In Vino Veritas

Bette smiled at the pourer and extended her small glass.

“I’m ready for the Meritage,” she said, using her other hand to clasp the neck of the bottle and to tilt it back for a better look at the label.

With her ounce poured, Bette thanked the sommelier and turned back to face the crowd of people. Small groups of art enthusiasts stood together exchanging social pleasantries and sipping their wine. Others balanced hors d’oeuvres on appetizer plates with clips to hold their tasting glasses as they perused the CAC’s new exhibit. Bette walked slowly to the registration table to inquire about the attendance count.

“One hundred seventy-three, Ms. Porter,” the registrar advised Bette.

She grinned. “Well, then we’re well on our way to the appointed goal,” Bette happily concluded with a friendly caress of the registrar’s shoulder.

“Hey, Porter! Nice shindig!” a familiar voice called out.

Bette looked up. “Hi, Alice,” she said, reaching to embrace her close friend. “Thanks for coming. I hope the minimum $100 price tag wasn’t too much for you.”

Alice waved her hand in the air dismissively and shook her head.

“Pfftt. Anything for art. Besides, some of your patrons have some nice looking asses to check out,” Alice replied with a devious glance around the room.

“Is that right?” Bette simpered, looking out over the throng that was clustered like grapes among the artwork.

Suddenly her gaze halted, settling on a beauty almost too delightful to describe.

“Yes, that’s right,” Alice said, unaware that Bette’s attention had been captured. “So how’ve ya been? Heard from Tina lately? I saw her the other night driving down Santa Monica. I honked but she didn’t see me. She was definitely on her way to some kinda fire.” Alice rambled. “Always running late. Did you ever notice that about her?”

Bette’s eyes remained transfixed.

“Bette? Yo, Bette!” Alice called out, waving her hand in front of Bette’s face. “Are you in there, Porter?”

Alice snapped her fingers in front of Bette’s face.

Bette flinched.

“What?”

Alice looked in the direction that Bette’s eyes were pointed.

Beauty is not even the word to describe it. What Bette’s eyes were fixed upon.

Even Alice gasped.

A patron of the arts walked up to Bette and smiled. She was still oblivious to her surroundings, save for that of the beauty in her gaze.

“Bette, this is simply a wonderful occasion,” he said, taking her hand. “The beauty exhibited here is without parallel.”

The gentleman ran his hand up her arm.

“Bette?” His hand squeezed hers, shaking her from her reverie.

“Porter! You got someone talkin’ to you!” Alice nudged Bette with her elbow.

“Johnathan! I’m sorry. What did you say?” Bette answered, quickly smiling to the man touching her arm.

“My dear Bette, I said, ‘The beauty exhibited here is without parallel.’" He smiled sweetly as she gazed up briefly into his eyes.

“I hope not,” Bette uttered, reassigning her gaze to the beautiful woman across the room.

Alice and Johnathan exchanged gazes.

Alice looked at Bette. Back at Johnathan. And then at Bette who was still in awe of the glorious creature before her. She took it upon herself to speak for Bette.

“I think Bette is saying that she thinks the beauty is incomparable to the art on the walls. But that she hopes the lack of parallel does not keep the lines that separate she and the woman in her sight from converging.” Alice looked at Bette, who was still awestruck. Then she looked at Johnathan. “Or something like that. Get it?”

Johnathan looked in the direction of Bette’s gaze, and he too was overcome with the sparkling woman from whom Bette couldn’t take her eyes.

“Yes,” he mumbled, as he too stared. “I get it.”

“Yeah. Thought so,” Alice retorted, as she observed Bette in her daze and had no reason to wonder why Bette’s pose was like a statue, wineglass suspended in midair.

“Alice, wine has always been potent, but never, for me, such as this,” Bette offered. She took a sip from her tasting glass. “Meritage. American Bordeaux. A beautiful blend.”