Mister Red

Mister Red

By Lori Jean Phipps

Glass of Citadel 2016 Merlot in one hand, Marianne Williamson’s self-help book A Return to Love in the other with the hit pop song “Red, Red Wine” by UB40 unobtrusively playing in the background, sitting in a chaise lounge chair wearing a luxurious red and white polka dot dress I was feeling at peace relishing the warm eighty-nine-degree sun beating down on my face. I had just finished reading an intense chapter on metaphysics and the last sentence was lingering in my mind: “Our devotion then becomes our work, and our work becomes our devotion.”

I know what I need to do. I need to find my passion, my devotion, my niche. I set the book down on the walnut travertine tile ledge, rolled my shoulders, took a sip of Merlot and a deep breath followed by a moan.

Stumbling blithely up the porch steps, and into my house I realized I was no longer craving a “Twinkie” quick fix to my love life and ready to not settle for cheap, disposable, and artificial things lacking substance. I set out to attract someone healthy. I clearly wanted to be left with the same feeling I receive from a healthy sip of quality red wine—peace, and tranquility with a pleasant aftertaste.

Walking to the corner edge of the kitchen counter, I snagged one of the several unopened cookbooks crammed behind the empty breadbox collecting dust. After blowing off years of accumulated lint, I sat to find something to satisfy my complex palate. The pages were saturated with deliriously enticing photos of savory seafood entrées and exquisitely delectable desserts. A luxurious pan seared salmon with creamy avocado rémoulade sauce and a slice of rich New York cheesecake caught my eye. I emphatically wanted a lasting flavor. I did not always.

I went into the living room and picked up the TV remote control. When I came upon the Food Network showing Emeril Live with Emeril John Lagasse, I was compelled to click on it. The episode had only been on for less than five minutes and what was he preparing? —a salmon recipe. When I saw he was preparing a salmon baked with mango and brie entrée my mouth began to water. Here I wanted to make a luxurious seafood entrée to replenish my palate and Emeril intuitively handed it to me.

Emeril described the salmon entrée as being full of substance, richness and luxury which made me feel it would be sublime for my situation. I surmised that digesting it would be a great way to attract a man with those specific traits into my life. Naturally, I wanted substance, luxury, and richness.

After all the rich inner contemplation over this new food philosophy of attraction theory—eat healthy to attract healthy—I had the urge to call Kat, one of my therapy-friendly friends. After describing how the salmon recipe is prepared, I could tell by the way she gasped in excitement that her mouth was watering over the phone at the mere sound of the entrée as mine had when I saw it prepared. This was the ideal seafood entrée to erase past troubles and summon a healthier future, I could sense it. We promptly devised a plan to engage in an all-night soiree at her cottage to nurture ourselves with a well-deserved dinner and wine affair; convinced that satisfying our palates with a rich and heart healthy meal will diverge ourselves of our past poor-eating-habits and cleanse our souls to begin a new phase in our lives.

Exhilarated, I drove to the grocery store to get everything we needed for our evening. Standing in the liquor aisle, I reached the top shelf to grab two bottles of Merlot. After placing the wine awkwardly on top of the groceries I had piled in the small carrying basket I looked up, and there he was. It was him! He was less than a couple yards from where I stood, wearing a red shirt, kneeling, and holding a bottle of wine while reading the label. I could not believe my eyes. I thought I would never see him again. The last time I saw him was four years ago. I did not think he would ever again resurface in my life. But I always thought that and, yet he would. The symmetry of our past encounters remains a spiritual unknown for me. I do not know this man on any personal level, not even his name. However, I found myself running into him over the past twenty-five years in the most unlikely places at the most obscure moments in my life. I had predicted he would undoubtedly remain an eternal mystery.

I must tell Kat about this sighting. After I became close friends with Kat and disclosed the stories of this random guy showing up in my life, she coined him the title Mister Red because whenever I spotted him, he was wearing a red shirt. She claimed the mysterious and serendipitous quality of his unpredictable appearances imply that he might be my soul mate.

I shook the urge to replay every moment I had encountered this gentleman over the years and ignored the instinct to turn away and run. Instead, I chose to face the situation in the moment with gumption. After straightening my outfit, I fluffed my hair and then stood motionless looking in his direction to see if he would look up from his position. I could not feel my legs. I was numb. As I turned and was about to concede with my instinct to run, out of the corner of my eye I saw him stand and wave in my direction fanning his fingers in a slow “hello we know each other” manner. My fingers began to tremble. Sweat began to drip from my brow. With a nervous half-smile attempting to ignore all the suspicions reeling in my brain, I turned toward him and methodically waved back.

Noticing him walk toward me, I neurotically began to arrange the two bottles of Merlot a little better in the carrying basket. And then with my chin tucked into the side of my neck, I looked up with a squinty-eyed expression on my face and leaned to one side with questioning body language.

“I’m sorry, do I know you?” I winced.

“U-m-m-m, well, not exactly,” he said while looking at me with a quizzical smile, “but you know my brother Luca.”

“I…do?” I stammered.

“Yes. Luca Marcello? He’s tall with a dark complexion like me. He brings his dog Cappuccino to your grooming salon.”

So, it was him, in the parking lot of Petite Paws—my dog grooming salon—on that foggy day before Thanksgiving. It was Mister Red sitting in the driver’s seat of that white Ford pickup. I then began to wonder if he remembered seeing me over the years at all those unexpected times. Did he know it was me? The questions flooded my brain, but I was too flustered by his presence to think straight.

The wine bottles in the basket woke me from my dumbfounded daze when they started to tip over the edge. They would have hit the hard tile floor creating an embarrassingly loud clatter if Mister Red did not rush forward, grab the end of the handle, shove the bottles down into the crate farther and help me level out the basket. That is when our arms touched.

“I’m so sorry. I’m a complete klutz,” I said flustered, attempting to push the items even farther into the basket. “I spill things all the time…seriously!”

“Same here,” he said grinning with those familiar heart-throbbing dimples. Feeling self-conscious I began to scrunch my hair. Although an extensive amount of time had passed, he still strongly resembled Robert Downey, Jr., with those intense features that enveloped me the first time I saw him at the tender age of nineteen.

He seemed unaware of the serendipitous nature of us meeting and proceeded to give me unsolicited advice regarding the wines I had placed in my basket, suggesting a few alternative brands. He sounded like a professional sommelier saying words like nutty, fruity, fat, dirty, vanilla, cedar and acidic with a rich, long, complex aftertaste. Maybe he was as nervous as me? After thoroughly educating me about wine aromas, he started rambling about his dog Faith—a cavalier King Charles’s spaniel—telling me about her latest foibles while I stood there with a ludicrous grin on my face, giggling at everything he said. Although I was completely embarrassed by my own behavior, I was pleasantly surprised to discover Faith is Cappuccino’s daughter.

After a long-winded testimony, he changed the subject and leaned forward brushing his hands across my bracelets. “You must like to jingle.”

Astonished by his assertiveness, I pulled my hand back. “I do,” I chuckled at my own proclivity for wearing jingling bracelets.

I suspected he was flirting with me, which made me even more overwrought. I cut the small talk short by saying in a rather serious tone how I had to be somewhere, as if Kat’s house was an urgent appointment I had to keep. But before walking away, I found the gumption to make a quick comment about his striking similarity to his brother.

“You know, I can tell that you are related to Luca. You two look remarkably similar. I mean, it’s obvious you have his genes.”

“No, I don’t. These are mine,” he smirked, looking down and tapping the leg of his jeans.

I chuckled. “Very funny,” I said, shaking my head in amusement while walking toward the check stand. Mister Red then followed me. I did a doubletake. He laughed. I placed my wine bottles and items for the salmon baked with Brie recipe on the counter while the cashier scanned them.

“I may be taking a big risk here. But life without risk isn’t really living is it? Would you possibly be interested in continuing this conversation over a glass of wine?”

“Tonight?”

“Yes. Unless you have other plans?”

“Nope…no plans.”

“How does that new winery on Broadway sound?”

“Um…sure.”

“Want to meet there…say about eight?”

“Sure.”

“I’ll order a glass of Merlot for you.”

“Perfect.”

After I waved and exited the store, I retrieved my cellphone and called Kat.

“Change of plans.”