undisclosed, for he refused to give any information to Thad while also refusing to give back the 10,000 dollar retainer. How it would burn him like a magnifier glass in the sun to know her lover, a wealthy sister to an 80's icon had been so used to stalked by paparazzi that they spotted the PI before any to report had happened. After doubling his fee the man was more than happy to walk away.
Thad had always been insecure, Francis-better known as Franky in her art school days, was an ideal trophy. Born and reared in one of those blue blood incestuous towns littering the Eastern seaboard; Cropping up in the news when outsiders dare to report to the rest of the world what the incredibly wealthy do to pass the time. Her father had been a lawyer and later, a Professor, at a world renowned school of law. Her mother was a bit player on the Broadway scene for years as a semi well-known designer and a custom-tailor to the stars. They had deep wealth and all the right pedigree, Thad's own father had said as much over a cigar on the porch that fated Black Friday decades ago.
This was an investment that slowly turned into a maniacal lust mixed with genuine love. He wanted to nurture and grow that investment and keep the other men away. In the end, Thad would have been better-off keeping the women away, but this, like many of life's great agonies reveal themselves slowly like an onion peeled for chopping-the pungent tears of second-guessing are always worse than the first sting. They were both inspecting the deco bottle and talking about how this one represented Degustation, or "tasting" when the spirit swirls the aroma releases and rises. Funny, thought Thad, what was swirled up in people when given the slightest subtle diversion from ordinary routine. He loathed the Boathouse, and Conckshoken but they were to arrive at her mother's that evening in Rittenhouse Square to hear the last will and testament from her Francis's father's will. Francis always insisted stopping at the Boathouse. She said it reminded her of a time in American history that was free and built on outsider artist tendencies by people whom wanted to forge a utopia of sorts on the outskirts of the city. He suddenly snapped back into focus and gestured toward the bottle on the table.
"This is a fine Cognac, regardless of bottle or technique he was slurring slightly, having already had four Manhattan with his dinner.
"Fill me cup m'or Sir"
He quipped in a pathetic Oliver Twist impersonation, which he insisted, in an argument once with Francine, had won him a Spotlight award in the college production where he had the lead. The old man, who had lost the downcast eyes of the previous hour, watched him like a vulture watches carrion, sensing the final kill. He poured Thad a fresh glass of the ambrosia nectar, and politely turned towards Francine
"Do you mind if a light a cigar-the one vice even thirty-five years of marriage could not cure me from" he let loose a chuckle and his paunch rose slightly as his cheeks flushed a boozy crimson.
"Not at all Mr. Glimpse," she fumbled out a package of Dunhill Menthol 100's and a cheap lighter.
"I have been dying for a puff since the soup came" she laughed in a childish and outright heart melting manner. The old man let the fleeting thought of her smile and body tickle the front of his imagination and lamented that he was not thirty years younger before forcing his mind back to the task. Neither She nor Thad had noticed the small envelope of powder palmed in Paddy's hand, nor the almost instant action of depositing the sedative into Thad's cup. In a few more seconds Thad would feel a burning need to urinate (a bi product of the sedative before the chemical burn delivered him semi-conscious for the rest of the evening)
The man would half follow and half drag, the young man into the rest room relieving him of both his identity and the three thousand dollars cash in his Armani wallet. The entire grift unfolded with ease all because of a chance sighting of his wife's collection of childish key chains and a selective eavesdropping and the whole poor old widow in need of conversation bit. He finished counting the cash and securing the credit cards and ID into his hidden sock pouch when he hit the ground with a powerful blow to the side of his head. He had lost sight of his survey of the surrounding patrons in the lounge failing to notice a dangerous looking young woman who had been at a table just opposite the couple on the other side. He was getting old and losing the rigid discipline that made him excel at his profession.
"Jesus Franky, the guy was grifting you"
"It dawned on me just about the time I spotted the palmed envelope, but for a moment I thought I might be able to take the guy for some cash, at a later time." Franky mused "Should let him keep a grand just for making our job easier but cash only does so much in prison.
It was not easy framing your husband for your mother's murder on the night when your poor father's will was to read aloud. It was even harder tracking down a washed up private investigator turned grifter. Attached in a most unusual way to said ex-husband...but sometimes you just have to swirl the body to unlock the full potential behind a plot which ages like fine cognac...sometimes the biggest grift takes years to distill.