Trouble Brewing

by Jane Tara

  “She’s a locked vault.”

  Batty sighed. “Calypso was deeply in love with someone a few years ago, and it ended badly.”

  “I figured something like that had happened.” Taran couldn’t understand how any man could leave Calypso Shakespeare.

  “She was devastated.”

  “Perhaps she’s not ready to move on.”

  “It’s been three years, Taran,” Batty said. “She needs to move on. She’s young. She has the right to love again. But my daughter is very loyal, and loves with great intensity. It was difficult for her to accept that the relationship wasn’t … for life.”

  “I understand,” said Taran, who didn’t really. Who was this knucklehead who’d dumped Calypso, and why the hell couldn’t she get over him?

  Batty leant across the counter. “How far are you willing to go for her, Taran?”

  “As far as she needs me to go.”

  “Try Vienna. There’s a small bar called Birdland near the Kartner Strasse. Next to Stephansplatz. She often goes there to hide.”

  Taran finished his sandwich in silence. He glanced at his watch. If he managed to get a flight, he could be in Vienna by closing. He drained his beer and then smiled.

  “Thanks. Shall I tell her you said hello?”

  Batty laughed and the two shared a twinkling look of conspiracy. “Yes, that should be fun.”

  Taran reached across the bar and drew Batty into a hug. “Everything will be okay, Batty.”

  Batty looked embarrassed. “Goodness, do you mean with me, or with Calypso?”

  “Everyone.” With that, he strode from the pub.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Rose petal wine heals the heart

  Birdland was a stone’s throw from Vienna’s Stephansplatz Cathedral. Its patrons would leave the tavern and look straight up at the imposing house of worship and do one of two things: thank God they hadn’t drunk too much, or ask forgiveness if they had.

  The tavern itself was small and rustic, with tilted stone walls infused with four hundred years of history, roughly finished wood tables, a mosaic-tiled bar and dim lighting. Despite its proximity to Vienna’s number one tourist attraction, or perhaps because of it, the tourists missed the bar completely. It was a locals’ haunt only, and always busy.

  Owners Franz and Gisella served delicious traditional meals. Franz was famous for his sauerkraut, wiener schnitzel, weiner backhendl, and eisbein, while Gisella had a gift with mehlspeisen: traditional deserts such as apfelstrudel and palatschinken, which she always topped with lashings of whipped cream and served with great coffee.

  Birdland was Calyspo’s favorite watering hole after her own Cauldron. She loved Vienna and over the years she’d grown to love many of the regulars. The Viennese were quite reserved in their requests. They came to her about family matters, or health issues. At first they were wary. The Viennese were very fond of tradition, and trust was built up over time. Over generations, Calypso often joked. But their cool exteriors belied warm hearts. Once a Viennese decided they liked you, they were loyal. Whereas Calypso dealt with many one-time customers in London, in Vienna she saw the same faces regularly.

  “Hello, Michael! How’s the family?”

  “Gut, danke. But my health … nicht so gut.”

  “Ah Wolfgang, did you propose to Amelie?”

  “I did, Calypso, danke to you. But now I have problems with my business.”

  And so they returned, time and time again. Calypso loved it. She enjoyed forming these bonds. But mostly, she enjoyed seeing her friends Franz and Gisella. She had known the couple for years. In fact, it was one of her cocktails that gave Franz the nerve to propose to Gisella. Calypso had been bridesmaid at their wedding, and a regular visitor ever since. Theirs was a friendship that ran deep.

  Franz placed a hand on Calypso’s shoulder. “You are distracted.”

  Calypso had bottled everything up for the past few days – perhaps the past year – and needed to talk. It was why she chose Vienna when she left Taran asleep in Paris. She knew her friends would listen properly – and understand.

  “I’ve met someone.” She made it sound like she’d just caught the flu.

  Gisella’s eyes lit up. “But Callie, that’s a good thing. Why are you so upset?”

  Calypso was silent for a moment, gathering her thoughts. “I’m not ready.”

  “Callie, it’s time you were,” said Franz. They had both known Scott. They’d been with Calypso in Berlin the day she met him, and the four had often traveled together. “You’ve been alone a long time now.”

  “I know. And I do miss having someone in my life.”

  “Then what are you waiting for?” asked Gisella. “Enjoy it, grab hold.”

  “It’s safer not to, Gisella. It’s safer to be alone.”

  “Safer, yes,” Gisella agreed. “But also lonely, and not nearly as interesting.”

  Franz pulled up a chair beside his friend. “Is this still about Scott?”

  “No – yes. I don’t know.”

  “Have you … heard from him?”

  “Not a word.”

  “You’d planned your whole life with him. It takes time to recover from that,” he pointed out.

  Calypso smiled sadly. “Love hurts. I don’t ever want to risk it again.”

  Gisella jumped in. “But it was worth it, wasn’t it? To have it, even for a moment?”

  “I guess.”

  “It was you who taught me the English saying, better to live one day as a lion than one hundred years as a sheep.”

  “I think it was an Italian saying, but yes.”

  “You live like that,” Franz said softly.

  “I try to.”

  “Why can’t you love like that?”

  Calypso felt a sole tear run down her cheek. “I wish I could.” She wiped it away and stood up. “Martini time!”

  Franz and Gisella glanced at each other; this conversation was over.

  Calypso made her way behind the bar and stared at the spirits before her. “We should be celebrating,” she said. “We haven’t seen each other for three months.” She grabbed a bottle of Turkish apple vodka in one hand and a bottle of Pomme Verte in the other. “I know we usually drink them dry, but tonight we’re drinking martinis with a twist.”

  “Martinis with a twist for twisted friends,” Franz announced.

  Calypso mixed the martinis, and rimmed each glass with orange blossom water. “Fill me in on your news.”

  “Everything is super,” said Gisella, way too quickly.

  Calypso carried the drink over to her friend. “I don’t have to be psychic to know that is a lie.”

  Gisella looked down at the table, obviously willing herself not to cry.

  Franz stroked his wife’s hair. “We’ve been trying for so long, Callie.”

  Gisella shrugged his hand away. “We nothing. As the doctor said, there’s nothing wrong with you.”

  “Or you, liebling.” Franz looked over at Calypso, helpless. Calypso made her way back to the table and pulled up a chair beside Gisella, who glared back at her.

  “I don’t want your sympathy,” Gisella snapped.

  “Good, because you’re not getting it. I’ve told you I see a child.”

  “Yes, and you also thought you’d spend your life with Scott.” Gisella slapped a hand across her mouth, horrified. “I am so sorry, Callie. That was unforgivable.”

  Calypso shook her head. “No, it’s true, I did. But that was because I hoped to. We Shakespeare women have never been able to read our men … obviously.” Dark shadows threatened to flood her eyes, but she pushed them back. “But I can read you. I know this is hard, but it will happen.”

  Gisella’s face crumpled. “It’s been nearly three years.”

  “I wish you’d let me mix a brew for you.”

  “No, you’ve done enough for us. We’re together because of you. I can’t ask for more.”

  “You’re together because you’re destined to be so. All I d
id was help Franz with his nerves. He was a complete bloody basketcase who kept putting off proposing because he was petrified he was going to throw up when he did.”

  “With nerves, Gisella,” Franz teased. “Not because you make me sick.”

  Gisella smiled slightly. Franz could always make her smile.

  “Besides,” Calypso continued, “the universe doesn’t mind how much you ask for, Gisella.”

  “We shouldn’t ask for more.”

  Gisella had consistently refused Calypso’s offers of help. Her strict Catholic upbringing had always made her a little wary of Calypso’s gift. But tonight she didn’t sound so resolute. There was a catch in her voice. Franz heard it and gently pushed his wife.

  “Why shouldn’t we, Gisella? We see how Callie’s brews work for our customers. We never judge them for coming back.”

  “But that’s business. Calypso is our friend.”

  “And friends help their friends,” said Calypso. “Can’t you see how relieved I’d be to do this for you? After all the support you’ve given me, you’d be doing me a favor.”

  Gisella looked up through her tears. She’d never thought of it like that. Part of her still wanted to do this alone, without Calypso’s magical assistance, but she wanted a baby more. “Okay,” she whispered.

  “Okay?” Franz echoed.

  “Okay,” she said, more loudly this time. “I’ll try.”

  Calypso took her friend’s hand and squeezed it. “I need a few extra ingredients. We’ll do it tomorrow night.”

  Gisella nodded, excitement rising. “I don’t want to get my hopes up.”

  Calypso understood. “Then don’t. We’ll simply have dinner and drinks tomorrow night and if it works, it works. Stop putting so much pressure on yourself.”

  Gisella smiled and leaned toward Calypso. “Now that you’ve sorted me out, what about you? What about this guy?”

  “Oh him … I left the poor bugger in Paris. He’ll never find me.”

  “That’s a shame,” Gisella said. “Perhaps you could call him.”

  Calypso waved her hand, as though shooing away a pesky fly … or a very pesky issue. “I guess, yes.”

  “When?” Gisella asked, eyes suddenly alight.

  Calypso paused for a moment and realized she actually missed Taran. Time to change the subject. “Soon, I promise.”

  Franz glanced at the door and smirked. “I hope you keep that promise, Callie.”

  “In my experience, she has a tendency to break promises,” a familiar voice said from the doorway.

  Calypso froze. Taran was leaning against the door, relaxed and obviously enjoying her confusion.

  “The poor bugger found you,” he drawled.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Taran shrugged. “Thought I’d drop by and teach you some manners. I’m not sure why you’re so rude. Your mother is charming. Says hello by the way.”

  Franz and Gisella glanced from Taran to Calypso to each other, waiting, waiting. Taran and Calypso stared at each other … countless unsaid words thickened in the air between then. And then Calypso nodded.

  “Two days.”

  “I said three.”

  “One has gone,” Calypso pointed out.

  Taran decided not to argue over a lost day, but simply try to pin her down for the two left. “How do I know you won’t disappear?”

  “You have my word.”

  “I thought I had it last night.”

  “No, last night I said I’d think about it,” Calypso said. “Now I have. Two days.”

  “Shake to seal the deal?”

  Calypso arched one perfectly shaped eyebrow. “I’d prefer a kiss.”

  Taran strode across the room, lifted her out of her chair and kissed her long and hard. Then they both laughed and Taran turned to the others.

  “I’m Taran,” he said, shaking Franz’s hand. “I apologize for just barging in unannounced.”

  “Not at all,” said Franz.

  “I love surprises,” said Gisella.

  Calypso was swinging dangerously between elation and terror. “Would you like a martini, Taran?”

  “Love one,” he said.

  Calypso escaped to the bar, grateful for a chance to restore her equilibrium. She couldn’t believe he was here, but was thrilled he was. Although her mother would cop an earful anyway, simply because … because – Calypso couldn’t think of a reason right now, but one would come.

  Franz and Gisella pulled up chairs and got to work getting to know this mysterious new man in Calypso’s life.

  “How did you meet, Calypso?” asked Franz.

  “I was in New York,” Calypso explained, uncomfortable with gushing details.

  “I thought she was the most stunning woman I’d ever seen,” said Taran, who didn’t mind gushing details. “I dropped by Second Site—”

  Franz interrupted. “Is that your cousins’ bookshop?”

  “Yes,” said Calypso. “I took you there when we were in New York.”

  “Of course,” said Gisella. “How are they all?”

  “They’re all well. Both Lilia and Rowie are married now, and Gwendolyn is apparently dating some poor fellow.”

  Calypso didn’t mention that her cousin Rowie was pregnant. After the conversation she’d just had with Gisella, that news could wait until later.

  Fortunately Taran was raring to continue his story. “So you know the shop I’m talking about? Well, I walked in and she was standing there with Rowie ...”

  *

  The Shakespeare family consisted of two small clans. There was the London-based clan of Batty and her girls, and the New York-based clan of Gwendolyn, Lilia and Rowie. The women spanned three generations, and the blood ties were actually quite distant and confusing, but they referred to each other as cousins because it made things simple. They all shared the same coloring, the same gift and the same surname, which was enough to forge a tight bond that their geographical and cultural differences did nothing to diminish.

  While they rarely caught up, Calypso bridged the gap with regular visits. In fact, her first overseas trip at the age of fifteen had been to spend the summer with the New York Shakespeares. It was during that trip that Calypso and Rowie, who were only a year apart in age, promised to always, always stay in touch, no matter what. That usually meant Rowie would email regularly (Calypso never found time to write) and Calypso would visit (Rowie was a homebody). Consequently, they were always in touch, and Calypso would often turn up on Rowie’s doorstep.

  Rowie’s doorstep was better known as the Grove, a rambling West Village brownstone she shared with her mother and grandmother. Next door was the family business, Second Site, a metaphysical bookshop and learning center. Gwendolyn, the family matriarch, was a sometimes difficult woman who made amends by having a wicked sense of humor. She loved her girls fiercely, and that included Calypso when she came to stay. Lilia, Rowie’s mother, was an ethereal creature, never quite connecting with anyone, but always affecting everyone. Sweet, beautiful and kind, she didn’t so much grab hold of life as float around it.

  And then there was Rowie, caught between the magic of the Grove and the real world outside it, the infamous history of her ancestors and the future she so desperately wanted. She’d been assured from childhood that her path was clearly paved and that one day she’d take over the family business, yet secretly she yearned for more. How she’d get more, she was yet to discover, but she trusted she’d one day find a way. Until then, she worked at the shop, did psychic readings for clients, and spent her days making other people feel they’d be okay. In fact, that was why Calypso had recently arrived unannounced. She needed to feel okay again. Her boyfriend had left her without warning two years earlier. Her whole world fell apart. Just when she thought she was over it, and was ready to move forward with her life, something would happen and Calypso would be back to square one, missing Scott desperately and angry that he’d left. For someone whose whole life had revolved around moving on, Calypso wa
s finding it extremely difficult to do so. She decided a change of scenery would do her the world of good. She needed to get out, have a few drinks, and a good flirt. And who better to do it with than Rowie – who’d always had problems finding lasting love herself?

  The two girls spent the evenings taking Manhattan by storm, and the days behind the counter at Second Site. They talked and laughed and supported each other through all sorts of issues, and Calypso began to feel reborn. Until the fateful day she met Taran Dee.

  Calypso and Rowie were perched behind the counter when the shop door jangled and in walked two of the most stunning men they’d ever seen, completely identical in all but hair coloring.

  Dark-haired Taran and his blond twin, Finn, seemed equally surprised by the two redheads who bore an obvious resemblance to each other. The women were very different in build – Calypso was tall and willowy while Rowie was tiny – but they both had the same creamy skin, flashing green eyes and burgundy mane.

  The four of them stared at each other for a moment and then burst into simultaneous laughter.

  “I thought we looked alike,” Rowie said.

  “You have the same coloring,” Taran pointed out.

  “How do you explain yours?” Rowie asked, fascinated, as most people were when they saw the twins.

  “No idea. Quirk of fate,” Finn admitted. “We were both born with light brown hair and the doctor congratulated our parents and said, ‘Identical twins.’ Then around our first birthday Taran’s hair went darker and mine went blond.”

  “Very bizarre,” Rowie said, amazed.

  Calypso glanced at Taran, feeling strangely faint. How long had it been since she’d experienced such an immediate and forceful attraction to someone? She decided the best way to deal with it was to act bored and ignore him.

  What she didn’t count on was his mutual attraction to her and his pig-headed ability to always get what he wanted in life.

  “Our mother’s theory is that our coloring goes with our individual temperaments.” Taran grinned at Calypso. “I’m the dark horse.”

  “Fascinating.” Calypso concealed a sigh with a fake yawn. “Sorry, late night.”