The Winemaker's Dinner: RSVP
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“Have a nice day, doctor,” he added sheepishly.
“And you have a better one!” I called over my shoulder as I headed to the elevators.
I hit P for penthouse and was on my way. The doors opened, and I quickly located my humble abode for the next two days. I smiled at the decadence. Hell if I wasn’t gonna have some fun this weekend and let my hair down. Flat screens, big mahogany furniture, and a piano occupied the main room, and I could see a balcony beyond them. I went straight to it and slid the door open, instantly enveloped by the smell of the sea and the sound of waves crashing on the beach. A table with oversized chairs looked to be the perfect place to set up shop and reply to a few emails before I officially tucked my work life away for the weekend.
But first I’d finish the tour. (Again with the procrastination, right?) I took another moment to survey the view and then used a second sliding door to enter the bedroom, which looked as if it had been completely whitewashed: a king-size bed with white bedding and sheets, overstuffed white pillows, white walls, and white carpet too. I whistled low. If I wasn’t careful, this was one huge cleaning bill waiting to happen. I tossed my leather bag on the bench at the foot of the bed and quickly put all my clothes and toiletries away.
Then I snapped up my laptop and made for the perfect spot on the balcony, checking my phone as I sat down and powered up the Mac. Ten text messages in the three hours I’d been off the grid. I skimmed through and chose a special one to answer first:
How are you? I haven’t heard from you!? LOVE YOU
I laughed out loud when I scrolled through the text from my mom and saw the attached picture of my father in an obviously inebriated state. It was Friday, after all, and he was semi-retired. I was still laughing when I pecked back my reply:
All groovy, babe. Love you more. Control your husband! haha ; )
My family is the most important thing on earth. My father is the son of a coal miner and used an outhouse until he was eighteen. He was the first person to go to college in his entire town, and despite all his successes, he remains the most hard-partying Rusilko around. My brother is also a doctor and has always been my role model—a more grounded, focused version of myself. My sister, the spitting image of my dad, is a firecracker who has helped me hook up with a young lady here and there. My mother is my safe harbor, as well as the best damn Scrabble player there is. She is a doll. Damn, I missed the simple days: playing Scrabble and getting shit-cocked around a fire on a brisk Western Pennsylvania night. I really needed to get home soon.
After sending a mass text to my buddies and business associates about meeting up in a bit, I toiled through the twenty-three work emails that had collected during the drive to Sarasota. You can bet I was highly efficient with this project. And then, Power off? Don’t mind if I do. I closed the computer and began my preparations for the night ahead. With work now dusted and done, I’d soon have the opportunity to fill my mind with something else—of course I was thinking booze and other people’s business, but maybe there’d be something else waiting to take me by surprise.
My look for the evening was a black suit and a crisp white button-down, complete with French cuffs and silver cuff links. Of course the black tie meant that I couldn’t rock my typical Ivan-style with the top two buttons undone, but I didn’t mind. The daylight had turned to magenta and blue streaks across the sky, and I needed to get my ass in gear.
I shrugged on the suit jacket and retrieved the last three items from my bag: cigars for friends and business associates who loved Miami “Cubans,” a Roman soldier ring with a black stone, and my watch—both gifts from my grandfather. The watch didn’t work, as I hadn’t replaced the battery since my grandfather passed away, but I liked wearing it anyway. I zipped back to the bathroom once more for a quick check of my hair and decided to go with loose and flowing. I’m supposed to be letting it down this weekend, right? The last part of my ritual was applying a hint of cologne to my neck, wrists…and crotch. Hell, you never know.
I took one last look around to make sure I wasn’t forgetting anything and patted my pocket to test for the room key. Check. When I got to the lobby it was crammed with late-arriving wine enthusiasts. I passed through a door held open by the same snotty bellman who’d belittled my beloved Betty earlier, and I’m certain the guy didn’t even recognize me. I scanned the busy circle drive for my driver and spotted him, with a sign reading Rusilko, relaxing next to a limo.
“What’s up, boss?” I called. He shot to attention and into chauffeur mode.
“Hello, sir, my name is Drewe, and I’ll be your driver this evening.”
“Groovy, my man. Let’s do it,” I told him as I slipped into the back seat. He shut the door behind me, and I poured the complimentary champagne. Fifteen minutes and two glasses of fizz later, the limo slowed and took a hard pitch to the right. The structure that loomed large in front of the car looked like a castle but was actually someone’s house and had for years been the location of the annual Winemaker’s Dinner. The limo came to a stop in the driveway near the front door, and a valet opened the door and directed me to the garden.
“I’ll be right out front, sir, when you’re ready leave,” Drewe said.
I shot him a quick wink and a thank you before I was off.
Cutting a path past the growing crowd of self-proclaimed sommeliers, I lifted a glass of deep purple elixir from a passing waiter. I noticed a number of politicians, business moguls, athletes, B-list celebrities, socialites—and, oh yes, the dreaded climbers too. With all the same players and the same games in play, this was much like a night out in Miami, but the luscious garden setting was to die for.
I spotted my crew at the far corner of the garden, rather than in their VIP seats, and I could tell by the laughter drifting my way that they’d started without me. I needed to catch up. I downed my first glass as if it were water and quickly snuck in another one on my way to join my friends.
Creeping up, I playfully slapped the closest one on the back and shouted, “You sandbagging son of a bitch!” This startled the entire posse to silence for a moment, which I felt was quite an achievement. (You’d think so too if you knew them. That guy is actually kind of a sandbagging son of a bitch…) And then it began.
“Ivan!”
“It’s about fucking time!”
Laughing feverishly, they started right in on me, catching me up, telling jokes, and lighting the cigars I’d smuggled in all the way from Miami. Once everyone was chomping on a stogie, the talk turned to business, and I began to explain my various wheelings and dealings. “I have all sorts of shit going on,” I began, shaking my head and surveying the crowd as I spoke. “I’m modeling a little, and medically I’m organizing the debut of a new weight loss program that amps up your metabolism using…”
And then I completely lost my train of thought. Everyone and everything around me just faded to black. At that exact second, in that perfect moment, in that precise spot, my heart stopped.
A miracle had just stepped onto the dance floor and into my life.
We cordially invite you to and a guest to experience
The Winemaker’s Dinner: Appetizers
Date: July 31, 2012
Time: 12:00 midnight
Location: Everywhere
RSVP @ www.thewinemakersdinner.com
About the Authors
Dr.Ivan Rusilko, DO, CSN, PT, is an accomplished weight loss, wellness, physical enhancement and sexual health physician affiliated with the prestigious MIAMI Institute in Miami, Florida. A certified sports nutritionist, champion bodybuilder, international male fitness model, and former Mr. USA 2008 and 2010, Dr. Ivan graduated from the Lake Erie College of Osteopathic Medicine in 2010 and sits as the national media and public relations expert and spokesperson on diet, exercise and sports nutrition for the American Osteopathic Association (AOA).
Dr. Ivan has been a feature health writer and lifestyle coach for numerous magazines and online publications including The Washington Times and Quarter Life Health.
He is proud to bring two of his passions, his medical wellness and sexual health background and writing together in this unique project. He hopes that The Winemaker’s Feast Trilogy will help spark an enthusiasm and ignite liberation among women, inspiring them to celebrate their sensuality and focus on their sexual health in order to achieve a better quality of life.
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