“Well, you should hear my side of the story before making judgments,” he said, intending for it to be funny though it sounded more like a threat. Poor Gene. I was now seeing firsthand how bad he really was with women. He became fidgety, unsure of what to do with his hands. He became anal about his silverware, positioning each piece parallel and equidistant apart. The server brought the wine. She uncorked the bottle and poured a small amount into Gene’s glass. He went through the motions, giving it a swirl, holding it up to the light, a quick sniff, and then finally taking a sip.

“That’ll do,” he said.

She filled our glasses. Gene lifted his and spoke with far less gusto than he normally would have had Linda not been sitting beside him.

“You’ve done well, kiddo. But the first draft is the easy part, and now you have the task of making it good. I have no doubt you’re up to it. Make us all proud,” he said.

“I’ll do my best, Gene.”

The wine was very good, sweet and ripe with hints of plum and black cherry, full-bodied. It was what I had learned to expect from Italian reds. We placed our orders and had finished the bottle before our meals arrived. Gene looked back at the wine menu.

“I think we can do better than that first,” he said.

He ordered two more, a French Bordeaux and a South African Shiraz, and I figured he did so to placate his nerves more than anything else. I didn’t know how much the wine was, and I began to worry.

“I have no idea how much each bottle is,” I whispered in Carolyn’s ear. “I don’t think I have enough to cover our share of the bill. Did you bring money?”

“I have like thirty dollars on me.”

I shrugged. “Eh, I guess we’ll figure it out.”

When the wine arrived Gene poured the Bordeaux first.

“This is really good,” Carolyn said.

“Not a bad choice, Gene. You were right, we could do better than the first.”

“This ain’t my first rodeo, kiddo,” he said, fumbling with his linen napkin. He placed it in his lap, then lifted it for no apparent reason and set it down on the table.

“Do you know a lot about wine?” Linda asked him.

“Not as much as I should with as often as I drink it,” he said.

Linda laughed. “Ain’t that the truth?”