red red wine

I phoned Mike and left a message: I'll be in town, do you wanna do coffee? phone me, I can't remember my cell phone number...no , wait! Here it is...I never call myself, ha ha!

Danielle, tall, with a glorious, short and ragged mop of impossible red hair, gave me a huge stack of magazines and I sat back. I could feel my hair sliding out of the clip again and again, but soon my head bristled with foils. Danielle went away. I read about Prince William and his new love: will she be Queen material? I read about Didion's new book about dying, her husband and her daughter. Danielle came back and spritzed cool water under some of the layers of foil.

Danielle took me to a chair and rinsed out the bleach. Then strong fingers massaged my scalp, circles of pressure, round and round....aaah....I relaxed. Please come and shampoo my hair everyday like this! Warm water. Silky conditioner. More massage...Mmmnnnnnn....Yeesss....!!

Danielle was off at six. A petite dark haired Italian woman cut my hair beautifully. Was I already drunk? It must be the chemicals they use at the hairdressers!! Pleased? Oh yes, I was pleased.

But I'm hungry. What to do? I need food, but first, lets shop a little. Pants. Yes, I need new pants....no, maybe a poncho, or an exotic looking scarf...books. I always love books.

I looked, and looked.. Several times, a girl asked if I needed help, if I was looking for anything in particular. No, no. I'm just enjoying myself. I already have picked out two books....I go back to look at aubiographical books by Karen Armstrong. I really want them, but I already have two books....I see "The Okinawa Program", and remember my eldest daughter raving about the Okinawa diet many times....yes, there are recipes in the back, and there is some discussion of the mind-body connection, mind-states to promote wellness...yes, I'll take that too.

I now have "The Okinawa Program", by Bradley J. Sillcox, D. Crag Willcox, and Makoto Suzuki;
"What the Body Remembers", by Shauna Singh Baldwin and "The Tree Bride", by Bharati Mukherjee. I laugh a bit at myself. Am I still angry at my Indian acquaintance?

I drive to the restaurant where my daughters and I had lunch just last week. There is a booth available only in the cocktail lounge. About a gazillion flat-screen TV's are tuned to about 3 sports channels. Whatever, I think. The bar is full, mostly men in black. Mostly young men. Three middle-aged business men at the end of the bar nearest my booth...no, one of the business men is in his 30's, I think.

Yes, I am alone, I tell the blond waitress with the sunny, round face. She recommends the red wine, Fontanafredda. She gives me a contest entry form. Win a Trip for 2 to Turin in 2006. I can't remember the order ofoperations for the mathematical skill testing question, so the entry form becomes my bookmark.

The business men leave, the two middle-aged men with grey hair and pot bellies, the younger man wearing a nicely cut black wool coat. They give me only a cursory glance. I am nearly finished my salad.

The salad is great, redolent of garlic. I can't remember, does pink chicken make me nervous? Maybe it's pink because of the breading. No, the cheese would not make the chicken pink. I'm ravenous. I finish my salad. I order another glass of the red wine. So what? I admit I'm buzzed already. I always said I was easy but not cheap!!

Satya bitterly realizes that her husband has married a second, much-younger wife. Young and trusting, she modestly is grateful when Satya asks her to sleep with her in the hot afternoon, cooled by the silk fan manned by a pukkhawalla....

I am distracted by a foursome, two couples, who enter the bar. Loud voices over the clamour of the televisions. A handsome blond young man, an aristrocratic featured dark-haired young woman, a young beautiful blond girl, and a dark-haired young man with his back to me....

I bend toward my book. Yes, I tell the waitress, I would like to see the dessert menu and I'd like a cup of coffee after....(I mean after I finish my second glass of red wine, right?)

There is shouting! "Yeah!" "Give it to her!" "Yeah, let's see some tongue action!" Hard to hear exactly where or who is shouting. I glance toward the foursome and see that the blond girl is stroking, stroking, stroking the dark-haired young man's buttocks. He is kissing her, deeply. It lasts several seconds.

Roop escapes her brother, Jeevan's attempts to grab her by the ankles and pull her under the water. Spray sparkles in the sun under the waterfall. Laughing, they emerge to eat their picnic with their selfless sister, Madani. The picnic of rotis and curries is served to them by Gujri, the serving woman.

Suddenly, the dark-haired young man is sitting across from me in my booth.

"Please let me sit with you for a while,'" he begs, his smile disarming. "My friends over there are making fun of me. See that guy over there? He's my landlord and my boss...he's terrible!
Will you wave to them?"

I laugh. I wave. The blond, round-faced waitress comes over, anxious. "Everything alright?"
she asks.

I laugh again. "Just fine."

"Are you here for the Monday night football?" the dark-haired young man asks.

"No," I reply. "I went shopping...I had my hair done... and I needed something to eat..."

"What did you buy?" he asks.

I pull out the other book I had tucked into my bag before I got out of the car. I put two of the books on the table in front of the young man: "What the Body Remembers" and "The Okinawa Program".

"Pretty heavy reading, pretty serious...I mean heavy stuff!" the young man says, as he takes the books into his hands to examine the titles. "Are you into a healthy lifestyle?"

I gesture toward the French vanilla icecream and the half remaining glass of red wine."Not if you look at what I'm enjoying right now!"

"Ah, red wine is good for you!" he exclaims.

Sure, I nod.

He thanks me, and off he goes, back to his friends at the bar.

I am utterly charmed and laughing.

The vanilla icecream is melting, but I eat some more.

Roop's mother is ill. She dies in childbirth. Roop's grandmother mourns her in the Hindu fashion and her father is upset. A Sikh, he forbids any further Hindu traditions in the house, to the dismay of Revati Bhua, his eldest cousin-sister...

The bar-tender brings me another glass of red wine, from the dark-haired young man at the bar, he says! Wow! Thank-you. I wave to the quartet at the bar.

I'm delighted, but I know this will make me quite drunk...I drink anyway, (ok, i can count, my third glass of wine, i'm past my usual self-imposed limit) and eat some more icecream.

Thank god the coffee arrives and is hot, smoky and flavorful.

Revati Bhua talks to Lakshmi, not to Vaheguru, as Roop's mother did. But Roop's father wants Revati to talk to his Sikh guru. How can Revati talk to the guru who is not even an idol like Lakshmi? Revati talks to Lakshmi about everything.

I get a refill on the coffee. I'm surprised that I ate all the icecream!

I am way, way too buzzed. Three glasses of red red wine. Can I even drive? Should I drive? I gulp in the cold, fresh air. This is so funny. I am being so irresponsible, but I have never had anyone buy me a drink before!

In the car, driving home past Brooklin, Port Perry, Little Britain, listening on the radio to Dr. Laura interrupted by terrible buzzing and crackling as the signal fades out, I laugh out loud. Here I am, goddam fifty-one years old and a young (did I say young??) man bought me a drink! This is too hilarious.

Who0-hoo! Yeah!

Life is supposed to be FUN!!