I’m learning to love the simple things in my life, like breezing into Bemelmans for a quick beer, my new beverage of choice. Wine has been giving me a headache lately and I’m not exactly a hard-liquor kinda gal. My father, who’d add rum to his prune juice, taught me as an alternative, you’re better off opting for ale.
I know beer is viewed as the poor man’s champagne, but served in a frosted flute basking amid warm light, can be quite a treat. Okay, enough about Pabst or whatever the hell Eddie gave me after giving me a look as if to say…you sick or somethin?
A man is seated beside me at the bar. He’s big and burly, but extremely well-dressed in a finely cut, slate gray suit. He smells good too, as if he just chopped down a lime tree.
I like that smell. It’s peppery, woodsy…with a little citrus thrown in, to cut the testosterone. “Excuse the intrusion,” I said, leaning over featuring my frisky though feeble decolletage, “but I was wondering…what cologne is that you’re wearing. Smells heavenly.” If that didn’t sound like a come-on, accidentally of course.
He looked at me with blue eyes squinting at their corners and said, “Namber sav-intee-fo Veek-taria Lyne.”
“Excuse me…is that where you live?”
This produced a belly laugh along with a rapt swiveling body change facing me in all his nicely threaded splendor.
“Nuuu, eets de ectual nyme…frum Taylar’s af Ald Bund Straight en Lundon.” His crisp accent with its clipped diction went through me like a jolt.
“I’m not a fan of smells you see, so when I get a whiff of one I like, I can’t help asking what it is.”
“Whet othas deeya foncy?” Oh my, was he cute, and remember, I was only drinking beer so it wasn’t a large alcoholic delusion.
“Oh…sandalwood, the sea, fresh paint.”
“Yeah. Ever since I was little. I actually almost asphyxiated myself when I was nine. My father found me with a big smile on my face next to a can of white semi-gloss.”
He laughed again which made my thighs begin to twitch. I liked him. He looked like a big Irish comforter I’d like to crawl beneath. Hey, my hormones may be fewer, but the ones I still have suit up for the proper occasion.
“Ah yur dranking ayle. Yur soch a beau-ty-ful wum-on (twitch twitch) thu ba-cuming, tis ratha a sar-praise.”
“I’m full of surprises (and sar-praises).” (Did I just say that?)
The other thing I noticed were his hands…they were neatly manicured with its left free of the weight of a wedding ring. Not that it means anything. He could be a sheik from Belfast for all I know, but it was nice not to be disappointed in the first quarter of the game.
“Do yoo cume an yar awn aft-ten?”
“Once a month.” I realized that sounded like I have a doctor next door.
“Way an-ly wunce a manth?”
“Because I write a blog and monthly pen a piece about the bar.” What possessed me to suddenly come clean when things were popping along so well is a mystery.
Ma, are you here?
He took this in for a minute slowly sipping his scotch. “Su, wull ay bay en yer ra-part?” I saw that one coming like a twister twisting from the west.
“More than likely…but in glowing terms. You are a very charming, attractive man so there is only good to say about you.” Nice save if I could say so myself.
“Wull yoo bay yasing mye nime?’
“Probably not, since you’ve yet to introduce yourself.”
Had him there.
“A’m Colm Mcennerey...aynd bay oll mymes…myke me a lagend.”
“Hmm, how am I going to do that?”
“Wull,” he said, signalling for both our checks, “lat’s stet wuth danner, ta geeve yoo sumpthin ta wrate aboot.”
TO BE CONTINUED.