The burgundy cream was soft on his tongue. The gourmet pudding settled into the recesses of his glands, as the evening tide washes the Ibiza shore. The immersion with the subtle wafers of chocolate, hints of vanilla, and delectable strawberries, proved exceedingly more intoxicating than the sophistication of the Cognac, carefully utilized in the custard’s absorption.
“Tell me a story, Ben.” Lucy would say. A content glass of Château Mouton-Rothschild idled in her delicate grasp. “I love your tales.”
They lounged on handmade sofas within an enclosed glass structure off the English Baroque balcony. It was here, at the Upper West Side penthouse of Neil and Lucy Horowitz, adequately lit by a pale indigo moon, that Benjamin would begin to debrief.
“I lived in Paris.”
Lucy’s brow contorted in surprise.
“You don’t say.”
“Off Rue de Monttessuy.”
Benjamin’s gaze fell toward his Cognac.
“On Saturday mornings, we would have brunch beneath the Eiffel Tower.”
Lucy, thoroughly seduced by Dionysus, blinked a sedated look of confusion.
Benjamin beheld his glass.
“Sometimes, I would bring her almond croissants from the brasserie at the corner.”
He looked up.
“You know the Renoir painting? The one of the girl combing her hair?”
Lucy observed him, speechless.
“That’s what she looked like. Only darker hair.”
He paused momentarily, to consult his drink.
“Her hair was darker. Definitely darker.”
He took a sip. The aged spirit spread confusion throughout his chest.
“It was black.”
He swirled the Frapin Cuvée in the crystal sifter. Lucy continued to observe him in awe.
“People of quality know everything, without ever having learned anything.”
His breathing became rapid.
Tears began to complicate his vision.
“You asked me whether I’ve ever loved.”
Lucy regained her dancer’s posture, propping her inebriated person onto the arm of the Mulberry sofa, thoroughly engaged.
Benjamin consumed the burnt wine.
Implode. Part L – DK