The Salon – Part 24

A Matter of Taste

The forty-something man settled into the shampoo chair, wearing a faded football jersey and knee-length cargo pants. He wore a belt bag slung across his chest, its strap stretched tight over his protruding belly. He'd gelled his thinning hair until it shone, and on his thick wrist sat a digital watch so large that Mia could have read the time off it from the reception desk.

Nico stepped behind him, fastened the stiff, magnetic-clasp cutting cape around his neck, and tucked a soft towel at the nape of his neck. He let the lukewarm water run over his hair for a long while, to loosen the gel that had dried stiff.

Meanwhile Lara settled comfortably onto the waiting-room sofa, book in hand. Mia watched her boss with envy. She herself would never have dared do such a thing. Even when she had nothing to do, she tried to look busy. Sometimes she'd even help Nico sweep up the cut hair, just so Lara would see what a useful employee she was. Ever since Lara's older daughter had failed to get into university, Mia hadn't been able to relax properly. She was afraid her boss might help the girl out by hiring her into the salon in Mia's place. Since then, she hadn't managed a genuine smile at the girl.

By the time Mia dragged her attention back to the monitor, Nico had already led the customer to the styling chair.

"Well, what a tasteful bottle!" the customer gushed.

Lara and Mia slowly turned their heads toward him. For a moment they had no idea what he meant.

"We got it this morning," Nico said with a wave of his hand.

"Which one of you is the wine expert?"

Nico burst out laughing.

"Wine expert?” He shook his head. “None of us. I don’t like it, and the girls only drink it mixed with something. It’d be wasted on us."

The man picked up the bottle.

"Hm. Even the bottle shows good taste." He tilted his head with a knowing air. "I know a thing or two about it myself. I spent years training in different countries — courses and tastings in France, Italy, Portugal. I'm at sommelier level, though for me it's only a hobby."

Nico's eyes went wide.

"So you're my first real sommelier customer. Actually, the first sommelier I've ever met in my life." He spread his arms wide.

Color flooded the man's face, and his mouth curved into a boyish smile.

"Not that it's done you much good…"

"You know what?" Nico's eyes lit up. "Taste it, and tell us all about it. Whoever gave it to us wouldn't say where they got it either. All they said was that it's top quality, worth a small fortune, and we're welcome to drink it. Let me grab you a glass."

The next moment the kitchen swallowed him up. Lara and Mia gathered around the customer.

"Ooh, how exciting!" Mia rubbed her hands together. "I've only ever seen this once, on TV. I didn't understand a single word of what they said." She dropped her head, embarrassed. "I switched it off," she whispered.

Nico returned a moment later, glass in hand. He lifted the bottle, popped out the plastic cork, and poured a finger's worth for the man.

The customer slowly swirled the wine in the glass, studied it for a long while, then raised it to his nose. He closed his eyes, took a deep sniff, waited a few seconds, then breathed it in again.

"Hm. This is interesting."

The others watched his every move, holding their breath.

At last he took a sip.

He closed his eyes again and tipped his head back. He savored the wine for a long time, then took another sip, drawing in air with a slurp.

"Well?" slipped out of Mia's mouth.

"It's probably eight to ten years old," the man said, absorbed in thought. "Aged in French oak, likely eighteen months, though I'd guess closer to twenty-four. Blackcurrant, tobacco, a touch of leather, and wet stone. Small batch, most likely. You won't find this in just any shop."

"Well, I'll be," Nico marveled.

Just then the salon door flew open with a bang.

The little group whipped their heads around in fright. Vera stood in the doorway, gasping for breath, clutching the door handle.

"Have you seen my keycard? They'll tear my guts out if I lose it a second time in one month."

Nico, pressing a hand to his wildly pounding heart, shook his head.

"No, but you're just in time." He turned to the customer. "Vera's the one who brought the wine."

Vera's eyebrows shot up. She looked at the group gathered around the styling chair in confusion, then her gaze snagged on the bottle. She let out a laugh.

"Oh, that one? The stuff my neighbor cooked up last fall?"

A stunned silence fell.

"Didn't you say you didn't know where it was from?"

"I just didn't want to brag about it, but if it matters that much, I'll tell you. I can even give you its exact origin: he kept it in his favorite blue plastic wine barrel, next to his washing machine. I poured it into this bottle myself, because I could hardly bring in the beat-up jug I got it in…"

Nico stared at her, baffled.

"But you said it was top quality."

Vera shrugged.

"I didn't say it. My neighbor did. I just repeated it. So, have you seen my card? Mind if I pull out the sofa and check underneath it too?"