blushing Fink and Nottle home.
I didn’t wait around for the wedding. My room was needed for a soon-to-arrive aunt. I gave the groom congratulations and bid the bride best wishes. I took an early evening flight out and got into Cincinnati about ten in the p.m. I took a cab from CVG directly to Japp’s.
I dropped my bag by the door and took a seat at the bar.
"Hey, stranger," Molly said. "I’ve got just the drink for you."
"I want something romantic," I said.
"Meeting someone?"
"No. I’m just in a romantic mood. How about a Sex on the Beach?"
"You didn’t just ask me that, did you?"
"I joke," she said.
"Make me a real cocktail."
Molly brought out the shaker. In went the ice, then she poured in equal measures of Scotch, OJ, sweet vermouth and the world’s best liqueur—Cherry Heering. There was the wonderful music of the shake and then a pop as she broke the seal of the shaker with the heel of her hand. She ran it through a julep strainer into a Nick and Nora glass.
"You don’t know how long I’ve waited for this," I said.
"I hope it’s worth the wait."
The Blood and Sand is a beautiful cocktail. The red of the vermouth and liqueur float around the pulp of the OJ that’s been turned brown by the Scotch, giving the effect of blood spilt on sand. I took a long, slow sip. It was gorgeous.
Molly waited for my reaction.
"Very much worth the wait," I said. "Some things are."
Lovers in a Dangerous Time — Part II
She asked, “Where are we going?”
I told her the airport.
“That’s eight kilometers away.”
“Yes, it is.”
“Are we walking?”
“No. Follow me.”
I opened the door and made sure the hallway was clear. We walked to the south stairwell. As we passed the final room, a door open. Enrique, the concierge, looked wide eyed at us both. He was naked except for a towel around his waist. I looked over his shoulder and saw Pablo the hotel manager lying naked on the bed. I looked back to the cigarette dangling from Enrique’s lips.
“Can she have one of those?” I asked.
Enrique looked back to Pablo. Pablo shrugged. He reached to the bedside table and tossed Enrique a package of American cigarettes. Enrique fished two out of the box and handed them to me. I gave them both to her. She put one in her mouth and held it there unlit. The other disappeared into her shirt.
“ Gracias ,” I said.
“ De nada ,” he said. “And be careful out there.”
I nodded and pushed the door into the stairway. I quick timed it to the basement. She kept pace. Behind a Mardi Gras head and under a painter’s canvas was the Kawasaki motorcycle I stored earlier in the summer when things looked to be going pear shaped. The spare can of petrol was still beside it. I tied the can to the bike’s front fender.
“Can you hold the door?”
She did and I pushed the bike out the door and up the stairs to street level. I straddled it to make sure it would fire. It did.
“This has been here all along?”
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t leave?”
“No.”
“ ¿ Por que?”
“Because the job wasn’t done. And I wasn’t sure you’d leave with me. Get on.”
She climbed on, wrapping her brown legs around my waist and crossing them with her heels planted in my lap.
“Wait,” she said.
I heard a match strike and caught the whiff of American tobacco.
“You good?” I asked.
“I’m good,” she said.
I pushed off and prayed we would make the airport in time and alive. She held me tight.
Cocktail Accompaniment for Sazerac — The Sazerac
I drink Sazeracs when I’m in a border-line foul mood brought on either by boredom or existential ennui. That is to say, I drink them often. In the Sazerac there’s heat, there’s spice. There is a bite. I was in that mood and drinking this drink when I wrote this story where Jake Gibb is dealt some misogynistic comeuppance.
Start by grabbing two old-fashioned glasses. These are the short, stubby glasses that came in the set
I didn’t wait around for the wedding. My room was needed for a soon-to-arrive aunt. I gave the groom congratulations and bid the bride best wishes. I took an early evening flight out and got into Cincinnati about ten in the p.m. I took a cab from CVG directly to Japp’s.
I dropped my bag by the door and took a seat at the bar.
"Hey, stranger," Molly said. "I’ve got just the drink for you."
"I want something romantic," I said.
"Meeting someone?"
"No. I’m just in a romantic mood. How about a Sex on the Beach?"
"You didn’t just ask me that, did you?"
"I joke," she said.
"Make me a real cocktail."
Molly brought out the shaker. In went the ice, then she poured in equal measures of Scotch, OJ, sweet vermouth and the world’s best liqueur—Cherry Heering. There was the wonderful music of the shake and then a pop as she broke the seal of the shaker with the heel of her hand. She ran it through a julep strainer into a Nick and Nora glass.
"You don’t know how long I’ve waited for this," I said.
"I hope it’s worth the wait."
The Blood and Sand is a beautiful cocktail. The red of the vermouth and liqueur float around the pulp of the OJ that’s been turned brown by the Scotch, giving the effect of blood spilt on sand. I took a long, slow sip. It was gorgeous.
Molly waited for my reaction.
"Very much worth the wait," I said. "Some things are."
Lovers in a Dangerous Time — Part II
She asked, “Where are we going?”
I told her the airport.
“That’s eight kilometers away.”
“Yes, it is.”
“Are we walking?”
“No. Follow me.”
I opened the door and made sure the hallway was clear. We walked to the south stairwell. As we passed the final room, a door open. Enrique, the concierge, looked wide eyed at us both. He was naked except for a towel around his waist. I looked over his shoulder and saw Pablo the hotel manager lying naked on the bed. I looked back to the cigarette dangling from Enrique’s lips.
“Can she have one of those?” I asked.
Enrique looked back to Pablo. Pablo shrugged. He reached to the bedside table and tossed Enrique a package of American cigarettes. Enrique fished two out of the box and handed them to me. I gave them both to her. She put one in her mouth and held it there unlit. The other disappeared into her shirt.
“ Gracias ,” I said.
“ De nada ,” he said. “And be careful out there.”
I nodded and pushed the door into the stairway. I quick timed it to the basement. She kept pace. Behind a Mardi Gras head and under a painter’s canvas was the Kawasaki motorcycle I stored earlier in the summer when things looked to be going pear shaped. The spare can of petrol was still beside it. I tied the can to the bike’s front fender.
“Can you hold the door?”
She did and I pushed the bike out the door and up the stairs to street level. I straddled it to make sure it would fire. It did.
“This has been here all along?”
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t leave?”
“No.”
“ ¿ Por que?”
“Because the job wasn’t done. And I wasn’t sure you’d leave with me. Get on.”
She climbed on, wrapping her brown legs around my waist and crossing them with her heels planted in my lap.
“Wait,” she said.
I heard a match strike and caught the whiff of American tobacco.
“You good?” I asked.
“I’m good,” she said.
I pushed off and prayed we would make the airport in time and alive. She held me tight.
Cocktail Accompaniment for Sazerac — The Sazerac
I drink Sazeracs when I’m in a border-line foul mood brought on either by boredom or existential ennui. That is to say, I drink them often. In the Sazerac there’s heat, there’s spice. There is a bite. I was in that mood and drinking this drink when I wrote this story where Jake Gibb is dealt some misogynistic comeuppance.
Start by grabbing two old-fashioned glasses. These are the short, stubby glasses that came in the set
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