Pete was really tall. He was wearing a long grey coat & a scarf & had perfectly combed dark hair without a strand out of place. He was wearing a silk scarf and all I could think of was ‘chuckbasschuckbasschuckbass’. Because who hasn’t wanted a little dabble in the secret lives of Manhattan’s elite? Amiright.
He was so elegant that I felt kind of scruffy. But happy in my scruffiness as Pete found me charming.
This guy had the best job. In. The. World.
Sommelier. What a job. “A sommelier or wine steward, is a trained and knowledgeable wine professional, normally working in fine restaurants, who specialises in all aspects of wine.” according to the dictionary.
Pete was literally paid to drink wine. I went to this bar with my friend Jo, who being the best wing woman on the planet left shortly after and I stuck it out with this tall elegant professional wine drinker. Jo’s been married for a thousand years. She was the first of a domino effect. But because of her longevity at this happiness thing, she is determined to see me the same. Her wing-woman skills are unparalleled.
Pete was at the bar to write up a review on their wine selection and help this with their sourcing etc etc. This really just meant that for the next four hours we sat at the bar tasting delicious wine from all over the world. Swilling it, sipping it, sniffing it. Whatever he did, I just kind of emulated, but after a dozen ‘tastes’ deep, I was really going for it. I was a pro and had immediately decided to change career paths. I was the best sommelier ever.
Pete was going to a winery the next day in the Yarra Valley and would love it if I would join him. And I’m super classy at this stage saying things like “I would love to join you” And thinking in the back of my mind how proud my mother would be of my manners.
But twenty minute later in his bed I have no manners and neither does he. In fact all his class has gone out the window and he’s saying thing like “you little slut, take it, take it” and I’m kind of confused because he was such a gentleman in the cab and he’s a wine steward for fucks sake, I feel like he could get kicked out of all the best wine clubs if they knew he used language like that. So he keeps going with the dirty talk “fuck me harder dirty bitch, scream for me you fucking c**t” (that one was a weeny bit too rude to write) And even though I’m appalled that this crazy classy guy has turned out to be filth I’m not actually hating it.
I know some people may find that super degrading and uncomfortable but it wasn’t really that awful. In fact I kind of didn’t hate it at all. I made a mental note to ask him not to drop the c-bomb again though, words only have power if you give it to them, I just didn’t like that one so much.
It turned into one of those all night stretches and in-between rounds while we are laying on our backs with our legs wrapped up together I kept thinking, he’d going to be way too tired to drive to the Yarra Valley, maybe we can get a bus? Or a cab? I wonder how much a cab costs to the Yarra Valley? Maybe we could stay the night down there & do this wine-tasting-all-night-screwing-thing all over again?
By 7 am we’re both drifting in and out of consciousness and panting from sweaty exhaustion. There’s a knock at the door and he jumps up wraps a towel around his waist and answers the door. He’s got the front bedroom and his windows look out onto the porch of the terrace, right next to the door. And I can hear everything.
“You fucking smell like sex Pete! What the fuck is wrong with you?” This is muffled from the door and I hear his slam it behind him, ultimately locking himself out of the house.
“How could you do this to us? Why are you doing this” So I peek out the curtains to see what’s happening and I see her. She’s crying hard, like the horrible hiccuping cry you do when you can’t breath properly and your whole world is turning to shit.
And he’s hugging her and telling her she’s wrong and that he hasn’t done anything and that she’s being crazy.
“I know there’s someone in your room! I know it! Pete don’t lie to me.” more heavy crying. “Let me in! Show me! Prove it!” And I freeze. Oh my godfather. I need a plan. I cannot turn on the light because she will see the light turn on, I am stark naked and the room is dark and I cant see my clothes. I fish around a bit and find my dress. Bra and knickers be dammed. After a lot of fumbling and stumbling I have the dress and the shoes and the bag and high tail it down the hall to the bathroom completely naked. I lock myself in and call Jo.
So as I get dressed Jo, the saint that she is, gets out of bed at 7 am on a Sunday morning and drives to the dropped pin I’ve send her.
And I can hear them still fighting out the front, she’s just weeping now and he’s saying things like ‘I wouldn’t do that to you” and she cried back “I thought you loved me. This is when I realise there is NO back door. There is no gate to a lane way, there is no easily climbed over fence. There is just a block of flats connected at the back wall of the courtyard all of their windows looking down onto my shame. Zero escape, zero plan b. Fuck fuck fuck.
So that’s when I call Jo and she’s like you can do it, and so I do it. I walk down the hallway to the front door and I can hear the girl crying behind it and him lying and I open it and I walk past them both. And she’s staring at me, looking like I’ve just punched her in the stomach and she’s crying and yelling and hitting him.
I’m almost at the car and I think I’m in the clear and Jo is reaching over and flinging the passenger door open for me and then the girl screams out “Did he fuck you?” its a half accusation and half a plea. And I don’t know what to say and she looks to angry and so so sad. So I yell back “Yes.” and I jump in the car and we drive the maniacs down the streets of Collingwood, Jo ducking and weaving just in case we’re being followed.
My only joy that came out of that night, other than finding my new dream profession and drinking some very very good wine, was the fact that I closed the door behind me, and locked Pete out of his house completely naked expect for a towel.