“Gene spent a lot of time drinking wine in Paris back in the day. I’m sure that didn’t hurt,” I said, trying to get him talking by directing the conversation to something he was comfortable with; watching him realign his silverware for the umpteenth time was making even me nervous. I wasn’t sure how a man who seemed to be in such firm control of his life could unravel so completely around women, and that comes from a man who’s always been notoriously bad with them.

“Well, I learned about good wine there, anyway,” he said. “My father actually owned a vineyard in Oregon when I was growing up, right in the middle of Tillamook County, in the western part of the state, about twenty minutes or so from both the ocean and Portland. It was a small vineyard and I don’t think it ever made much money, but he gave it a go. Made Pinot Noir, Gewürztraminer, and Riesling. I used to love the Riesling, probably because of the sugar in it. Couldn’t stand the other two, though. But I was just a kid. I have no idea if any of it was worth a damn.”

“Really? I never knew that,” I said.

“That’s because you never asked, you self-centered son of a bitch,” Gene said with a sideways grin causing us all to laugh.

“So you’re not from Chicago?”

“Afraid not, kiddo.”

“What happened to the vineyard?” Linda asked.

“My father died when I was nineteen. I was in the service then. My mother never had much interest in it, so she sold it and retired to Florida.” He took a drink. “How about you? Are you from Chicago?” he asked. I wanted to lean across the table and pat him approvingly on the shoulder for refocusing the conversation on Linda, just as I had coached him.

“Born and raised,” she said. “Left for four years for college in Minnesota, but have been back ever since.”

“Been here for ten years myself. It’s a good city. Whereabouts do you live?”

“In Evanston.”

Just then our food arrived. We continued drinking and talking. Gene finally relaxed midway through the third bottle, and he and Linda became engaged in conversation.

“I think they’re getting along just fine,” I whispered into Carolyn’s ear.

“I think I’m getting drunk,” she whispered into mine.

“Sweet, does that mean I’m getting lucky tonight?”

“I wish you could get lucky right now.”

“I’m sure there are bathrooms here,” I said.

She nudged me in the ribs. “Not that lucky.”

Gene ordered a fourth bottle, and Linda excused herself to use the restroom.

“You’re a cocksucker for not telling me,” Gene said as soon as she left.

“What do you mean? I thought we were just having a friendly dinner.”

“Bullshit. I know you.”

I winked at him. “You’re doing well.”

“You think?”

“Absolutely.”