Pink Slipper

by Gina Robinson

  "Sure. Fine. Have a nice day at work," I said.

  He grunted and was off.

  * * *

  I felt so happy about the SAPS numbers that I raided Julie’s closet with impunity. Now, let me see, what did one wear to a morning wine tasting event?

  Really, anything would do, and even I knew that. The great thing about the Cellars was that it was near a major bike trail. So lots of people biked to it and showed up in riding spandex and helmets. But I felt so great that I wanted to look fabulous, too.

  * * *

  JCG met at the front entrance to the Cellars outside in front of the big wooden doors. And I mean big double doors that slanted into a peak, flanked by heavy lantern lights. That was only one of the great things about the Cellars, besides the wine, obviously.

  The doors, the wonderfully landscaped grounds with the grape arbor, even if everyone did know that they didn’t use these grapes in the wines. These were just decoy grapes, atmosphere grapes. They grew the real grapes in Eastern Washington, which was at approximately the same latitude as France, only got an average of eight inches of rainfall per year, and had scads of sunshine. In comparison to our endless days of gray and annual rainfall measured in feet. But the grape arbors were lovely to drive through, and sit next to when picnicking.

  The Cellars expected picnickers and had tables set up on the grounds to accommodate them. Or you could bring a blanket and sit on the lawn. Whatever. They were mellow.

  Also on the grounds, the Cellars maintained a tiered fishpond and a concert stage where they hosted some very good acts in their summer concert series. For a price, of course. A price we unemployed JCGers couldn’t afford. Which was why were about to embark on a free wine tasting tour and couldn’t do the reserve tour where you paid to taste the elite wines.

  The Cellars was a huge, white, two-story building with shuttered windows, all done in a French style. It was lovely. It felt authentic, almost like being in France. The winery had started out life as a dairy. But there were no cows left now. Unashamed of their history, the staff told you this right up front on the tour as you stood in the lobby in front of a bowl of giant glass fruit. I had taken the tour a time or two before.

  Roger greeted me as I showed up. "Leesa! What’s up?"

  "Good news and bad." I grinned. "The good—SAPS made its numbers! I’m waiting for the formal offer now. The bad—once I’m employed I won’t be able to hang out with this excellent group so much anymore. Do you kick employed people out?"

  Roger grinned. "We boot the special ones out with a party. A loving send-off. A back-into-the-work-force bash. Anything to celebrate and keep everyone’s spirits up."

  You had to love Roger.

  "As soon as you get and accept your offer, let me know and we’ll set a date." Roger looked so content. No, not merely content, maybe even charmed, captivated as he stood with his hand on Candy’s shoulder. And I don’t think it had anything to do with me and my offer-to-be.

  "Right. I will," I agreed, unable to hold my own smile down. "Only, there’ll be the negotiation phase first and that could take a week, maybe two." I explained about Howard and how he’d get me the best deal.

  Even as Roger listened to me and nodded at all the right times, he hovered solicitously over Candy who sat on a bench with Hank next to her. Candy cast him adoring glances, looking lovely, peaked and frail, a bit bruised, and very much in need of pampering with her bandaged wrist and the bottom of her bandaged knee peeking out from beneath her skintight capris. Roger seemed just the man for the job, only too happy to comply. When you think about it, it was a perfect match. A nurse, and a patient.

  A newcomer arrived. An old lady who looked like she should have retired in 1996. "Is this the Job Camp Group meeting? I want to join."

  Roger broke with Candy to greet her and introduce her around.

  I plopped myself down next to Candy.

  "Great news about your job offer," she said.

  Hank nodded in agreement. "Awesome."

  I shrugged, pleased, and patted Candy’s hand. "How are you doing?"

  Hank answered for her. "Great. Look at her. She’s getting more sympathy, pity, and attention than she’s gotten her whole life."

  Did I detect a note of envy?

  Twenty to thirty people milled around. Many of them casting Candy sympathetic looks as they stopped by to ask about her wrist. She recounted the accident with gusto. Turned out that Candy was a great storyteller.

  "Big crowd," I whispered to Hank. "Are these all ours?"

  "Think so."

  See, lots of people got it about free wine.

  Except Barn, Sean, and Jean, who didn’t show. Jean’s parents had come to town and she was entertaining them. Sean was probably sleeping in. And Barn, who knew? Probably tidying up Cara’s place after a night of bliss. Don’t go there, I told myself.

  But plenty of other people did turn out. People whose faces I recognized from other events. Eventually, Roger herded us inside where a tour guide named Matt welcomed us and launched the tour.

  First stop—the bottling operation. Matt led the way.

  I’d just showed up for the tasting. I wasn’t actually into the tour, especially the bottling operation. I’d taken my first tour at five, at that age all you get to taste is grape juice, and dozens of times since, and I’d never seen the bottler going.

  But then . . . wow! What was this? Bottles going down the line! "The bottling machine is actually running!"

  Matt laughed at my surprise and enthusiasm. "Yeah, I understand. It’s sweet seeing it working."

  "Well, this must be my lucky day because I’ve never been to the winery when the bottling line was in action."

  "Yet another benefit of being unemployed," Roger said to the group and everyone laughed again. I have to say that Roger really took the positive attitude stuff seriously.

  Yes, life was good, even if Howard hadn’t called before I’d left for the tour. He was probably in a big meeting celebrating the good news and learning all about how he could staff up to his heart’s content now, starting with me!

  Howard knew my cell number. He’d get in touch when he could. I very politely put the phone on buzz and then tried to forget about it. I couldn’t put life on hold waiting for a phone call. Okay, true confessions, I checked for messages every few minutes. Only it didn’t look like the Cellars had good cell coverage inside. I tried to concentrate on the tour again. The bottling machine mesmerized me.

  Matt pointed to a machine. "That machine puts a puff of nitrogen into the bottle, expelling all the oxygen. Oxygen reacts with wine and spoils it so we eradicate it before filling the bottle. Any questions?" Matt said as we prepared to move on.

  The old lady asked, "How many bottles of Chardonnay did you produce last year?"

  Matt went on with the wine spiel, while I mostly daydreamed and shuffled along when the crowd moved. Then Matt told us about ice wine and I tuned back in. I have an incurable sweet tooth and will salivate at the mention of a good sweet wine. Ice wine has twenty-two percent residual sugar as compared with six percent for a Muscat Canelli, which is my favorite dessert wine.

  Ice wine is made from grapes harvested in November after shrinking nearly to raisins on the vine. And it can only be made when the grapes freeze. Which only happens every five to eight years in the Eastern Washington vineyards. The frozen grapes are harvested at night and pressed to assure maximum sugar with ice still clinging to the them! Now that was my kind of story. Midnight harvesting. Sweet. Mysterious. And there’d been a pressing this year! I developed an on-the-spot craving. Buying an expensive bottle of ice wine would be the perfect celebratory gesture. Too bad I’d left my credit cards at home!

  We saw the big metal vats where they fermented the white wines. And the French oak aging barrels. Yeah, yeah, yeah. I could hardly keep my mind off the ice wine.

  "Would drinking ice wine be like sipping syrup, only much better? Fruity? Lots of legs? Fine bouquet?" I voiced my curiosity to Hank. But she
wasn’t listening.

  She pointed to Candy with Roger’s arm around her waist, supporting her and holding her to him. "Disgusting." She rolled her eyes. In fact, she’d been rolling her eyes every time she looked in their direction.

  I followed her line of sight and sighed. I thought they looked cute together. It was so sweet to see Roger helping Candy along. To see Candy leaning on him for support. To see the utter joy on their faces as they whispered and smiled at each other. I guess beauty is in the eye of the beholder, either that or Hank and I were looking at a different scene altogether.

  "All that eye-rolling’s going to give you a headache," I said to Hank. I knew. I frequently got one when I had to spend too much time around my sister.

  She rolled her eyes in response.

  "I suppose Candy’s put his picture at the top of the wall of fame," I said, teasing her.

  Another eye roll. "Don’t give her any ideas."

  Finally, the end of the tour—the tasting room!

  "You have to love the tasting room," I said to Hank to cheer her up and distract her from Candy and Rog. I made a big, sweeping gesture with my arms. "It flows without effort into the gift shop and everywhere you look—wine. Wine on the walls, wine in crates on the floor, wine behind the bar. Wine, wine, wine!" Calm down, Leesa. No, I really was not a wino.

  Hank didn’t seem cheered.

  Matt went behind the long tasting bar. Written on a chalkboard behind him was the day’s menu. Chardonnay. Cabernet. Muscat Canelli.

  Matt spread a line of glasses out along the bar and began pouring the Chardonnay. "Always taste white to red, dry to sweet. And the main point in any tasting is to enjoy yourself, which is easy if you follow a few simple steps. First, examine the color of the wine. The longer a white ages, the darker it becomes. Although if it turns brown, it’s probably bad. The nice thing about our whites is they’re meant to be drunk right away. Our market research indicates most of our customers purchase our wine the same day they intend to drink it."

  Mine was a nice white color.

  "Next, sniff. Then swirl, which will bring out the bouquet. Then sniff again. Taste. Savor."

  I sniffed. I swirled my wine in the glass, which Matt told us was actually a quality glass for tasting wine. I sniffed again.

  Matt shook his head. "Stick your nose right in the bulb of the glass." He demonstrated.

  I stuck my nose in there, and wow, he was right. You got a good whiff that way.

  Swirled and sniffed. Swirled and tasted. Heavenly.

  Cabarnet—repeat. Muscat Canelli—repeat again. I loved dessert wines so much, I savored mine extra slow. End of tasting.

  I said to Matt, "Can we taste the ice wine?"

  Sympathetic look. Matt shook his head. "I wish. But they don’t give us that for this tour. I think we do have a few bottles left for sale, however. And if you like the Muscat Canelli, pick up a bottle of that, too. We only sell the Muscat here at the winery."

  Hank leaned into me. "Nice try." She sounded disappointed, too.

  I’d just set my empty glass on the counter and wandered into the gift shop to browse when someone called my name. "Leesa?"

  Heart pounding, heart stopping! I turned around. "Ryne!"

  Lucky, lucky day! I blinked to make sure Ryne wasn’t a wine-induced hallucination. Nope, the real thing. And looking amazingly good, too, and calling out to me!

  "Ryne! What are you doing here?" I managed to say it with coy, girlish surprise so it had the impact of, "what a fabulous surprise bumping into you." Or at least that’s what I hoped.

  "Picking up some wine for a party I’m throwing." Ryne flashed a sexy smile, a real heart warmer. He and Sean had a way of melting a woman’s heart with a charming look, only Ryne’s was more sincere, like he was actually interested in the woman, not just her body.

  But was Ryne really as sensitive as I thought? I mean, was it bad form to mention a party to a person you hadn’t invited? Not that I expected an invitation.

  "A family obligation," he added, as if reading my mind and putting to rest any fantasies or apprehensions I had about being invited.

  What was I, an open book? I hadn’t even opened my mouth and now he probably thought I was begging an invitation when we’d never even been on a date. When his intentions weren’t exactly perfectly clear. Sure, C&H and I believed he was sending a signal, but it was all so confusing.

  Just calm down. Keep in mind how skilled he is at people reading. Most men, especially engineers, were oblivious. Which used to annoy me, but now I wondered if it didn’t have its upside? You’d never get by with lying to Ryne. Not that I would. Okay, I had, but I’d clearly failed in the attempt, although he’d been too polite to call me on it. But how could you even keep a present a surprise from him?

  His body language assessing ability was the one really scary thing about him. That, and his effect on my pulse rate.

  "Ah, the dreaded family obligation." I nodded in sympathy. Awkward pause. "Special occasion?"

  "Just a little get-together that’s been planned for a while."

  I tried giving him that piercing, truth-pulling stare he’d used on me before, but clearly he wasn’t budging with more info. I must’ve needed more practice. Oh, well, if he was going to be tightlipped.

  "And you’re here with your job group?" Said lightly, teasingly, flirtatiously even. With a big smile and an amused glint in his eyes.

  He remembered! I’d told him at Seatac about JCG meeting at the winery today. So an accidental bumping-into?

  "We just finished the tour." I shot him a flirty grin.

  Just then Roger, Candy, and Hank waved to me from a display table a few feet away, obviously angling for an introduction.

  "Lees, come take a look at these!" Hank held up a colorful ceramic cork stopper shaped like an alien head or a bug or something complete with beaded antennae sticking up.

  "Wow, excellent," I said without thinking. "I could use one of those."

  Hank laughed. "I know. Cute. And here I thought they only sold serious, uptight, elegant stuff like your typical bunch of grapes junk." She stopped suddenly and raised her eyebrows as if to say, "oh, who’s this?"

  So I made introductions all the way round. "Hank. Candy, who’s recovering from a rock climbing incident. Of course, you know Roger from your session," I said to Ryne.

  As Ryne shook Roger’s hand, Hank pointed to him and mouthed, "I could use one of those."

  I made a little "stop, don’t say anything" hand gesture. I believed Ryne could sense body language and I was trying not to be too obvious about things.

  Roger and Ryne had a nice conversation about how Roger was really putting what he’d learned from Ryne into practice and how he saw positive attitude as a definite asset in patient healing while Hank and Candy played pantomime with me about Ryne’s, ahem, positive attributes. Of course, I tried to stop them. But about the time I gave them my harshest, "stop that now" frown Ryne looked right at me and grinned like he had my number.

  Candy suddenly leaned on Roger’s arm and sighed.

  "What’s wrong, baby?"

  Hank made a disgusted face.

  "I’m sorry, Rog," Candy cooed, "I’m wearing out. I know we were supposed to have a picnic here, but can you take Hank and me home instead?"

  Hank jumped right in to her aid. "She’s looking a little peaked, Roger. We don’t want to slow her recovery by wearing her out."

  Roger looked from one to the other, apparently confused by this sudden bout of tiredness. "Absolutely." I guess he didn’t have Ryne’s reading skills because it was obvious what they were up to.

  "Leesa, forgive us for bailing on you?" Candy said and gave me a fast wink when she thought Ryne wasn’t looking.

  "Absolutely. Don’t worry about me. You just go on home and take care of yourself. I’ll call you later." Very magnanimous of me, don’t you think?

  Roger went to pull the car around while Candy and Hank bought a bottle of wine. Then they left, leaving just Ryne and me.


  "Looks like your friends deserted you." Ryne grinned. "Do you have to run right off or can you spare a half hour and help me pick out a wine or two before you leave?"

  I paused and looked up like I was doing a mental check of my appointment calendar. "A half hour? I could give you that. But I have to warn you. I don’t know anything about wines other than what I like."

  "But you just took the tour, so you’re an expert now, right?"

  I laughed. "We tasted three wines."

  "Well, let’s try some more then, shall we?"

  I looked around the gift shop, overwhelmed. "All right. But where do we start?"

  * * *

  The winery offered three tasting options. The free tour tasting, which I’d done. A selected reserve and single vineyard tasting in the wineshop for a five dollar fee. And a private tasting, by appointment only. Our "surprise" meeting hadn’t allowed for reserving ahead.

  Ryne paid the five dollar fee for each of us and we did the wineshop tasting. I snagged a brochure and took detailed notes on each wine. Leg quality. Color. Aroma. Taste, making a note of which flavors I tasted in each wine and giving stars for deliciousness. We asked questions and laughed a lot, smiled a lot. At each other. When we finished, we moved away from the tasting bar and into the main part of the wineshop where we picked out the four or five wines I liked best and lined them up on a shelf.

  Only, only . . . they still hadn’t let us taste the ice wine. And there was a bottle of it for sale. I glanced at it.

  "What?" Ryne asked, seeing the direction of my gaze.

  I pointed. "That one is supposed to be excellent and rare. Twenty-two percent residual sugar. Harvested at midnight by diligent elf-like grape pickers." I made a good story as I told him all the details.

  He grabbed it from the shelf and added it to our row, even though it was way too expensive for me to think about buying. So expensive, I gulped at the price. But Ryne didn’t even flinch.

  "There. Is our list complete?" Ryne turned to me.

  "Except for the Muscat Canelli. If you’re going to be serving wine with dessert you absolutely must have it. If you’re serving wine for dessert, that would be the ice wine. Of course, you could serve the Cabernet Sauvignon with a deep, dark chocolate and that would be dessert in itself. That’s what Matt the tour guide told us. So those are your options."