Chapter 1: Erotic mystery in the heart of Houston

Ted's point of view

I opened the driver's side door and stepped into the street. Glancing back to make sure the way was clear, I walked around the car to join my younger brother, Stan. Once or twice a week we made the trip into Houston to the club. It was a private club upstairs from a restaurant. The owner was particular about who he allowed in and his criterion was not always obvious. Some people became downright angry at being denied entry; but Carl ran the club for his personal pleasure, not for the profit. He wasn't terribly concerned about those who got upset. He just saw it as validation for not letting them in to begin with. Frankly, I thought the restricted clientele made it more of a draw than if it were open to every Tom, Dick and Harry. I laughingly called it my own Diogenes Club.

We went there to unwind from the rigors of managing the family business, Stansbury Vineyards. The vine covered terraces in the Texas Hill Country, the old work buildings and the presses near Houston have been in my family for almost a hundred years. My father, grandfather and great-grandfather all sweated blood over those grapes. I was no different. Stan razzed me endlessly about all the hard work. It's why I'm thirty-five and single, he said. He could be right. We shared the same square face as our father, the same strong jaw line. Looks didn't seem to stop him from dating so it must be me.

The décor was relaxing and very comfortable with overstuffed leather chairs scattered among short tables of rich mahogany. A fireplace in the side wall provided an air of intimacy with the scent of burned oak. Many of the patrons here smoked cigars or pipes with their brandy, whisky or what have you. While I don't smoke, I did like the smell of a good pipe.

Stan sometimes smoked Padron cigars while we relaxed. He told me I should enjoy one along with my beer at least once a month. No thanks. It was a very nasty habit. I would rather eat dirt. It would be healthier. I wasn't a health nut but I was in good shape and I'd like to keep it that way.

A number of people have wondered why I drank beer when I went out and not wine. To me, it seemed to be a break from work. I tasted wine often as I worked, and a few beers now and then let me feel relaxed. It made me feel less of a wine snob.

Tonight, we found our way up the stairs just after six in the evening. The club was only about half full with several regulars seated at the bar who waved at us when we walked past. Carl shook his bar rag at us as we settled into place and Dina, the waitress, brought a glass of chardonnay for Stan and a Heineken for me. She joked with me that Carl had a nice selection of more sophisticated beers on hand, but she understood. I just liked the simple and clean taste. Dina was Carl's daughter and, if you looked, you could see her mother in her. Not Carl - thank God. He was a great guy but he fell out of the ugly tree and he hit every single branch on the way to the ground.

Dina patted Stan on the arm and moved off to see to the needs of the other patrons. I shot him my patented big brother look. "She likes you," I said.

Stan laughed back. "I like her, too, but think of the family, man! Carl's genes are in there somewhere!"

I slapped him on the arm. "Oh, stop it! You like Carl and Dina looks just fine."

"Ted, I like you, too, but you're still a bit homely." he retorted.

I laughed back and we settled into our comfortable routine of drinking slowly. We chatted about the people that were there. Captain Jack, Uncle Armand (no relation) and Sven the weightlifter were the first on the hit parade. They were all real characters and always worth a lot of speculation.

I was so involved in the conversation that I didn't see the woman in blue come in. It was like she had just appeared in one of the leather chairs across from us with a large, bald black man in a dark suit. It was hard to tell but I thought she was about my height. Rather tall for a woman. Long blonde hair cascaded across her shoulders, framing a face that was long, slender and pale. A soft pink lipstick was better than the red that so many fair skinned women favored. It suited her.

The blue dress fit her svelte frame like a glove and showed her willowy legs to fine advantage as she crossed them. She was well built for her frame, her cleavage showcased in a daringly low cut front that gave one the hope that gravity might pull the clinging fabric just a little lower. She was engrossed in an animated conversation with her well dressed companion, laughing from time to time. The occasional sip she took of her wine caused delicious ripples in her golden hair.

"Do you like her?"

I startled just a bit at the unexpected voice. I had forgotten Stan.

"She's pretty," I admitted.

"Go ask for her number."

I turned to stare incredulously and chided him. "She's with her date, Stan! Not only is that clichéd, it's just wrong!"

Stan smiled and shook his head. "Ted, that's why I date and you don't. You need to be a bit more forward," he said. "Women are just as needy as you are. They want to have men show an interest in them." Seeing that I remained unconvinced, he smirked. "I'll show you what I mean."

I looked at him warily, not really sure what he had in mind. He just smiled back at me.