“We should order some wine,” he said.
“We’re drinking wine,” she said.
“I mean something special. Enough of the Swiss white. It’s all good, but let’s have something great. This is supposed to be an extravagant shopping spree and you haven’t bought a thing.”
“I didn’t see anything I want. It all looks sort of matronly.”
“I told you Geneva is dull town. Politician’s wives,” he reminded her.
“But what about the mistresses?” she asked. “Where do they shop?”
“They shop in Paris,” he said.
“Of course,” she agreed and they asked the waiter for the Carte de Vin.
He looked at it earnestly for a long time and then admitted, “What I don’t know about fine wine is a longer book than what I do know.”
“Yeah,” she said. ” What I know is a short story.”
“Well speaking of,” he said and pointed to a Chateau Margaux. “This is the wine Hemmingway named his daughter after.”
“Which one?” she asked.
“Margaux.” he said.
“….Ummmm duuuuuh. Was she the one in Manhattan, or was that Mariel?”
“I’m not sure,” he said. “I get them confused. One was the suicide and one was Lolita.”
“Both pretty,” she said. “I think Margaux was in the Manhattan and lived.”
“Nope, I think she was the tragic beauty,” he said.
“Mmmm tragic beauty sounds delicious,” she said
“Okay,” he said. “We’ll drink her… whichever Hemmingway she was… You have to figure Papa wouldn’t name her after plonk.”
And he oredered a vintage that was about as old as that Soon Yi was when she first Lolited Woody Allen, or he Humberted her… whichever way you tell that story.
