Bait & Hook

4. Bobbles and Bubbles

Oh, dear! Have I waded in beyond my depth? The way he examines me – does he suspect? If he does, I need to bail out. Don't implicate the company. How do I find out? Confront? Yeah. "You're staring at me, Xander – as if off in a dream world."

"Sorry. Intrigued by your exquisite face. Trying to sort out your heritage."

"Ooh! Nobody's ever called it that. Pretty, different, nice, interesting, that sort of thing, but never exquisite."

"You travel in the wrong circles, then."

Hmmm! The buttering-up that Melissa talked about. How to respond? Something nebulous to acknowledge and divert. "It does stump most, and they stop there."

"Ah, but my intrigue doesn't stop there, Roxy."

Persistent. Melissa suggested saying something complex and obscure that they won't be able to follow. "I'm Peruvian – half Inca and half Spanish, one side directly down from the last Sapa Incas by moiety."

"Oh, wow! From Huayna Capac's youngest, Atoc."

"What? How do you know this?"

"Atoc was the eleventh Sapa Inca's only legitimate son who didn't rule, and because of this, his line is the only verified surviving one. When the Conquistadors overran the Empire, they killed the descendants of the other lines, fearing the continuing influence of the Sapa Incas."

"But how do you know this?"

"I became intrigued by the Inca culture when I visited Cusco, Pisac, Ollantaytambo, Machu Picchu – actually all the Inca sites. Made a study of it."

Oh, dear. What now? "Never made it to any of those places. Papá moved us to Vancouver when I was only ten." Okay. Where do I go from here? While I tried to remember Melissa's notes, the waitress offered a reprieve by arriving with two tall glasses and a bottle. 

Both Xander and I paused to watch her open the wine, and when it gave a wimpy hiss instead of a pop, I said, "Oh, how disappointing."

"What? How so?"

"No loud pop."

I caught Xander's wince before he said, "Champagne, or any other sparkling wine, should be opened with a sound no louder than the sigh of a contented woman."

"Oh, but I love the pop." Contented woman? Sigh? Is this the sexual undertone that Melissa had mentioned? Is he making a move?

His voice interrupted my thoughts, "Think of the law of conservation of energy, Roxy. It can be neither created nor destroyed, only transformed. The pop requires energy to generate, and this comes from the release of carbon dioxide trapped in the wine. The faster the opening, the more violently this is released, and the wine's potential bubbles are converted to sound waves and ejected froth. A significant expense in making Champagne is creating the bubbles, and they add immensely to the enjoyment. So, the louder the pop, the more the waste and the less exciting the wine."

"Oh!"

When our wine had been poured, Xander raised his glass to me and said, "To an enjoyable evening, Roxy."

He paused his glass short of his mouth and tilted it to examine, and I copied his actions. The wine was in turmoil. Steady streams of tiny rising bubbles. And they keep coming. So many more than I've ever seen. All wasted with a loud pop.

His next words didn't make sense – something about a fine moose, so I smiled and nodded, pretending I understood. When he took a sip, I did the same, the popping bubbles tickling my nose. Then the smell of fresh-baked bread and apricots had me search the table. Nothing. Now pears and hazelnuts.

When he put his glass to his nose, I copied, and the smells increased. Aha! They're from the wine.

"What do you find in the bouquet, Roxy?"

Ooh! I know that word. "Fresh bread, dried apricots, pears and hazelnuts."

Xander looked up from his glass and smiled. "Oh, my! You have a well-developed palate. I also find hints of figs and praline."

I gazed into his eyes and asked, "What's praline?"

"Thin, crisp wafers of diced or slivered almonds cooked in boiling sugar until brown."

"Oh, those. I love them. But we call them crujiente de almendras."

His smile seemed to fill his entire face, and when I caught myself drowning in his eyes, I looked away. Dangerous.