Merlot and Morality

I haven't been in a bar alone in a long time. Who am I kidding? I have never been in a bar alone. I am not even sure what to order. I just saw a movie about wine, and it seems that Merlot was mentioned, but I don't think it was mentioned as THE wine to order. I am sure red is appropriate, and since Merlot is the only name I can remember and can pronounce correctly. Merlot it is.

Disclaimer: The reason I have never been in a bar alone and the desire to change my life at the time of the events in this story is too long and complicated to address here. I will save the prequel for another time.

Since I don't really drink and I am not sure how much I like this wine, I decide to sit quietly and sip slowly. The more I drink, the better it tastes and the less nervous I feel. I glance around the room, and I notice that someone is glancing back at me. Me, the older lady at the bar! What was that tingle I felt when I caught his eye? No one has looked at me like that in a while. It's nice to feel that rush from being the object of someone's desire. Am I kidding myself? It was just a glance from across the room. But that's not true; it was a gaze, not a glance. That was definitely a gaze. That gaze made me so nervous it appears that I have sipped my Merlot a little too quickly, and I am now staring at an empty glass.

I attempt to get the bartender's attention, but she is talking to the handsome gentleman I mistakenly thought was interested in me. I look back down at my empty glass, and when I look up, the bartender is headed my way with a glass of red wine. "Excuse me, Ma'am, the gentleman at the end of the bar sent this over. I am sorry I would have asked you, but he insisted I pour it and deliver it to you. If you don't want it, I will let him know." I am taken aback for a minute. How many years has it been since a stranger showed any interest in me? I hear myself say, "Sure." My voice squeaks a little, and I sound hesitant, but I do not in the least feel hesitant. A handsome man just sent me over a drink! I want to stand up, toast the bar and announce, "That gorgeous man right there just bought me, me! This drink. But instead, I play it cool, glance his way, smile slightly (I don't want to look too anxious or surprised) and mouth, thank you.

He smiles back and nods in my direction. If memory serves me right, that is the universal gesture for can I join you? I smile, cock my head slightly and nod yes. My heart is pounding, and my breathing has become audible. "Please, Lizzie, don't act and sound like an old fool when he gets here," I say to myself, feeling terrified and trying to summon my confident Inner Hot Girl; I know she would know just how to act and what to say. Try as I may, she is not there. I do not feel hot or like a girl and cannot imagine being the object of anyone's desire. I tell myself that I am intelligent, witty, and not entirely unattractive for a woman of a certain age. But older men want younger women, don't they? No, he bought me a drink, and he does not appear to be sight impaired, so I decide to have confidence and go with it.

I look up from my self-doubt, and he is standing right in front of me, smiling and saying something that I must have missed while lost in my turmoil about the whole situation. "I'm sorry, I was lost in thought and didn't hear what you just said." He replies, "I am so glad because it was the lamest pick-up line in history. Not that I am trying to pick you up. I just thought you might like someone to talk with or enjoy some company. Not that you could not talk to anyone you want to in the bar, as attractive as you are. Oh, why don't I just shut up? My name is Hank, and I am not making a very good first impression, am I?" Wow, he is as nervous as I am. Fantastic! My confidence is getting stronger, and he said I was attractive! "Why. Hello Hank, my name is Elizabeth, but my friends call me Lizzie."

From that point on, the evening breezed by. I learn he is a retired Airforce Colonel, and his wife had recently passed away if recent is two years ago. He has not dated since, and this is the first time he has bought someone a drink other than friends or his wife that he can remember. He is nervous and charming. I keep the focus on him. So much easier to do that. When you get to be my age, you have so much baggage that it tends to eek its way out into conversations and be a real downer. Much better to stay silent. He has led an exciting life, but Darcy keeps coming up in every story. The late wife. He is certainly not used to being without her or dating for sure.

When I get nervous, I tend to quickly drink whatever is in front of me, and I start to feel the wine. My mind says time to stop, but when he orders another, I don't say no. Okay, time to stop before I do make an old fool of myself. I finally order water and do my best to hydrate. Maybe too late, my inhibitions are gone, and I put my hand over his hand, and he smiles when I jerk it away and grabs it back. Perhaps he has had too many cocktails as well. But, damn, this feels good. I feel my usual moral superiority slipping away as I sip more of the Merlot, which I am enjoying more than the water I ordered.

It is getting late, and I know I have to leave, but I do not want this feeling to end. "Hank, this has been lovely, but I do have to call an Uber and get home." Hank looks at his watch and appears to be shocked at the time. "Lizzie, I think I can call you Lizzie since I have spent the last three hours with you. I would love to drive you home, or if you don't trust my driving, I can accompany you and, after a nightcap at your place, I can call a ride to take me home. I can always get my car tomorrow."

"How very sweet," I say, "I would love that." As Hank pays the bill, I am playing every scenario over in my mind. What if he wants more than a nightcap? What if he kisses me? It has been forever; what if I suck at kissing now? Oh, my goodness, what if he wants more. What if he wants me? I mean in the biblical sense. (Why do they call it that, and why did I think that). I think people still get naked for that, and I don't look at myself naked, and I sure don't want anyone else to. Even if I turn the lights out, he can still feel my not so taut body. I know I don't feel like I used to—all of this going through my frenzied mind as he is paying the check. I stop, and I chastise myself for thinking these impure thoughts. What has happened to my moral fiber? It must be the damn Merlot.

Too early, too scary; I need a tummy tuck or a personal trainer for about six months. So, I renege on my acceptance of his invitation and say, "Hank, I enjoyed tonight more than you can imagine. I do hope we can see each other again. But I have an early day tomorrow and really need to call it a night. What if we give you my phone number and we have that nightcap another time?" I say as I am rummaging through my purse looking for a business card. I am so afraid that this may be the end not only of our encounter but of any future encounters as well. I find my card, extend it and tell him that my cell is on the card. Yay, he takes it and says, "Lizzie, I will call you as soon as I get home to make sure you made it okay, and we will see each other again."

He did, we did, we still are, and we have promised to always and forever. It took him a while to get through a story without Darcy in every other sentence, and it took me a time and much more Merlot to finally get naked, and guess what? Even at Seventy, it's just like riding a bicycle but, oh, so much more fun!