On the way home from dinner, Antoine stopped at a liquor store and picked out a second bottle of wine. The one they'd shared at the restaurant had been a small bottle, about two glasses worth. Antoine thought they could do with a bit more.
Antoine drove them back, parked the car, and trotted back to the bungalow, bottle tucked in a bag under his arm.
Preston followed at a leisurely pace. "You're right," Preston remarked as they climbed the stairs to the porch, "the food was very good."
Antoine gave a flip of his blue hair. "Told ya," he replied, puffing out his chest proudly. "I've been coming to this same place for years. I know my way around the island." He held the door for Preston, then flopped down on the couch and kicked his shoes off. He put his bare feet on the coffee table, and folded his hands behind his head. The bottle of wine sat next to him.
"There's a corkscrew and some glasses in the cupboard," he announced.
"So now I'm waiting on you?" Preston made a face.
Antoine waved a hand dismissively. "Relax, Preppy. Bring those glasses and sit down."
Preston did so, but his face was slightly pinched. "You know, I wish you wouldn't do that."
"Do what?" Antoine looked up, puzzled.
"Talk to me like that."
"Like what?"
Preston uncorked the wine and poured them each a glass. "That giving orders sort of thing. You could've just said 'Preston, would you please grab a pair of wine glasses and the opener while you're out there?' Because you know I would've."
Antoine stared at his feet for a moment. "Yeah... I could've." He reached for a glass of wine, but Preston held both just out of reach.
"So why didn't you?"
"Why didn't I what?"
Preston's mouth tightened in irritation. "Don't play that game. You know. Why didn't you simply ask politely?"
Antoine scratched his soft stomach, apelike. He looked away and muttered something, but wouldn't meet Preston's eyes.
Preston was undeterred.
"How about something along these lines. 'Antoine, would you please get your feet off the table so I can set this wine down?'"
Antoine looked up, expression stormy, but took his feet down. He even leaned forward and wiped the top of the table with the back of his arm. He made a grunting sound, and slouched back in the couch.
"Thank you," Preston said with an overly saccharine tone.
"You're welcome," Antoine muttered thickly.
Preston sat down on the couch, and passed a glass of wine over to Antoine.
The blue-haired man took it, peered into the top for a second, then set it on the coffee table. "Hey," he interjected abruptly.
Preston looked up from his glass. "What?"
"I'm sorry."
Preston paused, lip of the glass inches from his mouth. He watched Antoine, but said nothing.
"I'm not trying to order you about. I just don't… I don't think of some things, you know? How it sounds."
Preston took a sip then patted Antoine's arm. "It's okay. I'm not mad or anything. Just, try and be a little more careful in your word choices, okay?"
Antoine gave Preston a wistful look. "I'll try. I make no promises." He took a sip of the wine. "Pretty good, isn't it?"
Preston nodded. "I've never had steel-casked wine before."
"It tastes different," Antoine observed as he swirled his glass, "but that's not a bad thing." He watched the wine slide down the sides of the glass to the remainder in the bowl. "It has nice, strong legs."
Preston raised his eyebrow. "You know what that means?"
Nodding, Antoine gestured to the glass. "The thinner the legs, the faster the wine falls, the lower the alcohol content. Thicker, slower falling legs mean a higher content." He took a sip.
"I know that," Preston confessed, "but I'm surprised you do."
"Self-taught," Preston replied.
The two men sat silently, and slowly finished the bottle.
