The passenger door opened, valet holding the handle.
“Coming, Lillian?” he asked, a hint of annoyance creeping into his voice as he stamped his expensive leather shoes in the chill.
“Just a sec!” Lila found herself slamming the door closed and grabbing her phone from her purse. Holding a finger up to the valet to ask him to wait, she frantically called Zoe. “I’m at Endicott,” she hissed into the phone immediately upon pick-up.
“You’re at Endicott!” Zoe hissed back, instantly joining in on the drama.
“Phillip took me to the auction!”
“I thought he was taking you into the city?”
“I just assumed he was doing that but I was wrong.” Lila cursed her stupidity; she’d been too engrossed in her funk to remember that the auction was that night. “Now I’m here sitting in the car at the valet station. What should I do?”
“Own it.” Zoe could sound impressively authoritative when she wanted.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I can’t.” Phillip looked into the window, incredulous eyebrow arched. She smiled brightly, if manically, and mouthed ‘just a sec.’
“Yes, you can. You look amazing. You walk in there and you own it, Lila Clark.” Lila’s answer of protest met a click. Having decided the matter, Zoe ended the call.
Taking a deep breath, Lila brushed her hair back off of her shoulder, smoothed a non-existent wrinkle out of her dress, and opened the door. She’d have to own it.
As she stepped out, Phillip took her arm. “Everything OK?”
“Just fine,” she laughed lightly. “What a perfect night. Amazing you could get tickets.” She distracted him by asking how he’d managed it.
Approaching the tent, Lila wondered if maybe she could put the evening to use? Do some recon on what she now knew was her enemy? Last time she’d visited she’d done a lot of oohing and ahhing with her Gram about the scenery. This visit maybe it was time to take notes. Figure out the secret sauce. Sneak some French fries into the organic wine press. Begin her assault and launch Operation Take Down.
Plus, wasn’t Jake always complaining about all his out-of-town travel? Maybe he wouldn’t even be there. Poor guy, jetting off to Paris with his ex-girlfriend and moping poolside in Vegas. Well, while the cat is away, the mouse will play… She wasn’t sure if she liked being a mouse in an analogy, she realized, walking with Phillip toward the tent. She preferred something more stealthy and deadly. A viper. Or a fox.
Wasn’t it beautiful, though, Lila had to admit, admiring the vine-covered trellises. They really knew how to work magic with the fountain burbling softly and the light sounds of laughter rippling up into the early evening. The air smelled sweet and clear. Probably piped in from some other vineyard where they stole it, Lila reminded herself. Thieves.
A well-groomed hostess greeted them with a smile. She gave them a numbered paddle for placing bids and explained that the auction would start at seven. Lila paused at the coat check with her cashmere sweater. On or off? Remembering Zoe’s words, “Own it,” she decided, why not, and shrugged it off. Backless and loving it.
Inside, the tent was the picture of elegance. A string quartet played at one end. Tables were scattered throughout, some with ice-filled tubs offering white and sparkling wines, others with reds arranged on tiers. Over in the corner, Lila noticed some giant, wild driftwood sculptures. Hundreds of well-dressed guests in crisply tailored suits or strappy dresses and heels mixed about, holding glasses of wine and laughing. No inflatable cacti tonight.
Heading toward a table of reds, Phillip remarked, “I hear they have a fantastic cab.”
“Hmmm,” Lila responded, remembering trying it during her personal tour not too long ago. As she accepted a glass, she did a surreptitious scan around the tent, praying she wouldn’t see Jake. Happily, though the tent bustled with activity, no cluster of chatting guests boasted young Master Endicott of the dreamy eyes and black heart.
Phillip informed her who the chef was that night. Lila didn’t recognize the name. “From LA?” he tried. “The celebrity chef?”
“Sorry.” She shook her head. Looking out over the crowd, she didn’t think she recognized anyone. Who were all these thin, tone, tanned and glossy people?
“Lots of Silicon Valley prospects here tonight.” Phillip surveyed the crowd, eyes gleaming, practically licking his lips. “Lots of big fish. Going to reel some in tonight.” Watching him as he hatched his plans, Lila felt…mystified. This was the man she’d obsessed over for two years?
“Look.” Phillip drew her attention to a tall, handsome, self-assured man. Dressed casually, he sported an open-necked white linen shirt and a gold chain around his throat.
“Pitcher for the Giants,” Phillip told her. The Bay Area’s number one bachelor, Lila remembered. How upset the Endicott’s must be. Jake upstaged at his own event.
“And there’s Oliver Endicott,” Phillip gestured with his glass of wine. Lila looked, nervously, and saw him standing with his arm around an angry, emaciated blond in a spaghetti-strap gold sheath dress. Maybe his wife, Ashley? They were chatting with another couple. Jake was nowhere in sight. “Oliver and I have met at various functions. Have friends in common, that sort of thing. I’ll be sure to introduce you.” Scanning the crowd, Phillip added, “Haven’t met his brother Jake, yet. He’s the big gun. I’m going to pitch him tonight, just you watch.” Lila barked out a nervous laugh and took another sip of wine.
“Nice dress,” Phillip observed, resting a hand on her back. “You really pull it off, Lillian. I don’t remember you in anything like that.”
Lila simply shrugged and answered with a casual, “Oh, it’s nothing.”
“There’s not much to it, I’ll give you that.” Phillip laughed at his own humor. “And, really, you look fantastic. What are you using for your skin these days? You’re glowing.”
“Maybe it’s just the fresh ocean air.” She realized as she said it that she sounded like her Gram, who believed most troubles of man and dog alike could be cured with fresh air.
“Well, whatever you’re doing, it’s agreeing with you. And your hair.” Phillip touched a curl. “It’s a whole different look. What made you decide to try such a dark color? I wouldn’t have thought it, but it suits you.”
With a laugh, Lila acknowledged, “It’s my natural color.” She took another sip of wine and wondered if he’d ever showed this much interest in her during all the years she’d known him. He looked like he wanted to skip the appetizers the waiters offered on large silver trays and eat her instead.
The feel of his hand resting on her back conjured up a memory. “Hey, how are you and Axelle?”
Choking slightly on his goat cheese-stuffed endive, Phillip wiped the sides of his mouth with a cocktail napkin before answering. “She’s back in New York.” Hastily changing the subject, he asked, “And you say you’re working as a clerk at a bookstore?” She’d mentioned it in their phone call. His question came out sounding incredulous.
“Yup, Cover to Cover,” the lowly clerk confirmed. “I do storytime with little ones a few mornings a week.” With a smile, she considered the best way to describe Mr. Meows. “I have a co-host,” she began.
“You always were a diamond in the rough, Lillian,” he interrupted, shaking his head. “I didn’t always see it. I know that now.”
“Diamond in the rough…” Lila repeated, not sure she found it a compliment. Didn’t that imply she needed a good polish?
About to ask what he meant, Phillip spotted someone of importance. Jutting out in front of Oliver Endicott, he stuck out his hand. “Phillip Glazier. Glazier Media. We met at the SF Opera’s Champagne Gala last summer.” Oliver shook his hand with the barest glimmer of recognition. “Listen, I’ve got something you’re going to want to hear about.”
Lila shrank a few steps back. There was no reason Oliver would know her, but still. “I’m going to head to the…” Recognizing neither was listening nor likely to miss her prese
nce while schmoozing, Lila slipped away to the restroom. Walking back, she saw Phillip had out his iPhone, no doubt beaming Oliver his contact info.
The evening progressed with more of the same: compliments for Lila punctuated by intensely aggressive networking. Honestly, Lila found Phillip’s praises increasingly annoying. Where had all this attention been when she’d wanted it? And hadn’t he claimed that he had something important he wanted to talk to her about?
Over at the oyster bar something caught Lila’s eye. Amidst several well-dressed patrons pairing their wine with the delicacy, a couple drank flutes of champagne. The man cut a slender silhouette in a fitted tuxedo. A black beret sat like a pancake on his pale head. The woman wore a silver flapper dress, complete with headband and cigarette holder.
Nearly spitting out her wine, Lila said, “Excuse me a minute.” Phillip, engrossed in a pitch, didn’t notice as she rose to go investigate. As Lila approached, the couple greeted her with a subtle but firm wave-away. Ignoring it to plant herself resolutely by their side, hand on her hip, she asked, “What are you two doing here?”
Godfrey and Zoe glanced at each other, then up at Lila. “Good evening. We are Sven and Olga.” Godfrey politely introduced them in what sounded like a thick Transylvanian accent.
“Ya, from Frankfurt,” Zoe added, sounding fresh off the boat from Sweden.
“Oh really?” Lila asked, amused. “That’s so funny, because you look so much like these other people I know.”
In a deep whisper, barely moving his lips, Godfrey explained, “We’re in disguise.”
“Ah,” Lila gave a nod of understanding.
“You don’t have to worry about a thing.”
Lila realized that it was the second time she’d been told that this evening. Neither time had it inspired the least bit of confidence. Laughter bubbling up, she asked, “How did you guys get in?”
With a look that said, “Give me some credit,” Zoe answered, “Please. Palm Beach girls know how to get into an auction. Now go back and enjoy your date.” Zoe shoed her away. “We’re here for back up if you need us.”
“If you need us,” Godfrey perked up, “Make the call of a mourning dove.” Throwing his head back, Godfrey started with a low, baleful coo that Zoe interrupted with,
“Use this signal.” She laid a finger to the side of her nose. Satisfied with the substitution, Godfrey tipped his beret at a more rakish angle the way all the kids in Frankfurt were doing these days and turned back to his champagne. They got back into character, Godfrey comparing his glass unfavorably to his home brew that had won the Oktoberfest tasting. Lila considered her options. Should she point out that there was no need for disguises as Phillip had never seen them before? Give them some feedback on unifying their accents, costumes and storyline? Address the main issue of why they were providing back-up for her date with Phillip?
“Go now. You don’t want to appear suspicious,” Godfrey, the beret-wearing Dracula, cautioned.
“We’ve got your back,” Zoe whispered, giving her a wink.
With a laugh, Lila decided the best choice was option D, a whispered, “Thanks guys. I’ll head back the other way around to throw Philip off my trail.”
“Good thinking.” Godfrey nodded with approval.
Over with Phillip at the table once again and taking a sip of wine, she saw him. Talking with two men who were dressed relatively casually, if $400 khakis paired with whisper-weight Italian wool sweaters and crisp, supremely-tailored navy blazers counted as such, Jake looked painfully dashing in a black dinner jacket. Disconcerted, Lila recalled he looked just like he had at the holiday party last year.
Wind nearly knocked out of her, Lila shifted to hide behind Phillip. Phillip turned, placing his hand on her lower back once again. “Bookstore, huh?” he asked, giving her hair a kiss. “At least, that won’t be hard for you to leave.” While Phillip talked about something or other, Lila studied the small, round table holding their drinks and thought of a hide-and-seek book she’d read for story hour last week. It was about a chameleon who could change color and blend so well into his surroundings that even Mr. Meows had trouble spotting him. Right about now, if she had to guess from the flaming heat emanating from her cheeks, she was pretty much the exact opposite, standing out like a red flag against the tent’s crisp white linen.
Vaguely aware that Phillip was still talking—something about getting her back in the saddle—Sven and Olga over at the oyster bar were now vying for her attention. Coupling meaningful looks with fingers pointed over toward the corner, they made sure Lila was aware of the recent development. “Yes, I’ve seen Jake” Lila considered yelling over to them. It might be more subtle.
Sneaking a glance toward Jake’s party, she noted they’d been joined by a tall man in a cowboy hat and a tux with a familiar strong jawline. Big Bob, she realized, taking another sip of wine. A waiter passed with shrimp on ice. She wondered if there were a subtle way she could slide out a couple of pieces and press them to her cheeks.
Stealing another glance, Jake caught her gaze for a few lengthy seconds that surely defied the typical constraints of time and space. Not a trace of a smile. No nod of recognition. Just a frozen stare that still managed to communicate a cold ‘What are you doing here?’
Lila broke eye contact and tried to focus on the appetizer Phillip had just set on a small plate before her. Beautifully arranged with an artful drizzle of sage cream sauce and a sprig of mint, it looked as appealing as an old shoe. Lila’s stomach clenched into a tight knot.
“You’re taking this all in stride,” Phillip observed. “I’d thought you might put up a show of resistance. ‘I’m happy here’ and all that. But you know a great offer when you hear one, don’t you, Lillian?”
“Excuse me?” Lila asked, barely able to focus on the fact that she was supposedly engaging in conversation with Phillip.
“You’ll have your own office, you know. Not at first, of course. You’ll be in a cube outside my office. But down the line, your own office would be a definite possibility.”
“Outside your office?” Lila asked, drawn in by the incomprehensible nature of Phillip’s words.
“It’s prime real estate. The corner of Sansome and Pine. Great view from my office.” Clearing his throat, he added, “Which you’ll be able to see, of course, when I’m not in with a client.”
“You’ve bought your own office space?”
“This all might be a lot for you to take in at one time.” Phillip put his wineglass down and nodded with understanding. “You probably thought you’d blown your chances in the advertising world. But I’m giving you that second chance, Lillian.”
“But I don’t work in advertising anymore.” Lila felt tremendous pressure building at her temples and fervently wished the bidding would start already so they could get this evening over with. She also wondered just how many times he was going to use her name—right out of the ‘making a sale’ playbook. And why did it always have to be Lillian? What was wrong with Lila?
“Do you understand what I’m offering you?” Phillip adopted the slow, careful tones necessary to explain simple facts to slow and somewhat obstinate learners. “I’m going out on my own. Starting my own firm. And I want you to be in on it with me.” With a warm twinkle in his eyes that Lila recognized from having watched him make pitches—he really knew how to forge the personal connections that sealed the deal—he added, “We’d be in partnership together.”
“You’re offering me a partnership in your new advertising firm?”
“No, not technically a partner,” he admitted. “You’d be my assistant. But we’d be working together very closely. I couldn’t offer you much in the way of salary yet, but you’ve never been motivated by money, have you Lillian?” There was that twinkle again.
Rubbing her temples, Lila realized that when Phillip looked at her he saw a “Will work hard for peanuts” sign flashing in neon on her forehead. No wonder; back in SF rarely had a week passed without her staying late t
o help him out with something or other. The tasks hadn’t been related to her actual job description, just her private delusion regarding the significance of their intimacy.
Grasping Lila’s hands, Phillip turned things up a notch. “I need you. I can’t do this without you, Lillian. I know I can count on you. I’ve always known it.” Looking at him, Lila realized it was just what she, at one time, had wanted him to say. Sort-of. In a different context, with a different meaning. Flushed and overwhelmed by his full-court press, she looked away. Jake stood to her side.
He looked so good it hurt. She remembered in a painful flash the last time she’d seen him. She’d been wrapped in his arms.
“Hi Lila,” Jake said without warmth.
Extending his hand, Phillip oozed, “Phillip Glazier, Glazier Media.”
Still looking at Lila, Jake shook his hand. “How are you doing.” Somehow he turned the benign, welcoming question into a dismissive statement.
Lila tried the “Excuse me” excuse that had worked well before with Oliver. Not so this time as Jake caught up to her before she’d even taken ten steps. “Hey.” No smile, his voice bristled. “So, that was fun the time we got together and had dinner…” Snapping his fingers as if just remembering something, he continued, “Wait, we never did that because you never called me back.”
Mouth open in shock, after a few seconds Lila was able to recover enough to ask, “Oh, I blew you off?”
“And now you show up here at my family’s vineyard. Looking all hot with some guy who’s obviously a complete tool.”
“You stole our store,” Lila hissed, realizing that even in the hubbub of music and conversation, raised voices could draw attention. “You got the idea from me! And then you stole it!”
“Is that what you think?” Jake leaned a step closer, his incredulity seeming to propel him forward. “You think I stole business ideas from you?
“Like it’s so ridiculous to think I’d have a good idea to steal!”
Christmas in Wine Country Page 24