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He already does ha ha. It’s fine. Go have your dinner. I’ll see you in themorning.
I loved Jerry, as a friend. As much as I knew he was someone I could rely on, someone who would welcome me with open arms, and offer a shoulder to cry on if I needed him, he was still my boss. I loved him, and my job, too much to risk fucking anything up with a drunken kiss, or as Jerry would have it, a night ofpassion.
I slumped down on the bed and let the tears fall. I was miserable; I thought I’d been doing so well, hiding the anguish, the hurt, and thepain.
I decided to take a long soak in the bath, read a little, and then head down for dinner. I’d booked a table for one; unfortunately it was for seven o’clock. I’d have preferred earlier, there were often less diners looking quizzically at a table for one. I’d done it myself. I’d look and wonder why that person was sitting alone, especially if it was a woman. Had they been stoodup?
I dressed in a pair of black trousers and a white shirt. I blow dried my hair and piled it on top of my head. I sat and applied my makeup; although dining on my own, I would still make an effort. I grabbed the very high, patent heels I’d bought to wear with the slinky evening gown at the ball and slipped my feet into them. I would wear them to break them in alittle.
I ate a simple meal of steak and salad, only recently having found my appetite again. I guessed the only one good thing to have come out of our break-up was the loss of weight. Nothing like a good drama to help shed the pounds, Mum had toldme.
I took my Kindle from my bag and read a little. It distracted me from the glances and showed the curious diners I had prepared to be alone; I hadn’t been stood up. When I could stand it no more, I asked for my coffee to be taken to the bar. Instead of the empty nook I’d spotted while walking into the dining room, the waiter placed my coffee on the bar. The nook, sadly, was occupied. I climbed on a stool, intending to drink the coffee then head for myroom.
“All alone?” I heard. I looked up to see the barman polishing a glass and standing in front ofme.
“I have a conference, The Marriott was fully booked,” Isaid.
“How about a drink to go with that?” hesaid.
“Why not. What do yousuggest?”
“I don’t see you as a brandy drinker, port isn’t good with coffee. So, how about awhiskey?”
“I don’t generally drink whiskey,” Isaid.
“Tryit.”
He set a short, heavy cut glass on the bar, placed a couple of ice cubes in it then poured a measure of whiskey. I picked it up and smelled first. It wasn’t as harsh as I was expecting. I took a small sip. There was a faint hint of orange, smoked and aromatic. The liquid warmed my mouth andthroat.
“Mmm, that’s nice, what isit?”
He showed me the bottle; the label meant nothing to me. “It’s a Glenmorangie Signet,” he said. That meant evenless.
“Have the lady try a Redbreast Twenty-One year old,” I heard, said in a low, smooth, Americanaccent.
I turned towards the voice. Standing behind and just to the side was a man who initially took my breathaway.
“May I?” he asked, gesturing to the stool beside me. Inodded.
He undid the button of his suit jacket, removed it, and placed it over the back of the stool. He then sat; he didn’t need to climb like I had. He rested one foot on the metal rung, the other stayed put on thefloor.
For a minute I was speechless, and not entirely sure why. He turned to me and smiled. There was something about him; he was confident but it was more than that. I couldn’t put my finger onit.
The barman had placed two glasses on the bar; it was only then that I found myvoice.
“Thank you,” Isaid.
“Tell me what you taste,” he said. I watched as he brought his glass to his nose and inhaled, all the while keeping eye contact withme.
I raised the glass to my lips, inhaled before tipping it and allowing the liquid to coat my upper lip. I took asip.
“It’s sweet but spicy,” Isaid.
He smiled, displaying perfectly straight white teeth. “Anythingelse?”
“It’s smooth, silky,” I said, and then took anothersip.
“It’s a fine whiskey, one of my favourites,” hesaid.
