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"Life
as I see It" - "A
Good Martini"
A Good Martini. (Can you make one? Good, then you do serve a purpose.)
Ruthless killers, thieves, Priests and mimes, if ever they had or have the ability to make a good Martini, then a certain fuzzy immortality awaits them. Not an overall, sweeping immortality, but one that will last for the maker only. It won't be passed on. I compare it to the Knighthood of Paul McCartney and Elton John, good for one spin only.
Back to the Martini.
Vodka or Gin, dry Vermouth, simple ingredients so hard to master. So, pushing evil aside, the memory of an alcohol-based liquid masterpiece, enables us to see beyond the horrific and recall a taste only heaven could imagine.
"Louise, honey, what was his name, was it Rick? You know, the guy that burned down half the neighborhood and killed the Folter Twins?"
"Their dogs too, Frank, don't forget those poor dogs. It's funny, we thought we knew him. He always acted like a very good man, Frank. Sometimes I think, just maybe, it wasn't an act." Then Louise sat there at the table staring silently into her drink. She stared hard at the glass, like there was an answer in it. "Yes, it was Rick," she snapped out of it, "Rick Weston was his name!"
"Damn it, I don't know how you do it, Louise, but you remember names better than anyone. You gotta remember those Martinis he used to make, they were exquisite!" Frank stopped talking for a few moments, then continued. "Yeah, that Rick guy, he was proud of those Martinis and deservedly so. I can taste one of em right now, don't know how he did it. It's the Vermouth, he'd say, the key is the Vermouth. Jesus, why did he have to go nuts? For a long time, Louise, it's been gin and tonics around here. Not that there's anything wrong with them, but that old child-killing pyro-bastard, could sure make a fine Martini. Yup, I'll say that for him."
At first, Louise seemed uneasy with Frank's monologue. Then she finished off her gin and tonic and made another, without a word.
Frank started speaking again, with a smile rising over his face. "That son of a bitch, you know I kinda miss the guy!"
"Like I said, Frank, maybe Rick was a really good man who just lost it for some reason."
"Louise, there had
to be something wrong with him for a long time to do something like that. Do
you think he just drank too many of his own Martinis, then burned half the damn
town killing helpless children and animals?"
"That's what I'm saying, Frank. I don't think it happened that way at all."
Frank turned from the counter to face Louise. Leaning back against it, he folded his arms across his chest and looked at her. "All right," he said, "what's your take on it?"
Louise answered slowly, as she wanted to convey her thoughts without having to repeat them. "Let's say there is no God, or not one that keeps tragic things from happening. Once evil is embedded in an individual, God becomes powerless. He's lost. The actual embedding comes from the outside, I'm sure of that. From whom or what, I haven't a clue. Even a very good person, Frank, has no control over its outburst or demeanor, its existence, or the time it chooses to open up. Then, of course, the person is held solely responsible for the outcome." Louise sat there for a moment. "There is really so much we don't know, Frank." She was done talking.
A brief silence reigned. Frank turned back toward the cabinet, opened the door and grabbed the bottles of Vodka and dry Vermouth. The Vermouth, he swirled around in the shaker, then returned it to the bottle. Then he added ice and poured the Vodka over it. Slowly and gently he stirred the contents. Frank put a strainer on top and poured out two Martinis. He handed one to Louise.
"Here's to old Rick,"
he said boldly, holding his glass high in the air. "He could sure make
a fine Martini." They toasted. ~
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