4
I stole a deep calming breath.
“What’s that wine you like, babe?” I said after a time.
Changing the subject seemed like the right thing to do at the moment. The perfect thing.
Marty worked up a grin like she was all too happy I’d changed the subject.
“Solane Valpolicella,” she said. Then, pursing her lips. “But they don’t always have it, Fish.”
“Let’s put the groceries in the Jeep,” I said. “I’ll head to the liquor store, and you can pick me up there.”
She nodded. “Sounds like a plan, Stan.”
We did exactly that. Loaded the back of the Jeep with the bags, and then I made my way back across the parking lot to the liquor store. Inside, I checked the stocked shelves for the Solane Valpolicella. When I couldn’t find it, I got the attention of the Asian Indian man behind the counter. He politely asked me if I needed help.
“I can’t seem to find any Solane,” I said.
He shook his head. “That is becoming a very popular wine these days. I’m afraid we are all out of it. Would you like me to order you a bottle?”
I felt a wave of slight disappointment. I wanted Marty to be happy. Not only because of the unpleasantness of the past few minutes over that psycho man but because this was to be our last night together for a long time. I wanted it to be a special evening. What good would it do to order a bottle at this point when tomorrow I’d be on a jetliner bound for Rome?
“No but thanks,” I said.
“There is another liquor store in North Albany,” the man offered. “It is my cousin’s store. I could call him for you to see if he has some Solane in stock.”
His cousin’s store…Of course, it was. All the Asian Indians were buying out the American beer, wine, and liquor sellers and doing do for cash on the barrelhead. Or so it seemed. I guess that’s how capitalism works these days. But I lived in North Albany, and I precisely knew the store he was talking about.
“Sure,” I said. “If it’s not too much trouble.”
“It is my goal to please you, sir.”
He went back around the counter, picked up his cell phone from off the desk, and speed-dialed a number. When his cousin answered, he rapidly spoke something in his native language. The only thing I recognized was Solane, and even that was said with a weird-as-hell accent. When he set the phone back down on the table, he came back around and gave me one of those smiles again.
“You are in luck,” he said. “My cousin has one more bottle in stock. Do you wish for me to give you directions to the store?”
Suddenly my spirit was lifting.
“No need,” I said. “I live less than a mile away from the place.”
“How wonderful,” he said, as if I’d just told him I’d one the Mega Millions lottery.
Thanking him once more, I walked out of the store. I expected the Jeep to be parked at the curb, but it wasn’t. It was still parked in the same spot as it was when I made my way into the liquor store. Marty was sitting behind the wheel of the Jeep. She was talking with someone through the open driver’s side window.
The psycho man I’d crashed into with my shopping cart.
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