PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

It was going to be a game changer, this business date.  He liked to think of them as dates and not meeting.  Get in a comfortable surrounding.  Have some wine, dinner, talk of family and friends, little work thrown in, show off his hard earned knowledge of the grape.  He would do his usual go-to spiel about wines from the different parts of the world, trying to get them relaxed, get a handle on his companion.  He had some hardware to sell and he knew who he wanted to sell it to.  He just wasn't prepared for who showed up for the appointment.  

The restaurant was of the dark wood variety, enveloping in its ambiance, sheltering in its discretion. You could meet and discuss business or personal matters and not be on anyone’s radar.  He liked this place for that precise reason.  Quiet, classy, non committal. Until she walked in...then all the heads turned.  Fork to month the occupants of the table next peeked over the banisters positioned between and visibly stopped.  Beauty is not always in the appearance, but in the presence.

All the trappings of a true beauty she possessed.  The hair in waves, controlled in a non controlled way, swept out of her eyes as she reached for his hand to shake, her beautiful manicured nails embracing his in a hint of intamcy.

"Deirdre, Deirdre Collins, Mr. Hurstberg?"

He stood and shook her hand nodding as to agree with anything she would say.  The waiter was at her chair before he could do the honors and she sat in a graceful one step motion from the door. Whoosh she was there.

"Miss Collins..."

"Oh, call me Dee Dee, please, Mr. Hurstberg."

"Then you must call me John."

"John."

"Miss Collins, I was not expecting you."

"Well, old Mr. Bentley was feeling poorly and I know how important this is to your company.  I thought perhaps I would come myself.  I don’t get out much and it seems to be a treat."

Her eyes....He was looking into her eyes.  Brown with the fire of amber against a skin smooth and touched, not with the sun, but with generations of Mediterreanian ancestry.  Sicilian?  He was so distracted by her eyes, he didn’t realize he was rambling on about the wines in the different countries...

Her eyes as he spoke, were warming from the amber to red almost cherry like, that he went right to the reds in his dissertation.  Maybe because her dress was a burgundy like the mellow merlot he was channeling, or the strong cab her vibe invited, but he was transfixed.  

Nearly stumbling for words that normally rolled off his tongue, "Beurdoux only come from a certain region of the world like champagne.  What do you..."

He used this line of questions and knowledge spewing to learn about his client.  Make them comfortable, tailor his pitch to their needs and make their needs their wants.  He usually could close over the desert wine, sweet like the bargain they thought they were getting.

But, he was on his back foot with this gamestress.  She was on to him and seems to have a formidable knowledge of wines.

The world continued to tunnel into her eyes as he heard his last word rise in timbor to a squeeze, "...favor?" he finished his sentence and loosened his tie against he choking affects of his nerves,

"I  had a nice white Beaudeax the other day.  Maybe we could start with that, John. They normally are a little citrusy, but this one was buttery on the first taste like a Chardonnady without the tannin oak."

She proceeded to tell the wine sommelier her choice for the table, pronouncing the name of the vintner in perfect French.  She folded up the wine menu and looked back at him, taking stock.

"So, tell me about my project and the hardware you think I need."