Bright Eyes, Deep Cellars

It was a Sunday morning, as I recall. I was sleeping off Saturday night behind my desk. Some fellas take the work home. Me, I live at work. The rent's cheap, and a soft mattress plays hell with my back, anyway.

The name’s Rick. Rick Riesling. And I’m in the wine business. You're probably thinking that's a funny coincidence, but I made that name up. The world’s run by liars, sweetheart: professional liars. My old dad taught me that. I don't sell wine, I sell advice. It doesn't pay much but I’ll usually take a few bottles as a tip. That and anything I might find in the client's wallet should they “drop it" on their way out.

I don't know what woke me up that morning: maybe the sun coming in through the blinds, or the steady tapping of a wine cork on the arm of my guest chair.

I call her Gladys, the chair, not the dame. I've had Gladys for eighteen years. She my best friend and a trusted confidante. Gladys is better than a secretary. She never wants Sunday off so she can go to church, for one thing. And you can sit on her. Those were two hard lessons learned when I still had a secretary.

When a new client walks in, I call that our "first date." Just like a regular date, the first one is usually the last. I like it just fine like that. Funny thing, too. They're always blind. I don't mean she's blind. Well, never mind. You know what I mean.

This dame had let herself in. I never lock the door, what if there's a fire? The woman was your standard design: she had two legs attached to her hips and two arms, too. Good ones, if you know what I mean. Her eyes were bright and alert, like a woman who needs a drink or two. Luckily, she already helped herself to a bottle.

I had two cases in the corner. They're from Bright Cellars. That's one subscription for me, and one for Gladys. I keep the whole office at sixty two degrees. Why buy a wine fridge when the landlord pays for the the air? My old dad taught me that, too.

Dad was always saying smart stuff like that.

Sixty-two is just perfect to keep the high quality blends and varietals from Bright Cellars ready to drink any time. And I do mean any time.

"What's up?" I croaked through what I like to call my "morning throat." I find the ladies appreciate vocal fry from a man my age.

"It's my husband." She said, shivering. I could tell she was cold. On account of she was shivering.

"What about him?" I said, before falling into a coughing fit. There was half a glass of Merlot still on my desk. I threw it back and swished my mouth out a little before swallowing. There's nothing like that two or three hours a breathing a glass of wine gets when it sits out all night.

"He loves wine." She said, eyes turning to the floor.

"Who doesn't?" I said. This could be interesting after all.

"Some men like whites."

"Uh huh." I said. But not your man..."

"No."

"He likes it red. Deep red." She was drifting into fugue. Sometimes the wine business is also the marriage business. She loves her husband, but she knows that something's missing. That's a good wife.

I could feel a bottle jammed into the middle of my back. I must have fallen asleep on it. I stood up, nearly falling on my can. My legs must've gone numb around dawn. Typical Sunday.

"Do you know where I got this?" I asked her, holding the bottle up like a trophy.

"Bright Cellars!" I said, before she could answer. "It's really convenient, getting wine delivered to my door. The staff is super friendly, and they send me a selection of wines from all over the world based on my personal preferences."

"I see, but..."

"I know what you're worried about. But you can cancel your subscription at any time with no hassles or if you aren't happy with your selection of wines, you can always call your personal concierge for recommendations."

She said more, but all this talking made me thirsty. And I never listen when I'm drinking a fine wine from Bright Cellars. I hope she "drops" her wallet on the way out.