Lost Weekend

Last week I was feeling particularly sorry for myself. On Friday after work, I took my packed up weekend bag and drove north. I planned to go north to Mendocino. There is a nice motel perched over the harbor there just off California's highway 1. It is a good place for the mind and soul. I found it on my trip up the coast last November.

Instead, I found myself traveling to Napa. The truck just headed that way. Less good for the body and soul, but I needed to get numb, to get the pain out of my mind.

I found a vacancy at the Hilton Garden Inn right in downtown Napa. I’m sure I could get better rates by planning ahead, but this was a bit of a spontaneous change of destination. The traffic was pretty light getting there. I checked in at about 8. I promptly went down to the hotel bar and drank a bottle of wine for dinner. I have no appetite. I sat at the bar and watched folks come and go.

All couples.

I’ve been dumped before. But I’ve never been hurt like this before. God, where did I go wrong? What have I done to deserve this? OK, gentle reader, I won’t go over that again and again. But it keeps playing in my head. I was so close. Why am I the chopped liver boy?

OK. ‘Nuff whining. I know it gets tiresome.

Once the bottle was gone I went up stars to take a shower and go to sleep. After tossing and turning for a couple of hours I went back downstairs and had a couple of whiskeys (no minibar in the room). I don’t know that it helped all that much. I finally got to sleep at about 3:00 a.m. I woke about 7, and stared out the window trying to understand what happened. I spent most of the morning hungover and in a sleep deprivation fog. I ate a small breakfast and then drove north for a while. Up route 29 to Calistoga and then beyond. Driving is a bit calming.

I found myself way the heck north of Napa. There was a park – I can’t remember the name – but it had a big grassy area overlooking a valley. I sat there for a while and stared off into space. Will I ever get over this? Will I ever be the same? Probably not.

The sun was getting low in the sky. I got back in the truck and drove south. I hadn’t abused any alcohol yet today, and I wanted to start off doing it well. I drove to L’auberge du Soleil, a really great restaurant North of Napa, with a great bar that overlooks the valley. I thought it might do me some good.

I walked in and asked for a seat at the bar. The bartender asked me if I was expecting someone. I said yes, but not for a while and asked for the wine list. I ordered a bottle of the cheapest merlot on the list. Of course, here cheapest isn’t all that cheap. I’m going to run out of money if this goes on for much longer. I don’t even care. I’ll sit under a bridge and drink thunderbird.

After a while I noticed an attractive lady arrive at the bar. Again, in this romantic couples oriented place, the bartender asked her if she was alone. She said she was. She was two seats down from me. I told her, in the most joking voice that I could muster, that sitting alone here was frowned upon.

At this, her chin wrinkled and a tear welled up in her eye her. She quickly regained her composure and asked “Well, what’s your excuse?” Rather hostilely.

“Sorry”, I said, “I’ve had a bad year so far. That was inexcusable of me – quite insensitive.” I continued to apologize profusely. The pain has turned me into a jerk. I offered her a glass of my merlot. The bartender immediately produced a glass. I poured her one.

“Thanks, don’t worry about it. I’m OK. It’s just.. I mean…” she stammered “Oh, hell. It’s my husband.” She downed half the glass. “This”, she paused and her eyes welled up again, “is our 20^th wedding anniversary and he is with his mistress.”

Wow. OK. This was not what I was expecting. At all.

“His company” she said - a tear rolled down her cheek. “It consumes him. It means more to him to spend time running that damn business than to be with me on our 20^th and last anniversary.” She spat out the word “last”

Again, wow. Not what I was expecting. I looked at the bartender. She was wide eyed and rapt. I guess even for a barkeep this is pretty unusual stuff.

I looked back at her and held out my hand and said “Hi, I’m Rich,” giving her the most winning smile that I could manage.

She laughed and sobbed at the same time and held out her hand and said “I’m Helen. I didn’t mean in unload on you like that. ‘Rich’ as in Richard? That’s cute”

“Hi Helen.”

“So what’s your story? Why are you here alone and cranky?”

“Well, it’s a very long story.”

“I’ve got nothing but time. And I already dumped on you.”

“Don’t say ‘dumped’, please” I gave her the whole story – from Sarah to Lynn. It felt good to talk it out.

It turned out that she had planned this trip with her husband to Napa from the east coast for their 20^th anniversary. Her husband, a compulsive work-a-holic was in the throes of, well, business, and decided to stay home (and I thought I make stupid decisions when it comes to women). She was so pissed that she decided to go anyway. The kids are old enough to take care of themselves, they have enough money to live well, and this was to be their together time.

In the middle of trading stories we moved to the patio, where 2 heater lamps were immediately lit, fresh water produced and clean wine glasses brought out. This place really has good service. I made a mental note to tip well.

The evening was winding down, we had found that misery loves company and connected in some way. She mentioned that she had a hot tub on her patio, and it seemed a waste not to take advantage of it. I immediately agreed – it was getting cold and I love hot tubs. I decided to get another bottle of the cheapest, well, most inexpensive (nothing is cheap at this place) Merlot to take back to her room. She asked the waiter for an alternate selection – she has really good taste. She picked up my check and signed it to her room. I protested, but was incredibly grateful, as this dinner probably cost more than my hotel room for the weekend.

We giggled and stumbled up to her room – which was a cottage, probably bigger then any apartment I have ever lived in. It was amazing. She went into the bedroom and asked me to get some glasses and pour some wine and meet her on the patio. She came out in a one piece bathing suit, and said “I bet you don’t have trunks” she frowned.

“No, I hadn’t planned on swimming this trip. I’m not really shy – but I don’t want to offend you.” I inhaled expectantly.

“Let me check and see if I have anything. I may have some shorts that will fit you.” She went back into the bedroom. “You are probably a bit skinnier than I am.” She came out with a pair of unisex athletic shorts. “Here, you can wear these.”

I really thought she had lured me up here to sleep with me. Silly me. Overly optimistic, perhaps. What’d I miss? Anyway, the hot tub with some good company and good wine was soothing enough for my broken soul.

I poured the wine and set it outside near the hot tub on the patio. The view and setting were spectacular. This place must be really expensive. I changed into her shorts. (OK, no jokes about getting into her pants – that’s too easy.) The shorts were serviceable but loose. I pulled on the rich terrycloth robe provided by the hotel and went out to hot tub.

The water was warm and wonderful, and I was quite drunk. I was starting to worry about the sleeping arrangements. I could always sleep in the truck, but I bet the hotel frowns on that sort of thing, probably more than it does for single folks in the bar. I’m betting that security trolls the parking lots more than once a night. I really didn’t want to spend the money that it would cost to get a room here. Maybe she'd let me sleep on her couch.

We drank and talked some more. Another bottle was dead. She asked if I wanted any more. I told her that it was up to her. I was enjoying her company more than I enjoyed anything in the last – it seems like forever, but it was only – four weeks. She proposed some brandy. I got up to get it, but she told me to sit down. She went in to get it.

The lights went out and she returned with two brandy snifters. When she pulled off her robe I saw she had left the bathing suit behind. She gave me a long kiss, and ran her hand down my side. My eyes are pretty good in the dark. I’m not sure what she was so shy about.

We went back to the bedroom and made love. And for the first time since, well, you know, I fell blissfully to sleep - with my arms wrapped around her.

I woke at about 4 in the morning. Still half drunk, but with the pain intruding again. I went to the living room (this place is really huge) to stare out the window. How can this hurt so much? This on top of that the pangs from “Our lady of perpetual guilt” (yeah, I was raised catholic) were starting to sink in. I think I hit 5 of the seven deadlies tonight. Maybe six. I took two whiskey miniatures from the bar (not a mini bar – this was a real bar), poured them into a highball and drained it in two swallows.

Helen came out from the bedroom after about 15 minutes. “Hey, are you OK?” she asked quietly.

“No, but I’m better than I have been in weeks. Thank you. Thank you so much”

She rubbed my back. “No, Thank you. I’m a little better too.”

We made love again, and then I slept to about 10:00 a.m.

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I woke when I heard the shower running. I went into the bathroom. She was in the glassed in shower stall. “Aaagh” she screamed. “What are you doing?” She frantically covered herself.

“You are really beautiful.” I said. I wasn’t lying and I wasn’t drunk.

“For an old lady. Out!” She ordered.

I ducked out behind the door. “For anyone” I yelled.

I dressed and went to the truck to retrieve my clean clothes and bathroom stuff.

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After a nice Sunday brunch in the hotel restaurant, we decided to check me out of my hotel and do some wine tasting. I walked her out to my truck. “You drive a truck?” she asked, incredulous.

“Well, yeah. What did you think?”

“I didn’t think MetroSexuals drove trucks. You listen to Jazz, not country. Your fingernails are manicured, aren’t they?”

“Uh, yeah, but it was a special occasion. They’re not usually.” I think that was the first time I was accused of being a ‘metro-sexual’ – at least to my face.

“I had you pegged for a Lexus, not a BMW – you’re too laid back. You’re young, so maybe the entry model.”

“You’re right, actually, I would like to drive one.” I told her about my hit and run episode and the reason for buying the behemoth truck. I know the luxury cars are probably safer, but mass has significant advantages in a crash.

“Let’s take my car” she said. It turned out to be a rented Jaguar (Hertz, prestige collection). It was really nice. She drove.

We went back to my hotel and I checked out. Then we went to visit a few wineries. We ended at Sterling in Calistoga. I really like that winery – the wines are pretty good (although, they could be better, given their resources) but the tasting room in awesome. Sarah and I used to go there a lot.

After that we went back to her hotel and made love one last time in the late afternoon, and had a room service dinner (which was really good). It was 8 and I needed to leave. “Let’s stay in touch” I said. OK, yeah, I have issues on letting go.

She gave me a crooked smile. “Oh Rich, it would never work out”

Why do people keep telling me this? “Why not?” I asked.

“Beside the fact that you are almost 20 years younger than me, and we live on different coasts?”

OK, if you want to go with the obvious. “It’s closer to ten, and I travel a lot.” She gave me a skeptical look. “It’s not the sex – it’s you.” I said. “We don’t have to have an affair – I just want to hear from you from time to time. You made me laugh at a time when I forgot how to do that”

“Rich, it would be a really bad idea.”

“You’re not leaving him, are you?”

“Well, it’s not like he cheated on me.” Ouch. Pangs of guilt? Perhaps. I didn’t mean to complicate her life. We talk for a bit more and then we kissed and hugged one last time.

I left her my e-mail address and phone numbers. She didn’t reciprocate. I have a sad feeling that I will never hear from her again.

Hey, I think I just got dumped again -- although you really can’t get dumped by a one nighter.

This year sucks.

I really needed Helen – I was lucky to find her.

It was such a long drive home. I was dead tired, but I knew I won’t sleep well that night.