This is Chapter 4 in an ongoing series titled, "Keepers of the Night." If you missed Chapters 1-3, you may find them here:
Chapter 4
Stepping
inside the door, Joe suddenly understood why these seats were so damned
expensive. Plush velvet chairs arranged
in cozy sets of two dotted the area in front of him, while a well-stocked wet
bar stood off to one side, attended by a sharply dressed butler who stood
waiting for his next orders, as patient and attentively as one might expect of
an attendant for royalty or the extremely wealthy.
While taking in everything in front of him, and thinking that he should send
for Jillian to join him, one of the overstuffed velvet chairs near the
balcony's edge turned towards him to reveal a richly dressed woman in an
exquisite silver evening gown with opera gloves that looked to be from the
1940's. She smiled at him as she
chuckled softly, saying huskily, “A little new to the top drawer, are you
dear? Why don't you have a seat and make
yourself comfortable?” She gestured toward the seat across from her, and
several diamond bangle bracelets danced on her gloved arm, sending showers of
sparkling color floating through the air in front of him.
After
loosening his necktie, Joe handed his suit coat and Josh's present to the
attending butler, then made himself comfortable in the proffered velvet chair. Leaning back and allowing himself to relax
for the first time that evening, he closed his eyes and let out a long exhaling
sigh, releasing all of the tension and frustration from his entire day and
evening in one fell swoop. As he did so,
the memories of what happened earlier in the day came flooding back to him.
On his way out the door to Josh's
concert, one of the senior partners had called Joe into his office with some
very bad news. After 12 years of loyal
service, he was now going to be unemployed.
“Joe, business
has been bad for some time now. The
economy has wiped out most of our clients' assets and eliminated their need for
our services. All your hard work with
our top clients has enabled us to keep you on longer than the rest, but the
partners and I have decided to cut our losses before it gets any worse. Effective tomorrow morning, we will close our
doors for good.” He got up from his
desk, laid his hand on Joe's shoulder and said, “I'm sorry Joe,” then walked
out.
Opening
his eyes again, he saw the mystery woman staring back at him, studying him as
intently as if he were going to suddenly disappear at any moment and she would
have to recreate him from memory. It was
an unsettling yet curious phenomenon, and after all that he had already been
through this evening, Joe decided to go with the flow and see what
happened. After all, the evening
couldn’t get any stranger than it already had.
As
soon as this thought completed itself in Joe’s head, a waiter in a crisp white
waistcoat, sharply pressed black pants, and pristine white gloves appeared
beside him, placing a small leather case on the cocktail table that separated
his chair from the mystery woman’s chair.
“Compliments of the Madame, sir,” the waiter said with a slight bow,
gesturing to the mystery woman and then turning back to his wheeled cart nearby,
stocked with all manner of beverage accoutrements.
As
the waiter prepared the ice bucket and glasses, Joe picked up the small leather
case with a quizzical look on his face.
The front of the case was embossed with two pieces of sterling silver,
one in the shape of a stag’s head and the other a square which read,
“The Dalmore 1974.” Intrigued, Joe
opened the case and was astonished to find a glass bottle inside with matching
silver embossed pieces and filled with a dark amber liquid. The label on the neck read, “The Dalmore,
Matusalem Sherry Finesse, Single Highland Malt Scotch Whiskey.”
Letting
out a slow whistle from his lips, Joe stared at the bottle in his hands. This was not just any scotch; this was single
malt highland scotch that had been bottled in the very same year that he was
born! Turning the bottle around in his
hands, Joe studied the amber liquid as it glowed in the light and thought back
to the very first time he'd been introduced to single malt highland scotch.
He was 23 years
old and had just joined the firm. The
senior partner had called him into his office to congratulate him on being
accepted as their new junior accountant.
Sitting on the man's desk was a square crystal decanter, surrounded by
matching crystal glasses. Popping the
top off of the decanter, he poured a small glass for each of them, and handed
one to Joe. “Son,” he said congenially,
“there are few things in life as enjoyable as a good scotch. The best scotch is always from the highlands,
and always single malt. The rest have to
be served over ice.” He then winked at
Joe, chuckled loudly, and toasted to their mutual success.
The clinking of ice cubes in a
nearby glass stirred Joe from his reverie and he turned to the source of the
noise. The waiter was dutifully placing
ice in each glass, preparing them to receive the scotch from the bottle in
Joe's hand. Stopping his action with a hand on the waiter's arm, Joe said, “No, no ice for this scotch. This is far too great a whiskey to be marred
by ice. We will drink this straight.”
Bowing slightly as he moved to
remove the glasses, the waiter discreetly glanced at Madame, saw her nod in
assent, and said, “Very good, sir,” then returned both ice-filled glasses to
the wheeled cart. Bringing out fresh
glasses, he set those down upon the cocktail table and removed the ice
bucket. Upon the waiter's return, Joe
handed him the bottle to open and sat up in the velvet chair, his attentions
now fully upon the enigmatic woman who sat across from him watching all of this
wordlessly, as she studied him and his actions.
“So,” said Joe inquiringly, looking
at the woman straight in her eyes, “to what do I owe the honor of such a fine
scotch this evening?”
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