Merlot by Mike Faricy

work, and it sounds like you have just a hell of a week lined up
ahead of you, so thanks for making time for me.”
    “My pleasure, it’s really no trouble at all,”
she replied, suddenly feeling famished, ready to kill for whatever
special romantic dinner he had prepared.
    “Merlot to the dining room, Merlot to the
dining room, please,” a rather urgent page over the
loudspeaker.
    “God, I’m sorry, would you give me just a
minute? I’ll be right back. Can I get you anything while I’m
up?”
    “No, no, just fine, I’ve got this glass, go
ahead, take care of whatever it is, I’m fine, honest.”
    “Okay, back just as soon as I can.”
    * * *
    “God, Merlot!” Allie the dining room hostess
sounded more than a little flustered. “We are seriously overbooked
in here and there’s some weirdo really putting the pressure on to
talk to you. He’s giving me the creeps and, well, the whole thing
is just weird.”
    “Point him out to me without being obvious,”
said Merlot.
    “Point him out? God, no problem! He’s at
table sixteen, the creepy guy with the mustache, that Neanderthal
kind of guy and the slut in the nurse costume with the boob job.
Little early for Halloween, don’t ya think? Look, look, there she
is wiping the menu before he holds it, some kind of germ nut if you
ask me.”
    Merlot immediately recognized Osborne, just
as Osborne glanced up and caught his eye.
    “Shit! Make sure he gets top service,
anything he wants, and no bill. Bring him a bottle of champagne,
some good stuff, with their dinner. Make sure you tell him it was
compliments of me and that everything is on the house.” Merlot
smiled and waved across the room at Osborne.
    “You kidding me?” Allie asked, having known
Merlot to bitch more than once about getting a round of beer.
    “No, I’m not kidding, use every ounce of
charm you’ve got,” he said, then walked to the rear of the dining
room and Osborne’s table.
    “Thank you for coming,” Merlot said, “no
please, please, sit down Mr. Osborne, you’re our guest. The prime
rib is excellent, or if you prefer, the lobster tails are great and
I’ll gladly pick some out for you myself.”
    “Thank you, but I think I’ll look at the
menu, if it’s all the same. Nice to see you again,” Osborne said
making no effort to introduce the nurse.
    There seemed to be just the hint of a
medicinal scent in the air, the table glistened from a recent sheen
of disinfectant spray. Merlot noticed that Osborne wrapped his
fingertips with the cloth napkin before picking up his menu.
    The larger man, Milton, had a swollen right
hand sporting a series of small purplish gashes. He rested his hand
on the table, holding the menu with his left.
    “Call me if you need anything Mr. Osborne,
otherwise I look forward to our meeting in a few days. Enjoy your
evening. Ma’am,” he inclined his head to the nurse.
    ***
    “You want another drink, hon?”
    The cocktail waitresses had come on duty.
They were dressed in what could only be described as black velvet
French maid outfits, with little white aprons and very low cut
tops. The Lounge room was filling up with the Saturday night
meat-market crowd. Cindy felt as if she had a large spot light
shining directly on her, dressed to the nines, alone in the
booth.
    “Yeah sure, I’ll have another.”
    “What are you drinking, hon?” The waitress
asked, not sure by the outfit if Cindy was a working girl or
not.
    “Merlot,” she said, blushing as she said
it.
    “Five fifty, hon,” the waitress said,
returning ten minutes later balancing the tray, almost spilling out
of her low cut top when she set the drink on the table.
    Cindy nodded and hoped Tony returned
quickly.
    “Five fifty, hon,” the waitress repeated,
smiled sweetly, not meaning to be sweet, then looked bored and
waited.
    “Oh yeah, sure. Here you go, thanks” Cindy
said, finding a ten in her wallet.
    “Did you want change?”
    “Yes, I do.”
    “I’ll be back, hon,” suggesting