Dressed in Pink

by Diana Stone

  “Thanks, but that’s okay, I brought a few summer dresses. I packed them just in case, because… well, it has something to do with my divorce, to prove I can look feminine.”

  “Oh sweetie, anyone can see you’re all woman.” She looks at my figure. “What are you talking about?”

  “A while back, I tried to look sexy-masculine. You know, green army pants with a tight little top that shows off my arms and waist. But that morphed into just the army pants with a baggy t-shirt that didn’t show my figure at all.” I reach back and pull at my ponytail, “I had long hair when I met my husband, but the more frustrated I got with my marriage, the shorter I cut it. I lost the combination of masculine and feminine, and just went masculine.”

  “Your hair is long, you must be happy now.”

  “Right, I figured out what was happening. My clothes and hair were just symptoms. I wish I’d figured it out sooner, I’m embarrassed by how I used to look.”

  Things might have been different if I had dressed more alluring, or at least more feminine. Oh well.

  That isn’t an option any longer. But now I’m staying, I’ll wear something cute when I explore the local towns and wineries. I have a stack of brochures I have yet to open. There are a million places I need to go. I can’t wait and it all begins tomorrow.

  5

  The Soiree

  The cool evening is welcome after the hot day. I flip through several brochures and find they refer to the weather as having ‘Moderate summer days and cool nights.’ I wouldn’t call the days moderate, I’d call them hot. I also read a little about Jack Courtland and his vineyard, Spanish Hills. It’s in a beautiful canyon and is a considered a prestige winery—whatever that is.

  Tonight I’m wearing a gauzy maroon dress. The fabric floats delicately to my knees and it shows off my figure. It’s very suggestive, in an ethereal way. I hope a mature, classy guy will notice. I’m looking for a good partner and companion; a man who can support himself and has enough business sense to be doing well. I’m not looking for a fling. So far I haven’t been successful. Online dating brought me twenty men with hundreds of problems—I kept track. It was amusing and sad at the same time.

  Veronica stops to pick me up at my house… the horse trailer. I hop in, ready to have a great time meeting, and eating, and wine tasting.

  “You look great,” she acknowledges. “That’s a knockout dress. You look different with your hair down—definitely more approachable.”

  I appraise her in the driver’s seat and take in her elegant look. “Thanks. It’s the new me, different and approachable. I’ll see how long it lasts,” I give a self-depreciating laugh. “I like your elegant boots, you left the cowgirl in the closet.”

  “She’ll be back tomorrow, just like Cinderella,” she laughs. “But seriously, you look sexy and feminine. It’s a nice look for you.”

  “Okay, Mom, I’ll try to dress up more.” I smile at my joke. “Isn’t Marc coming?”

  “He isn’t into parties. He’s working on plans for an office complex in Santa Barbara.” She gives me a smile. “So, it’s just the two of us. Let’s go have fun.”

  We’re going north on Foxen Canyon out of Los Olivos. It’s a meandering, two-lane road with oaks and grazing land. It’s a nice time to catch up, since we haven’t talked while I’ve been working. She points to the wineries we pass and lets me know the inside scoop. There are too many for me to catch all the names of owners, vintners and their wines. It leaves me a little dizzy; it will take time for my brain to process all the gossip and information.

  She slows as we round the final curve so I can absorb the beauty of the setting sun. It’s casting its last rays, and the vineyard is glowing with light. The old trees stand strong and quiet, guarding their vines.

  As we swing off the paved road, the tires crunch across the gravel. There’s the so-very impressive winery set back among the trees. I keep my eyes on it while she motors around looking for a place to park in the lot full of nice rides. As I step out of the car, I discover our cute high heels are posing a problem. We wobble carefully across the pebbled ground to the entrance.

  The winery has the look of an old chapel and the roof is layered with Mexican clay tiles. The big wood-framed windows allow my inquisitive eyes to see inside. It’s packed with clusters of people holding wine glasses and plates, talking and laughing. I can feel the energy before I enter.

  A swallow streaks past us to her nest. My eyes follow her and see three chicks peering out. They are demanding food in their high pitched little voices. The mother pops something into their mouths, then flies away to get more. The underside of the roof has a dozen more mud nests squeezed in a row. It’s like a busy apartment complex. Birds are flying in and out, with lots of little faces looking around and waiting.

  “I’ll introduce you around, then you can either go mingle or stay with me.” She has been in this area for years and is well known and liked.

  She introduces me to people as we migrate from group to group. Everyone is welcoming and the mood is upbeat. I haven’t yet met the owner, but he’s here somewhere.

  The small group I’m with is talking about a new wine advertisement. I’m listening with interest, but then my attention is diverted to a good-looking guy in his early 40s. He just stepped up with a smile and a hello. We all say hello and several people greet him by name… Eric. He looks fit, athletic and outdoorsy. He greets me with a genuinely nice smile, then introduces his mother to the group. “You remember my mother, she’s back in town for a visit.” Eric easily slips into the conversation and has soon fit in. I feel my attention straying to him while considering his attributes.

  Someone asks if he still rides, and he says yes, but that’s about as far as the conversation goes. A woman with too much noisy enthusiasm joins us and takes over. To put it mildly, her high energy personality is driving me crazy. I slip away a few minutes later when it’s obvious no one else can say a word over her loud, continual laugh. Being happy is one thing, but this is nuts.

  I move to another group and stand listening for a few minutes. I don’t have much to add, but I’m finding the conversations interesting. They’re talking about everything from water rights to grafting techniques. I almost feel like I belong to this new way of life. Chatting with vintners and locals is a lot of fun. Everyone has such passion for their lives and their pursuits. Thanks to Veronica, I’ve entered the inner circle, at least for this evening.

  My stomach growls with hunger and I can’t wait to scope out the epicurean delights. My first stop is the long table with finger foods that I missed in the whirlwind of conversations. The platters are set on blue-green and silver patterned linen. They have stands of tasty looking platters. To make sure I look casual, rather than piggish, I take a small plate. Then select two stuffed mushrooms and several chunks of cheese that are anything but plain-old Cheddar. Next, come the tiny stuffed tomatoes, a filo roll stuffed with spinach, and several types of quiche. The table continues for miles, and I carefully pile food on my plate, forgetting I hadn’t wanted to look like a pig.

  Here is a lovely display of little bowls of soup. My fingers are about to close around a bowl—when I see a tentacle reaching out, trying to escape. On closer examination, I see it isn’t reaching, it’s dead. A dead tentacle, yuck—I’ll skip the soup.

  “It’s perfectly seasoned,” an accented Italian male informs me.

  I turn to face the suave looking man, dressed in black. He has shoulder-length black hair and black eyes… And is devastatingly handsome.

  I give him a radiant smile, but there’s no way I’m going to eat this tentacle soup.

  As I open my mouth open to reply something charming, a voluptuous Latina swoops in and hooks her arm through his. “Come on honey, there’s someone you have to meet.”

  As she tugs him away, he keeps his head turned toward me. His eyes hold mine a fraction longer than is socially acceptable for a taken man. He certainly is magnetic, his looks alone are enough to stir my dorma
nt interest. This must be the right place to go man hunting.

  Standing around nibbling from my plate, I see a lot of people, but I’m not actually mingling. I move on and enjoy the vibrant paintings and pictures on the walls. Scenes from the harvest remind me of Tuscany. The entire winery is so well done, so classy, so expensive.

  “Hello my dear, are you enjoying yourself?” asks a male with an English accent. “You remind me of my former sweetheart.” A strange look crosses his face.

  Standing next to me is a short-ish, slender man in his mid-50s, eclectically dressed in English riding boots, breeches, and a dark hunt coat. He looks like he just left a horse show. On the other hand, he might be a bit eccentric. In another venue, I’d say he’s strange, but I wouldn’t say it here, at this fabulous party.

  “I’m having a lovely evening, thank you,” I say with a hesitant smile.

  He leans toward me, softening his voice, “Welcome to my winery, I’m Jack. Do you like how I’ve decorated it?” He looks at the artwork. “I spent a great deal of time working to get the correct feeling. Of course, you’d know this, you seem very creative, right?”

  His place? I should do some public relations work for Veronica. “You’ve done a wonderful job. The feeling is abundant and fertile, perfect for your grapes; calm and serene, perfect for your guests.” That sounds eloquent, and I’m thrilled I came up with it.

  “I can tell you know what you’re talking about, that’s what I was hoping for. I need your advice, will you come with me?” He hooks his arm into mine and leads me toward an office marked Employees Only. “How do you think I should decorate this area? I want my staff to feel happy,” he opens the door for me, standing aside like a gentleman, so I can enter.

  I’m not an expert, I was only making it up, to answer his question. Why is he asking me? I guess I’ll have to fake it. “I see you have photos of your wines with their medals. The framed certificates show that they are at the top of their class. The view out the windows to the hills is peaceful, it’s beautifully done, it’s perfect. I don’t see anything I can do to help. I’m not an office designer, you know.”

  “You have style and class, and that’s important.” He steps closer with a strange smile, as his pupils dilate.

  I get a creepy feeling, and I immediately step back. My sensors are on alert due to his unspoken body signals. I don’t care that he’s the owner, I’m not interested in him. I’m not that desperate!

  “I need to get back to my friends. Thank you for showing me around.” I take a quick step around him.

  Suddenly, he throws himself at me, wrapping his arms around my body and locking my arms to my side. I land sprawled backward on the desk with my feet off the floor. The back of my head hits the stapler with a painful thunk. I wrench my head from side to side to evade the kisses he rains on my face. Up this close, my nose complains about his cologne. It’s like he poured an entire bottle on himself. While my arms are trapped in his wiry hold I have a sneezing fit. I can’t escape the stench, I breathe in deeply, and brace for the next sneeze. The more cologne I inhale, the worse it gets. I’ve been taken off guard and have to figure out what to do… fast.

  “This is very interesting,” drawls a deep, angry voice from the door. “What do you think you’re doing in here?”

  He instantly releases my arms. “Hello sir, I’m just having a little private time with my girlfriend,” he replies, losing his English accent. He shoves himself off me as he backs off the desk. “I’m sorry if we disturbed you… Sir.”

  I swivel to my feet in one motion while adjusting my twisted dress.

  “Get out, both of you,” the angry man thunders, glaring at me.

  “I’m NOT his girlfriend, I don’t even know him!” I gasp in outrage, wiping my hands across my cheeks to get rid of his spit.

  “You came into my office to make out with a man you don’t know?” he sounds disgusted.

  “Your office… he said it was his office,” I choke. “And I’m not making out with him,” my voice rises with indignation.

  “So you’re a woman who’ll do anything to hook up with Mr. Courtland,” he sneers. “Get out now!” He turns to the creep. “If I see you on the property again I’ll make you sorry.” Turning to me with a look of contempt. “I don’t expect to see you again either.”

  A muscular security guard rushes through the door taking in the scene at a glance. “Escort them both out!” The boss tells him.

  “Yes, Mr. James.” I find my upper arm gripped in the muscle man’s big hand. He has his other hand clenched around the back of the creep’s neck.

  “This is NOT what it seems! I’m not…” I protest.

  He cuts me off, “Get her out of here NOW!” Mr. James roars, as I’m marched outside through the employee’s door.

  The muscleman glares down at me. Releasing my arm, he points one directional finger down the road. Then he shoves the creep, causing him to fall to his knees. He turns, steps back inside, and bolts the door.

  Words come to mind, my emotions are screaming. All at once, I let loose a barrage of angry words on the jerk, “You little asshole, I was minding my own business. Now you screwed up my night and my life.”

  He climbs to his feet and stares at me with cold, vacant eyes. What a change from the man he was pretending to be. I’m no idiot, I immediately back up. This guy is dangerous, he looks like a psychopath—he radiates it. Suddenly he curls his lip and makes a hiss like an angry cat. He lashes out with his hand, missing me by an inch. Then he turns and hurries toward the parking area. He gets into a blacked-out car and peels out fast enough to scatter gravel everywhere. I look for the license plate, but only catch the last 3 numbers. There’s too much dust to see the rest.

  My reaction to anger and emotion leaves a lot of adrenaline coursing through my veins. I’m jittery with the side effects. Who was that guy? I can’t even call the police since my phone is in Veronica’s car. What would I say? I didn’t get the license plate, and he was alone at the party. Now that I think about it, he doesn’t fit with these fancy people.

  I know I need to get my outrage worked out before going back to find Veronica, so I slowly trek to the road and back. It’s taking me a while, the driveway is at least a quarter of a mile long. I’m pissed off, and my shoes are uncomfortable. I’m fighting with each step to keep my feet in my cute little strappy heels. Even walking is making me angry. First, I need to get control of my feelings, then I need to figure out how to present my side of the story. The guard may be watching to see if I return. Can’t he see I didn’t drive off with the psycho? Maybe he doesn’t care. I’m getting cold out here in my gauzy little dress. It’s time to take action.

  I begin my reconnaissance by slowly creeping around the back of the winery. So far so good. I stop at the corner and take a quick peek around. In that one quick look, I see several couples on the back terrace enjoying their wine, sitting around the crackling fire pit. Okay, go for it! I glue an innocent look on my face and take about ten steps out...

  And here comes the Muscle, walking toward me. They obviously have cameras. He smiles an unfriendly smile. “Hello little lady.”

  I go off on him. “I’m not a little lady! I’m a former police officer with the Los Angeles Police Dept. I was invited to your party by Veronica Martin, she can vouch for me. I can’t leave since I came with her, but believe me, I want nothing to do with this place. Your boss has the whole thing wrong, but I don’t give a damn. If you’ll find my friend, I’ll leave and never return!” I order in a righteous, pissed off, voice.

  Muscle loses the unfriendly smile and gets an appraising look. He raises an eyebrow. “LAPD?”

  “Yes, LAPD—and don’t tell me I don’t look like an officer, I’ve heard that. And yes, I was good at my job,” I snarl.

  “Why d'you leave?” he asks.

  “I burned out and I got married. Both were mistakes. I should have stayed on the department.”

  Testing me, he asks, “Do you know Steve Marshall? How abo
ut Sergeant Clark?

  I shake my head with a thoughtful expression. It’s a big department, I don’t know everyone.

  “Just who do you know?” he nastily inquires.

  “I know everyone who was working Hollywood Division four years ago. I also have 70 academy classmates, some are working homicide, tactics, SWAT, the mounted unit, and patrol. I can also quote the California Vehicle Code. I know the Penal Code: 211 PC Robbery, 459 PC Burglary, 484 PC Theft… I can tell you how to conduct a felony car stop, how search a house for suspects, search and seizure laws, and probable cause,” I bombard him with my experience, knowing it will work. I know how to use macho against macho. “Now, will you go find Veronica?” I demand. Finally, I’m back in control.

  He stands there, looking at me in amazement. “OK, I believe you. Would you like to come inside?” he asks in a friendlier tone.

  “No, I’ll stay here,” I put on my monotone voice.

  A few minutes later, Muscle returns with Veronica hurrying along behind, looking upset. Before he leaves us he says with a real smile. “By the way, I’m Luke. That was Mr. James, the manager.”

  “Luke.” I incline my head as if to say I’m pleased to meet you. But I’m not pleased, I’m still pissed off. He can take his smile and shove it.

  “Let me know if I can do anything for you.” He smiles at us, then goes inside.

  I recount my epic drama as Veronica listens, getting angry.

  “I can’t believe this! And he let that guy get away—that’s not right.” She stops with a frown. “I’m really worried, that guy is dangerous, and we never have problems in town. I’ll ask around, maybe someone’s seen him, we’re pretty close here.” With concern she asks, “Do you want to go back inside, or would you rather leave?” She stops to consider, “I need to find Jack Courtland.”

  “I’ll hang out at the fire pit. Don’t worry about me, I don’t want to rush you.” I sit down with my face in my hands gazing at the crackling flames while soaking up the warmth. I’m exhausted and I want to go home. Not to my horse trailer, but to my real home. But I don’t have a home anymore and I gave my cat to my mother, he’s on permanent loan like a piece of art. I want my cat back, I want him curled up in my lap while I read in my comfy chair.