A Bottle of Wine

Judith Slaughter, PhD, Assistant Professor of History emerged from her office as an
anatomical whirlwind holding her folder of notes on her way to her 10:00 lecture course, History 3C, "The Reformation." She was a well endowed curvy woman of a bubbly nature whose dark eyes sparkled behind black plastic rimmed glasses, complimenting her brisk body movements, perpetual smile, but eyes which became hard marbles of an unsmiling face when the gaze of a male counterpart would drift ever so innocuously down toward her chest. She acquired nick names out of her earshot. "The Chest," "Tits," "The Broad," were a few that were uttered around the Faculty Lounge and more commonly among the student body where she was sometimes referred to as "The Whore."


She crossed the campus yard in her brisk way with her hips wagging in spite of herself. There was a fresh autumn breeze blowing a few leaves about and the sky was that dark cold blue which made everyone wish for the love of their life.


Professor John Haines, PhD, Chairman of the Department of History, a Napoleonic specialist who was known for his course History 206 in the upper division entitled "The One Hundred Days," had parked his car in his reserved spot at 9:42 knowing that Professor Judith Slaughter would be walking across the yard at about this time. He was crossing the yard five minutes later on his way to the department office knowing he would be running into Professor Slaughter. He was determined to bring matters to a head in what he termed was his "campaign" of courting her and Bonapartist that he was, he realized that this encounter he was about to have was in fact an act of stalking.


But in a campaign one had to engage in "tactics" and one had to buck up to the actions of "giving battle" and even "ambush." This was a necessary "action" where he would open up his heart to her in that non confining, neutral territory where they could have a pleasant exchange hopefully ending in an agreement to go out on a date to see Roman Polanski's "Macbeth."


She noticed him striding purposely in her direction and favored him with a smile.


"Judith!" He hailed her cheerfully.


"Mr. Haines." She responded with a slightly plaintive tone. She cradled her bulbous left breast with her folder of notes and stopped in her tracks. He walked up to her.


“Well,” he looked about himself. “It’s a beautiful autumn day isn’t it?”


“It certainly is.”


“Well, I know you’re in a rush, but I’d like to run something past you.”


“Ok.”


“How about joining me for a night out to see “Macbeth” at the Imperial ah, Saturday night. There's such a historical flavor to it, I’d hate like hell to go by myself.”


Her eyes lost focus at the words “joining me” and a steel trap of a mind was coming up with an answer a second later. She assumed a very meek demeanor.


“You know that sounds wonderful but I’m committed elsewhere for the weekend.”


He looked down on her suddenly meek form and felt conspicuous as if he were some awesome crow looking down on a plump starling. His eyes drifted toward that breast cradled by her notes. Then his eyes caught her eyes which now were looking at him as ebony marbles sans smile. He looked away quickly.


“Well, I just thought of you as interesting company historically speaking.” He chuckled.


She let out a short laugh. “Well, thank you for asking.”


“Ok, Judith, have a great day.”


“You too.” She smiled delightfully and walked off with those hips throbbing back and forth, back and forth.


He entered his office, sat down in his swivel chair and looked out of his window at that cold blue sky.


“I’m Napoleon in the Kremlin.” He said. “Napoleon in the Kremlin choking on the smoke of a burning Moscow."


After shuffling through some mundane matters he threw down a letter he was reading and said, “I have to get out of here.”


The semester was coming to an end and he was in the process of moving into his new condominium. He was an older single man and saw the need for a more compact and simple way of life. Well, things were in limbo. Why not take a trip to France? Why not? He lurched with sudden energy as France coursed through his veins. He lifted his chin with a sudden sense of mission and pride. Napoleon was returning to France from Elba. To hell with “The Broad.”


There were a number of boxes the movers left behind that he had to store someplace before the condo was ready and it dawned on him to impose upon a colleague who had a garage. The thought of renting storage space seemed so burdensome. It would be easier leave the boxes in Paul’s garage along with that rare bottle of wine he treasured as a keepsake from the Bordeaux region.


The Chateau Sainte Gervais d'Auvergne winery named its 1815 vintage the "Cabernet Bonaparte" in honor of Napoleon Bonaparte returning from exile. The vintner of the chateau was a republican who was elated to reveal his Bonapartist standing. The wine remained in the casks since 1815 being refreshed with new wine as it was periodically consumed so as to rejuvenate the stock. Yet still the winery would bottle the wine for special distribution as "Cabernet Bonaparte 1815" in bottles with signed and numbered labels. Professor Haines was presented bottle in honor of his work as a biographer of Napoleon Bonaparte when he visited the winery. The master vintner personally drew a bottle, corked it, labeled it, numbered it No. 310 and signed it. The vintner offered to seal the bottle in foil but Professor Haines waived off that procedure being so thrilled holding the bottle.


The bottle actually contained wine bottled in 1815 and thus contained the spirit of Napoleon Bonaparte for the sake of Professor Haines at any rate. It was a singular treasure.


He stopped by Paul's house after calling him with his request and they retired to the library with a shot of cognac each for a leisurely chat. Paul offered John a cigar from his box of Hondurans. John was not averse to a quality smoke with cognac. They lit up and relaxed in sofa chairs.


"Well, a trip to France, good for you."


"There's just something honorable about France. One sees it in the architecture. The churches," he paused and closed his eyes and continued, "look so, so solid."


"Egalite, fraternite et l'amour. N'est pas?""


"Oui. Oui, et liberte."


"Oh yes, I forgot about that one, well it will be good to get away from retarded undergraduates and sycophantic graduate students."


“And heart breakers.”


“Oh no.”


“Yep.”


“She shot you down.”


“Like a pigeon.”


“Well, there’s always another pretty face down the pike with its own charm that will erase all memory of The Chest.”


“I’ll be on the prowl in France.”


“There you go.”


John pursed his lips for a moment then spoke.


“I’ll be leaving my bottle of Cabernet Bonaparte with you. You don’t mind holding that for me?”


“At room temperature?”


“Yes, it would be a great relief.”


“No problem at all. I’ll set it into a kitchen cabinet.”


“Thanks.” He drew on his cigar and slowly blew out an aromatic cloud of smoke. He took a good sip of cognac. “It’s a good feeling to count on someone's loyalty in this life.”


“Loyalty among friends, there’s no greater virtue.”


“No there isn’t. If one has nothing else, one is quite rich.”


Paul raised his glass to John.


"To loyalty, the highest of virtues."


John raised his glass to Paul.


"To the highest of virtues." he said and winced slightly at seeming to refer to his friend as being the highest of virtues but whatever.


They took sips of cognac.


John closed his eyes and rested his head on the back of the sofa.


“You know, I’m thinking we should let The Broad go when her contract is up.”


“Oh come on. She’s such a riot.”


“She’s a distraction. She does not dignify the university.”


“John, letting her go could bounce back on you.”


“Well, I’ll think about it in France.”


“You’ll come back with a fresh perspective.”


“Probably not on women.”


“Hah! You just don’t know them yet.”


“You lift my spirits friend, you do.”


“Drink some French wine, snatch a French wench in a road house, ride a motorcycle, forget all about this university.”


“Ok, I will.” John set down his glass and put his cigar into it.


Paul stood up and they shook hands.


John came by with his boxes which were stacked into the large garage. The bottle of Cabernet Bonaparte was brought to the kitchen. Paul grasped the bottle and admired it.


“Wow, the real deal. It’s as if a part of Napoleon Bonaparte is in this bottle.”


“He is in the bottle.”


Paul was ready to put the bottle into the cabinet.


“Let me hold it for a second.” John said.


Paul handed him the bottle. John grasped it with trembling hands and closed his eyes for a few seconds.


“Ok,” he said and gave it back to Paul.


“Loosened your grip on it did ya?”


“It’s in good hands.”


“It is, if I say so myself.” Paul put the bottle on the top shelf of the cabinet.


“Ok, I’ll be back in three weeks and we’ll pick up where we left off.”


“You bet.”


John turned and left without further comment. The semester came to an end, John let his graduate assistant read the final exams and issue the grades for History 206. Three days later, John was in France.


The university went on a two week break after the fall semester. This was a happy time for all concerned -- particularly the faculty which busied itself organizing parties, taking ski trips, sleeping in late then going out for brunch. Judith Slaughter was not one however to take special license for leisure when such opportunity presented itself on a grand scale. Her life was systematic -- poached eggs and cereal at 7:00 then off to her office to read and work on her book, "A Soul in Crisis -- Martin Luther and the Peasant Rebellion of 1525.”


Paul was busy as well not one to be reveling with time off, he was preparing for his lecture course for the following semester. He worked at home however and was very much a home body until he would become stir-crazy and emerge from the house to ride his bicycle for ten miles or so. It came to pass that the walls seemed to be closing in on him one day so he opened the kitchen cabinet door to get some coffee and noticed the bottle of Carbernet Bonaparte on the top shelf. He stared at the bottle captivated by it as if it were a monument.


The signature of the vintner and the printed year of the vintage began to blur and he became lost in a day dream imagining himself as Napoleon at a Parisian soiree. There was dancing, people splendidly dressed and there was Judith Slaughter blazing in jewelry. She was smiling at him as he took notice of her chest. She nodded in a meaningful way at him -- in a way that could only occur in Paris. The wine bottle came back into focus. He closed the cabinet door slowly and took a deep breath. He shook his head.


Judith was comfortably buried in her work sorting out the murky politics of 16th century Germany and didn't notice time going by until she heard the sound of voices and more and more footsteps trooping down the hall. Of course. The departmental Christmas party was getting started. She forgot all about it. There was a knock on the door.


"YES!" she shouted.


The door opened. It was Paul.


"Coming to the party?" He asked.


"Oh of course," she smiled.


"You're quite the workaholic aren't you?"


"Oh, I just can't tear myself away from this stuff.


"The Reformation was a turbulent time."


"The Reformation was chaos."


He sat down. In spite of himself his eyes drifted to her chest. He looked up. She was smiling. The eyes sparkled and she inhaled and let out a sigh. The chest heaved up then settled.


"You're a credit to this place." He said sincerely.


"Well, thank you." She smiled a toothy smile which was warm along with the sparkling eyes which said, "I appreciate compliments from tenured faculty but especially from you."


Paul looked into those eyes and became serious.


"Your contract will be up next semester. Planning on sticking around?"


"If they'll let me. Yes, I'm swinging for the fences here."


"You had what? Over two hundred students in your lecture?"


"Two hundred and thirty two."


"Good. Good." Paul gazed into space for a few seconds. "I'll be pulling for you."


"Well, THANK YOU." She said with a smile that seemed absolutely seductive.


Paul was feeling an invisible gossamer net of molecular lightness being cast over him. He looked up and a stupid looking smile appeared on his face.


“Well, shall we?” He blurted not feeling complete control of his faculties.


“Certainly.” She closed books and folders, got up and came around her desk. Paul was waiting with the door opened. She passed through the door and he felt her breast brush up against him ever so slightly. They sauntered down the hall to the faculty lounge with Paul having the bizarre feeling he just gained a girl friend.


He wanted to hold her hand but just could not in these circumstances. She led the way into the lounge with Paul following. Some eyebrows arched briefly at the sight of them. The short stocky professor of American history specializing in the "Robber Baron" period being led by the Martin Luther scholar presented an optimistic amalgam of an intellectual destiny.


Paul and Judith helped themselves to crackers and cheese.


"Do you like white or red wine?" He asked.


"Definitely red, boujeaulais and the Bordeauxs Merlot, Cabernet." She said.


“Oh really. I like Bordeaux wine." He said with a slight twitch in his jaw as his eyes seemed to focus on something in space.


"Let’s see, here’s one, Sutter Home, Cabernet. That’s respectable.” He poured himself a glass and offered to pour her a glass. She raised a glass and he poured. She took her glass and showed no inclination to stray.


“Well, lets’ mingle.” He said.


“Let’s”


They drifted, recognizing people, smiling. Paul nodded to a colleague in American history who was standing alone, gorging himself on cheddar cheese and crackers. Paul came over.


“We United States guys are in a class by ourselves.” Paul ventured.


"We're the historians of a country that finally got it right."


"I HEARD THAT!" The Elizabethan historian shouted.


There was a moment of silence. Paul spoke up.


"Did Howard turn in his thesis?"


"Yes."


"Interesting?"


"Well, adequate anyway. Seems to touch the bases."


"Let's rake him over the coals on his orals."


"He's married."


"I want to see him sweat."


"So do I really. But you know he is thorough."


“Okay,” Paul said and deliberately munched on cheese.


He found Judith’s eyes which were sparkling.


“You’re just a scoundrel aren’t you.” She smiled.


His eyes drifted unobtrusively to her chest which seemed to lift up as he noticed it. He blinked and met her eyes again. The eyes were bright. He smiled and took a quick gulp of Cabernet. He felt his blood rushing in his ears. He was feeling French suddenly. America after all had her roots in both England and France. He swilled his wine and studied its color. Peering into his wine he thought he saw a faint vision of a Napoleonic cannon pointing at him. He blinked and found Judith's eyes.


“Are you feeling French?” He asked Judith.


“Very.”


He studied his wine in a state of light headedness, in the grip of a slight vertigo. A little bell in his brain tinkled with a mischievous idea. He stared into the wine. He thought he saw smoke over a battlefield, there was the faint shout of soldiers.


“You know, I have something at my place that may be of considerable interest to you my dear French woman.”


“Oh really?” She responded with a French accent in a coquettish manner which seemed out of character for her but which also excited Paul in its sophomoric tone. It was cheap. It was French. His heart began beating a rumba.


He spoke with a French accent.


“I have a bottle of wine of 1815 vintage bottled especially for Napoleon Bonaparte upon his return from Elba. It is named Cabernet Bonaparte. The label on the bottle is signed by the vintner.”


Her eyes were wide. “You DO?”


“Yes, it is precisely as I say,” he spoke with that French accent and squinted his eyes like the Pink Panther played by Peter Sellers.


“I would love to see it.”


“Haw haw haw. How would you like to drink a glass of it Mademoiselle Slaughter?” His words fell out of his mouth it seemed by force of gravity.


“DRINK a glass?”


“Mais oui, ma chere. ““Well, THAT would be simply divine.” She had a small smile pasted on her face and the dark eyes were blazing behind the glasses.





He gulped down the rest of his wine and the devil took over his soul.


“Well, shall we navigate our way to a more intimate venue?”


“I’m just breathless.” She said with a serious expression which bespoke, “TAKE ME.”


Paul’s blood was rushing in his ears, he saw the dark sky through the window, a sky which was just barely blue and he felt he could turn summersaults. It was a risqué gesture he knew, but he proffered his arm to her she took it. They began moving toward the door, smiling and nodding past the innocuously arched eyebrows and bemused sharp stares fueled by wine. Paul led the way out the door. They heard the volume of the hubbub rise as they left.


“Looks like the hunt is over.” The Elizabethan said.


“I had my money on Haines but there was a dark horse all along."


"He's slippery -- the Robber Baron."


"Ha ha ha."


The two professors of history walked across the university yard to a cafe where Paul ordered a large coffee. They sat down for a conspiratorial tete a tete which would cement their relationship and desire to go to “his” place. They spoke in code not saying things outright, subtle signals being put out and responses given to the effect that they were now friends and were accepting the prospect of a fruitful future, that anything that happened between them from now on was just fine. Paul sobered up as well for the driving.


“Well, are you ready?” Paul finally asked.


“Yep.” She said without a care in the world.


They drove through the autumnal streets of Cambridge with a brisk breeze gusting about the quaint shops immune from the feeling of loneliness that the breeze usually imparts. They were together in a cold lonely world with its demands, dangers and threats. Paul fished around for Judith's hand, found it then squeezed. She squeezed as well. Loneliness was not for them.


They arrived at Paul's Tudor style home with it's tall chimney and pointed gables and Judith ran her eyes over it saying, "I'm impressed."


"Hm, it's a big cold house full of books."


"Well, let's turn on the heat."


"Let's."


They came inside and there was a chill in the air. Paul turned up the thermostat.


"We should be comfortable momentarily," he said.


Lights were turned on in the dining room, the library, the kitchen.


"Shall I take your coat?"


"Not quite yet." She said. Her eyes drifted across the furnishings, the art, the books.


"I'll get some tea brewing."


Judith browsed the books.


"This is a very American library." She commented.


"Oh yes, I'm a very American man."


"With French sympathies it seems."


"What do you expect with a name like Paul Le Clerque?"


"So do you stay connected with your heritage."


"It's a distant heritage -- really very American. My great grandfather was a French Canadian lumber jack who ended up in Maine. "


"What is known of his heritage?"


"Not much. He was a descendant of the French colonization of Quebec."


"You're a Frenchman in the flesh. Impetuosity and courage runs in your veins."


He blushed.


"Shall I take your coat now?"


"You may. I guess I'll stay a while."


He slipped her coat off her back and hung it up. He found a CD of the opera Carmen and slipped it into to his stereo system as background music.


"Mood music." He grinned.


"Oh, what are we in the mood for?"


"A little French wine I think." He said without a hint of trepidation.


But he was torn about what he was going to do. Betraying a colleague at this level was a very big no-no but he was on fire over Judith and on fire about being -- did he dare say it? French?


"Come on into the kitchen, I want to show you something."


She came over and he reached into the top shelf of the kitchen cabinet. He brought out the bottle of Cabernet Bonaparte, 1815. He presented the bottle for her inspection. Her eyes swam over the label and it's signature. Her historian's mind was digesting the label, the bottle and the signature.


"This could not have been bottled in 1815," she said.


"It's a knock off type thing -- they draw off the wine from the 1815 vintage but add wine to the casks so as to rejuvenate it."


"Oh, interesting. Where did you get it?"


He had to think for a moment. "At an estate sale."


"Cabernet Bonaparte. It's as if something of Napoleon is in this bottle."


He looked at her with a seductive stare.


"Shall we find out?"


"You don't mind opening this bottle for just the two of us?"


He had to consider the question seriously for a few moments. He had a plan. Holding the bottle he felt Napoleonic. He felt like taking initiative with a strategy.


"We deserve it do we not? Ma chere?"I like to see Napoleon coming out in you." She said with a pert smile.


"


"And so you shall. Why don't you make yourself comfortable on the sofa by the coffee table and I will join you shortly."


"I'd be pleased to." She touched his arm and sauntered into the living room, swaying her hips with special emphasis. He stared at the hips. She settled herself in with creaking and rustling sounds coming out of the sofa. He heard those sounds and his heart felt like it was going into his throat.


"Ok," he said to himself, "the plan goes forward. Everything is fair in love and war. Is it not so?"


He fetched his corkscrew and placed the point precisely in the middle of the cork then turned very slowly straight down. The levers of the cork screw pointed up and he gently pushed them down. The cork began to move. Very slowly he extracted the cork and it emerged little worse for wear. Now he carefully removed the screw from the cork turning slowly and deliberately. He almost had the screw out of the cork when it happened. A chip of cork became dislodged from the top of the cork.


"Damn it!" he whispered.


He got two wine glasses and set the cork down on the counter. He picked up the chip of cork and set it precisely in the middle of the top cabinet shelf. He grasped the bottle and the glasses and joined the love of his life on the long sofa. He set down the glasses on the coffee table. He poured her a sampling of Cabernet Bonaparte for her to taste and approve a complete pouring of the glass. She smelled the wine, then took a sip.


"This is exquisite! It's slightly sweet along with that rich Bordeaux body."


He poured her a glass and poured himself a glass. He barely set the bottle down on the table when he heard the booming of cannon, the cries of men, the volleys of musketry. The Grande Armee was charging the fools at Austerlitz. It was a rout. Paul was staring ahead of himself in a trance. He paled.


"Are you alright?" She asked.


"I better take a sip of wine." He said. "I thought I just saw the battle at Austerlitz."


"Well, I'm getting everything I bargained for," she said.


"Seems that way." He faced her and took a sip of wine. It had a sweetness and heavy body at the same time.


"You're right. It's got that sweetness."


"Old wines have that characteristic. They're gradually turning into sherries."


"Really. Well that's convenient." He patted her on the hand and looked piercingly into her bright eyes. His voice was deep as he spoke.


"Come closer ma chere, I am only an emperor, mortal in all respects."


"You're so silly." She giggled and edged closer. He put his arm around her.


"Josephine!"


"Oh, Bonni!"


"Ma chere," he whispered and leaned toward her face. Their lips met as she closed her eyes. He kissed her lightly then again. They talked a bit and drank wine. Then he kissed her passionately and they simply devoured each other.


The bottle of Cabernet Bonaparte was corked and they went to bed.


The next day while professor Slaughter was in her office Paul set about a delicate task. He bought a bottle of expensive Cabernet, a plastic funnel, a rubber mallet and a piece of wooden dowel. He took out the half empty bottle of Cabernet Bonaparte, stuck the funnel into it and slowly filled the bottle with the expensive wine he had bought. Next, he gently knocked the cork into the Cabernet Bonaparte with the rubber mallet. Before the cork reached the lip of the bottle, Paul took a dab of white glue and glued the chip of cork into its spot and let it dry.


Then in order to knock the cork in a bit past the lip of the bottle he applied the dowel to the cork and tapped it gently with the rubber mallet. All was as before the opening of the bottle. But there was still one problem. The hole the corkscrew had made was still visible. He resolved this irregularity by getting some wood putty the approximate color of the cork and pressed a dab of it into the corkscrew hole and rubbed it about the top of the cork. He placed the finished job back on the kitchen cabinet shelf.


"Voila!" He said in a deep voice unwittingly placing his right hand across his heart and into his shirt, peering at the bottle for a few moments.


"C'est ca! Bouteille de vin neuf!" No issues!


He closed the cabinet door with a decisive snap.


A few weeks flew by as he and Judith went out to dinner and went dancing and out to the movies. There was no more talk of the Cabernet Bonaparte but there was other wine. There was another incarnation of Napoleon as Paul made a triangle hat out of newspaper and put in on his head sideways with his right hand stuck inside his shirt over his heart, his left hand clenched in a fist against the small of his back.


"I will meet Wellington here in a fortnight!" He shouted and stubbed his finger into the table as if upon a map. Judith was all giggles.


She was giggling when Paul's phone rang as if announcing an execution.


"Yeah." Paul answered. The name John Haines appeared on the prompt screen.


"Hi Paul, I just got in from Paris."


"Hey!" Paul was hit with an inspiration. "I'll pick you up at the airport."


"That's very gracious of you."


"Ok, you're at Delta?"


"Yes."


"Ok, I'll be there in forty-five minutes or so."


"Thank you pal."


Paul hung up.


"Ok honey," he said, "I gotta take care of all this guy stuff now, the chairman of the department is back in town."


"Alright sweetie, get together for lunch tomorrow?"


"Lunch," he said. He kissed her and went for the door. She followed him. He put on his jacket and kissed her again. "I love you." He said.


"I love you." She answered.


Paul drove to Logan Airport with a heavy heart in spite of his newly acquired Napoleonic personality. His crimes came to vivid light. He had stolen his friend's girl albeit by accident and he drank his friend's precious wine although he replaced the wine he drank. His lame rationalizations gave him a pain in his chest as the dark consequences of his betrayals unfolded before him if he were to be found out.


Hell, John will never open that bottle or sell it. Years from now he might open it and drink the wine. Cabernet is Cabernet and for that matter the 1815 vintage still lives in the bottle along with Napoleon!


Great. He decided not to talk about Judith. John would find out soon enough and it shouldn't matter to him anyway. This night had to go smooth as silk.


He pulled up to Delta passenger pick up. There was John. Well, he was looking good, rested and grinning. He popped his trunk. John threw his bags in and got into the car.


"Welcome home!" Paul exclaimed and put out his hand. John grasped it in a firm handshake.


"Good to be back. Good to be back."


"So, tell me about France."


John thought for a long moment and made a pronouncement.


"New wine in old bottles."


A shudder passed through Paul's frame. He said nothing giving the impression of thinking.


"A socialist president, legalization of same sex marriage in a heavily Catholic country. Something's going to give."


Paul nodded. "New wine in old goat skins ruins both the goat skins and the wine. Matthew three verse seventeen."


"Well, that wouldn't be the first time in France."


"Banish all new wine in old bottles." Paul said with mock seriousness.


There was silence as they swished down the freeway.


"Did you find some entertainment over there?" Paul asked.


"Just between you and me," John gave Paul a hard stare.


"Yes?"


"I patronized an establishment." John said with thinly veiled disgust.


"Good. Good. A man never runs out of wild oats."


"So what's new on the home front?"


"There have been developments."


"Such as?"


"The Broad has a boyfriend." Paul blurted out as his grip tightened on the steering wheel.


"Oh good heavens. Somebody we know?"


"MOI." Paul said in a sharp and deep tone.


"Ha ha ha ha. " John broke out in a spasm of laughter. “Ha ha ha ha ha” He looked at Paul and noticed an intensity in his face. His hair was different reminding him of a portrait of someone. Who? Why of course, Napoleon Bonaparte. He chuckled and observed Paul's profile again. The jaw was set. There was that intensity. John stared out of the window into the night.


“Do you feel bereaved?” Paul asked.


“Oh, heavens no. I wish you all the luck with that rack of pillows.”


“Well, we’re getting along famously. She’s the one who lassoed me in a way.”


“No fury like a woman’s scorn and nothing more blunt than a woman's lust."


"Sounds like you know women after all."


“Quite well. So, are you driving me to your place?”


“I’ve got steaks we could fix and you know, we’ve got wine.” Paul looked at John with a Napoleonic grin. The teeth were bared, the fleshy lips drawn back, the eyes were those of a boa constrictor making him appear as the Corsican monster himself. John studied Paul’s face. This was not the Paul he left three weeks ago. This was Napoleon Bonaparte in love.


John was under the impression that Paul was suggesting something or was he commanding?


“Oh yes. We do have wine. Why don’t we open up the bottle of 1815 Cabernet Bonaparte and celebrate your new love affair.”


“You’re sure?” Paul’s eyes were angelic but still the eyes of Napoleon humoring an adversary. Then Napoleon winked.


“Let’s open it up. I’ll write another book and return to Chateau Sainte Gervais d'Auvergne some day for another bottle.”


"Bon! Sounds like a plan.” Paul said decisively with a statuesque set of his jaw and eyes gleaming, peering into the night.