Starry Silky Love (Part 2)

The drive to Chateau Harrell is indeed beautiful. Verdant, quiet, and the air is so brisk. I always forget just how rejuvenating it is until I'm out here again.

However our journey seems like it's taking longer than usual. Mostly because I notice a painful tension coming from Colette. It's making me nervous because I have absolutely no clue what it's about. And I'm afraid to ask. I light up another cigarette.

She's an elusive, sometimes frightening creature. Her mind is always on, going a million miles an hour. I tell her constantly to relax her furrowed brow so she doesn't hasten the onset of wrinkles! I think she fixates on a thought and it just consumes her. Occasionally I envy her witty, inquisitive, fast-paced nature, but other times I think it has serious drawbacks. Colette has difficulty staying in the present. She doesn't even seem to notice the refreshing beauty all around us right now.

And all morning she seemed fine. We had breakfast and coffee together in the garden, and she was cheerily identifying the types of butterflies we witnessed. I think she called one a Coral Hairstreak.

"What was the name of that butterfly again that we saw this morning, love? It had the little orange spots?" Even though I think I know the answer, I have to gently pry at her or I'll lose my mind. And what's more gentle than butterflies?

Moments pass, and she says nothing.

Then finally, "You know Bert, I was going to try to let it go, like I always do. But I SAW you last night with that . . . that girl! That leggy tramp with the red hair. I can't get it out of my goddamn head!"

My mouth went dry. It's hard to respond. "Oh Christ. It's really not what you think, Colette . . ."

"Oh? And why the hell should I believe that?! Even if you were a very trustworthy husband . . . when I go to the market to pick up our dinner and happen to see you and that floozy stumbling out of the bar across the street and climbing into the car together, how could I not think, I mean KNOW that you're going to screw her?!"

She's right. She has little reason to believe me. Even though this time, I actually didn't screw the woman.

"Darling, you really need to listen to me," I pleaded. "On my way home from work, I decided to stop at the bar with the guys to take a load off. That's all it was. It was supposed to be a quick drink. And that redhead you're talking about is Johnny Weil's younger sister who has a huge drinking problem. She was a belligerent mess, and the bartender was desperately asking if any of us could get her home safely. I didn't know where she lived and she couldn't even talk straight, so I drove her to Johnny's. That's what I did. Period." I cowardly side-glance her way, like a beat dog. She looks very unconvinced.

"There was nothing else. I swear on my life, Colette. I know I've been untrue to you many times and that I don't deserve your trust, but I promise I'm telling you the truth right now. If it would make you feel better, you can ask Johnny. Or David, Jed, or even the bartender. They all know!" I really was telling the whole truth.

She snorted, "Are you crazy? I know all of those men would vouch for you. No questions asked."

Well, she's probably right about that too. I let out a deep sigh. I can't believe she actually saw me with another woman, the one time I wasn't cheating on her! I've been making a huge effort to clean up my act, but could it be for naught due to my many past mistakes?

"I really don't know how to make you believe me, love. But I really am telling the truth. In fact, I've never been in the habit of outright lying to your face, have I? Even though I'm a horrible, unfaithful, dirty bastard, I don't lie to you. I've always been very honest with you, even about the bad stuff. Because you're an understanding angel."

She's sobbing now. Her makeup is running down her cheeks like two faint black waterfalls. I sigh again.

We progress down the road without saying a word to one another for about ten painstaking minutes. Even though I actually didn't do anything bad for once, this dismal situation is still very much my fault. Have I ruined this wonderful marriage? I don't know if I can even exist without Colette. I have to straighten myself out and prove it to her. Or I'm going to lose her.

Finally, a much more calm and collected Colette murmurs, "You're right, you don't ever lie to my face. I know you would be absolutely terrible at it, even if you tried." She closed her eyes and more tears began to gracefully stream down her cheeks, much more slowly now. "I think I might believe you. You certainly are a gentleman who would help a damsel in distress. But Berty, I don't think I can do this anymore . . . I really thought I could. I thought I was much stronger; I thought I could live with it and not be jealous."

She takes a moment to cry it out some more. "But I'm beginning to lose my mind. I'm absolutely nuts about you . . . I love you much, much more than I've ever loved anybody. And I really am starting to think that I deserve the same in return."

Now tears are welling up in my eyes, too.

"Believe me love, you do have the same in return. And more. I'm putting an end to my unfaithful ways once and for all, I promise. I'll show you. Just please give me another chance. I can't lose you." My voice is shaky and pathetic.

She touches my cheek. "Ok, Berty. I hope you're serious."

I clear my throat, pull to the side of the road, take her hands in mine, and look her straight in the eyes. "Never again, I promise. You're my queen."

I light us each a cigarette and we push on, finally arriving at the Chateau only a couple minutes later. We regather ourselves in the parking lot before settling into our room, then meander straight to the tasting parlor for some much needed wine.

As we're tasting, I notice a dark-haired woman sitting in the far corner, with a much older man. And she looks startlingly familiar.

Oh yeah, we slept together a few times. Years ago, when I was with my first wife. She was a real tigress! I can't remember her name . . . Did I even know it then? I doubt she'd remember me. That was a long time ago, and I have a mustache and better clothes now. I don't want her to remember me, that's for certain.

The wines are wonderful, as usual. We each order a full glass of the zin, and then another. And another. And one more.

We talk with other guests. Colette's laughing hysterically at a story this cattleman's wife is telling, about mishaps with helping cows give birth. Oh boy.

"Berty, darling!" She turns clumsily and addresses me, louder than necessary, "Shall we go rest a bit before tonight? I'm a little tired and I have a headache."

"Yes, love. Good idea." I reply. I'm feeling the same way, actually. It's probably from the heavy dose of emotions almost immediately followed by lots of zinfandel and stories about cow placenta.

As we walk down the hall to our room, that lady from my womanizing past walks by us. At first she just looks at me like she saw a ghost, but then flashes a sly smile. Like a 'between you and me' kinda smile, that warrants a wink. Well, I suppose she recognizes me. Whatever.

My queen and I nap for at least an hour, get dressed and are about to leave for tonight's ball. I light up a cigarette while I wait for Colette to finish up.

"Who was that woman looking at you in the hall before?" She cooly asks.

"Oh, nobody. I can't even remember her name. I used to briefly know her . . . long time ago." I reply.

"Sure." She scoffs. Then she grabs her little purse and calmly walks out into the hall. I guess she's still shaken up . . .

The ballroom is absolutely packed with jovial folks, all dressed pretty extravagantly. A jazz band is playing in the corner. There are some talented dancers here tonight, and many laughter-ridden conversations all around us. Fancy cigarette-holders, cigars, a cocktail in every hand, feathered-hats, sequined headbands, dapper tuxedos, shiny shoes, slicked-back gelled-into-a-helmet hair, bright red lips . . .

Again, I see the hindering lady from my past. She's dancing with that guy she was with in the tasting room, in a deep red strappy number. The straps are jeweled. No bra, big bosoms bouncing. Oh, I really hope she doesn't try to talk to me tonight. Especially in that dress, with Colette watching. It would wreck our already fragile state, I'm sure.

I look over to Colette and she's already left my side! What the . . . oh, there she is. At the bar already. Wow, she's on a roll! I sit next to her and she's already about halfway through a French 75. "Here, I got you one." She pushes a full drink in front of me.

"Are you all right, darling?" I ask before I start sipping. She's elevating my nerves again.

"I'm fine." She responds flatly. Then she looks up and smiles at me, but it seems kinda forced.

Uncharacteristically of male/female dynamics, I'm normally the openly-emotional one of the relationship. Colette is a stoic, somewhat alcoholic, feeling-represser. She's kind-of the man, in those ways at least. Don't get me wrong -- I'm definitely very much a man, and she a woman.

And I still think she's perfect. Perfect for me, and just perfect in every way. I desperately want to go hold her under the stars and let my charming aura soothe her. I know she'd realize, then, that everything's ok. That we have each other and that's what matters.

But she's still very much on a roll. In a party state of mind, clearly. After she finishes her second drink, she grabs my hand and asks me if I'll dance. "Of course, love." Even though I'm only about halfway through my first drink. They're very strong. She's gotta be drunk already.

She excitedly drags me through the crowd to the dance floor. She waves to all the people she knows as we meander through. She's a true socialite. We begin moving, and I'm not nearly as exuberant as the others -- including Colette. Where does she get this energy? I guess she is almost a decade younger than I am. Or maybe it's the alcohol . . . or perhaps, her uncharacteristic neurosis is responsible for this hype.

To be continued...