A taste for truth at any cost is a passion which spares nothing! 

— ALBERT CAMUS

My Blackberry mobile vibrated against the surface of my drafting table desk. I saw his name flash across the digital screen so picked up. 

“Ava — I’m here come down when you are ready!” 

About a week ago he suggested that he would pick me up in front of my apartment building at 8PM to go to dinner. He explained that he lived off of Union Street in Cow Hollow and was only a few blocks away from me so he thought it would be best if he drove us to the restaurant. I agreed. I wore my favorite navy blue cardigan sweater, Citizen of Humanity jeans, wedge heels and a purse. 

The passenger-side window of his silver metallic Porsche 911 Carrera S Convertible was rolled down in anticipation of seeing me. As he looked out through the open window he exclaimed, “Hi, jump-in, great to see you!” 

I opened the door, sat into the sleek slate grey leather interior seat and felt the fresh cool breeze of air-conditioning hit my face. The dynamic sounds of classic rock n’ roll music saturated the space between us as it played from the elegantly designed Porsche speakers. So I put on my seatbelt and shut the door. Suddenly the traffic light turned bright green, Henry shifted the gears of the seven-speed high-precision transmission into drive and sped through the intersection. At that moment he looked at me and inquisitively asked, “Are you sure you’re 21?”

I couldn’t tell if he was teasing me and felt surprised to hear him ask the question again. So I replied, “Why, am I too young to ride in a sports car? Wow I can’t believe you have one of these. It's been my dream since I was a kid to own one!”

He answered, “When I first met you, you didn’t look old enough to be in college. You look incredibly young for your age. Perfect, you’ll enjoy this.” 

As he shifted the gears into the sports ratio, the twin-turbo six-cylinder horizontally opposed engine had a direct response to the most subtle shift in power. Within seconds he raced up the steep Gough Street hill, next he took a left turn onto Broadway as he headed towards Chinatown, North Beach and the FiDi districts. I took a deep breath as he sped through the golden archway of the Broadway westbound tunnel. Inside the high-capacity conduit the road was uninhabited so he accelerated faster and faster as the low center of gravity ensured greater stability and fewer vibrations. The distinctive and robust sound of the sports car engine echoed through the open windows. I noticed he kept them down even though the air conditioner was on. He drove down an alleyway in the historic Jackson Square District and parked along the white curb parallel to a set of old urbanized brick buildings.  

It took fewer than 10-minutes to drive from my Marina apartment building to the hideaway restaurant. Curiously, I looked through the open window to see the exceptionally dark, yet clear night contrast with the brightness of the half moon. The atmosphere was calm with virtually no prevailing wind. Henry hopped out of the driver’s seat and intently watched as the valet opened the door to give me his hand to exit the Carrera. Henry tossed the keys over the hood as if he had done it many times before. 

The valet caught the keys and cheerfully replied, “Nice to see you again, Sir.” 

The Art Deco BIX sign, above the large refurbished wooden doors of the speakeasy supper club, glowed neon blue.  It was a peaceful February night; yet the notorious reputation of the lawless and licentious city seemed to hide itself within the brick walls of this district. The omnipotent history of the Barbary Coast whispered as he pulled the door open. Henry gently placed his hand in the small of my back to guide us through the entrance way. 

As we walked inside the soaring two-story dining room, a hostess quickly approached and informed, “Good evening Mr Henry, thank you so much for joining us tonight. We spoke on the phone earlier about two reservations at our bar please follow me this way.”  

She escorted us to his preferred location within the repurposed bank building as a live jazz-pianist played. 

“Our bartender Mr Taylor will be serving you, enjoy,” the hostess said as she slipped away. 

Henry warmly smiled at me and said, “I prefer to sit here because of the immediate service and I know the owner. Plus, isn’t the set up stunning?”

A timeless Roaring Twenties dance hall mural illuminated the backsplash above the bar. It was an impressive size at about 10 x 30 feet, so it adorned the entire length of the wall.  We sat in the cushioned seats towards the end of the bar near the pianist.  

I replied, “Yes, very stunning and the mural is imaginative. It feels almost as if I’m looking directly into a surreal vision of the past or a reflection.” 

A bartender dressed in a clean-white tuxedo jacket greeted us. He proudly handed out the menus and announced, “Good evening, Mr Henry. Pleased to see you again.  Let me know if you have any questions about the menu. I will be back shortly.”

Delicately Henry held the menu in his hand as he scanned it and asked me, “The dried pear Bombay Sapphire cocktail is absolutely delicious. I've had it. Would you care to try it?”

I thought for a moment and replied, “Hmm, it does sound nice, but I feel like having the margarita,” I sort of laughed after I made that choice because I was nervous and I thought of the visual juxtaposition: a margarita with lime, in a refined restaurant, seemed silly.

His eyes examined me as he said, “You can have anything you would like while with me.”

After placing the order, Henry gazed at me again and described, “Lovely that you were finally able to meet up.  I’ve been hoping to have another conversation with you -- The satisfaction of a spontaneous interaction like the one we had a few weeks ago doesn’t happen all too often.” 

As the bartender returned, he methodically placed the fresh napkins along the dark mahogany bar. He positioned the old fashion martini in front of Henry and the margarita next to me. The strong bouquet scent of cherry and whisky from his cocktail wandered in my direction as he gently lifted his glass into the air.

He said, “Cheers! I’m happy you’re here with me now and we have the opportunity to talk about life and work in the city. I understand you are an artist with an interest in advertising and digital marketing as a career and I have so many… a plethora really of professional connections I would be more than happy to introduce you to. By the way, the mural behind the bar is by artist Mindy Lehrman Cameron.”  

I replied, “Thank you for inviting me.”

Henry continued, “The BIX is iconic; the Deco-inspired style of the supperclub paired with the jazz keeps me coming back, but every time I return it’s something new. I never know what to expect. Certainly one of my favorite spots for dinner and drinks. This past Winter I hosted my Christmas Party here for my clients, colleagues and investors.”

Henry exuded a comfortable confidence and powerful composure. His body was balanced and strong. He had a tasteful well dressed city style, sharp blue-eyes with a silvery dirty blonde suave haircut. Henry was about 42 yrs old and I was 25. 

''Moving to the city from a small town can feel daunting. I would like to show you around and introduce you to some of the things that I like to do. Also I would like to check-in with you to see how you are doing. I admire your ambition and want to be supportive,” he explained. 

Next, he ordered the appetizers that he liked which were ‘steak tartare’ and ‘Dungeness crab’ but he never asked me about what I wanted to eat. Raw minced beef would be the last thing on earth I’d have. Nervously, I twirled my silver ring around my finger as my hand rested in my lap. 

He ordered another round of strong cocktails.

“Thanks, I lived in Arcata, California in Humboldt County with my boyfriend and moved to the city recently. I’m working on a Master of Fine Arts degree and want a job as a Junior Art Director.  I’m interested in the recommendations and professional connections that you have… I have to confess that I cannot stop noticing the oil painting of the man in the black tuxedo and white gloves gazing at the lipstick-stained absinthe glass behind you… coincidentally, my Dad owns the poster of this with the ‘BIX’ logo on it. Throughout my childhood I wondered what it meant and, wow, seeing this now for the first time is unexpected,” I described in fascination. 

As I gazed up at ‘The Butler in Love— Absinthe,’ oil painting by Mark Stock mounted above the Grand Piano, Henry turned around to take a look. The painting seemed to illustrate the man’s unrequited love or obsessive desire. 

“The olive green color of wall in the painting always seemed kind of eerie to me. Seeing the painting in comparison to the replica reminds me of an artistic philosophy concept: the meaning of a visual message determines the way in which that message will be perceived. Earlier today I was at City Lights Bookstore and I bought ‘The Work of Art in the Age of Its Technological Reproducibility’ by Walter Benjamin,” I described.

Henry smiled and replied, “Spectacular, hold that thought.” 

He gestured again for the tuxedoed bartender. As Mr Taylor returned he placed an oversized white dish on the placemat in front of Henry. The tender Steak Tartare appetizer which was mixed with parsley, capers, fresh shallots and grape-seed oil seemed almost alive.  Repulsed by the smell and thought of what it was I flinched and felt like gagging. 

Next Henry requested, “Mr. Taylor, we will have the Courvoisier ‘Initiale’ Cognac and a glass of Syrah from Rhône Valley.”  

Mr. Taylor returned with the wine and placed them on fresh napkins in front of Henry. Following that he brought another oversized white dish... this time with fresh Dungeness Crab appetizer. It was mixed with garlic butter, shallots, chopped thyme and parsley on a bed of lettuce and it looked somewhat appealing but it wasn’t something that I liked to eat. The bartender attentively stood in front of us and said, “Mr. Henry, if there is anything else you would like, do not hesitate to ask,” and walked around the bar into the server’s doorway. 

I gazed towards the imaginative mural above the altar-like bar and noticed that I was dizzy because I had not eaten in a long time and the drinks were strong, so I requested, “I would like to try the celery root soup, the citrus salad or the entree pasta next. I am hungry and I haven’t eaten.”

“Fine, sweetheart, when he comes back I will order those for you,” Henry said. But he never did.  

He continued the conversation about modeling., “Holding a posture for an hour would be challenging!  I could never do it  ---  Why don’t you try the Cognac and tell me what you think of it?”

He handed me the glass and proudly described, “I practice yoga several times a week and I’ve noticed the health benefits: my body is stronger and more aligned. I have become a powerful swimmer from it. In fact, just before I picked you up this evening, I swam laps at the North Beach pool.”

I took a few sips of the evocative cognac that seemed to explode with an exotic taste. “Wow, the cognac has maybe a cinnamon and ginger spice to it with the nice peachy apricot fruit taste.  Normally I never choose to drink cognac. What you are saying sounds relaxing and I would like to go to the North Beach swimming pool. My aunt lives in that neighborhood and I think I’ve walked by it before. Without a doubt practicing yoga helps me stay balanced — It reminded me to breathe when I was holding the poses for class.” 

As I sat next to Henry, I felt comfortable because he exuded positive attention and I was happy that he had similar interests as me, or maybe I felt that way because of how blitzed I was feeling off the cognac and drinks.

Henry described, “I practice vinyasa at the studio in our neighborhood now for a few years. Maybe you’ve been I took a technique workshop there on the mula-bandha and uddiya-bhanda because I have been interested in some of the ancient yogic philosophy.”

THE POETIC ABSTRACTION OF A MUSE

He paused and directed, “Take a sip of the Syrah, it has a delicious berry and violent floral essence to it.” 

“Sounds nice, please excuse me,” I replied as I stepped down from the barstool away from Henry. My shoes slid across the polished wooden floors as I felt like I was moving or dancing within an obscure dream.  I walked through the expansive dining room to suddenly catch — The dark mischievous eyes of a clown grabbing a ballerina behind a performance stage in a whimsical oil painting.  The art was distinctively placed in the middle of the wall below the staircase as you head towards the restrooms.  It seemed a bit surreal and dangerous, like a scene from a mystery novel or movie. The evocative image seemed to flicker in my eyes as I swung-open the door to the lady’s room. As I walked towards the illustrious mirror above the white marble sink, I clutched the cool surface for balance and gazed at my reflection. 

The light above the mirror bathed my appearance in a glamorous aesthetic.  All of a sudden, the poetic abstraction of a muse looked carefully back at me… so I squinted my eyes for a moment as my gaze tripped in and out of focus. The Dior mascara I was wearing made my eyelashes feel doll-like in the moment.  Maybe I was the muse so I shook my head in disbelief. I felt dizzy from the alcohol as I turned the restoration hardware faucet on to wash my hands.  

A few moments later I returned to my seat next to Henry as the dining room seemed to spin.  I observed how he moved closer to me while he handed me the glass of Syrah.  He had it in his hand as an offering and encouraged me to take a generous sip.  We continued to discuss numerous topics. He made me feel appreciated and relieved to have met someone who understands or likes the same topics that I did. I remember we spoke about design, augmented reality, social media platforms and apps, the Silicon Valley, fine wine and the perks of him owning a business in the city.  

Signaling for the bartender again he directed, “Mr. Taylor, next we will have a flight of red from a St. Helena winery of your choosing and one Redbreast whisky.”  

I felt blinded by the mirage of distractions; the atmosphere of the restaurant seemed to sparkle with brilliant light as the bartender returned with clean wine glasses and to present the fancy wine bottles to Henry. Henry nodded as five ruby colored wine-tastings were poured in a sequence. The aroma of dark berry fruit like blackberry, plum and cherry with cacao spice infused the air.  Henry watched as if he was fully engaged in the pleasure of the moment. 

Mr. Taylor described, “This is the most elevated and exclusive offering at Hall St. Helena, and the only opportunity to taste their most coveted and highly sought after Platinum Collection wines. This experience includes a barrel sample of their prized Kathryn Hall cabernet, and a private seated tasting. In addition to their three Platinum wines, the flight includes a selection of their most highly rated and allocated cabernets from the artisan collection.” 

Henry continued to elaborate, “visual design principles and augmented reality will bridge gaps by improving learning and engagement.” He described how he would like to collaborate with those kind of businesses so that he felt contemporary. He said that he needs to integrate new thought-provoking ideas within his business model so that it will not become obsolete. As he spoke about work he also directed, “The tastings are exquisite — try this one now,” as he offered the delicate wine glass to me.