After making sure everyone has a drink in hand, Tony fires up the engines and slowly steers his boat—the Bella Maria—out into the choppy waters of San Francisco Bay. I immediately wish I had brought a scarf with me; my hair is whipping around my face. Fortunately, I’m wearing my Seattle sailing clothes: jeans, a chunky black turtleneck sweater, Sperry Topsiders and a sturdy windbreaker. Boating on the Bay is obviously more like boating on windy, gusty Puget Sound and not much like paddling around sheltered Lake Union, but I am so glad to be out on the water again.
“What’s this I hear that there’s been a shake-up at Voices?” The question comes from a tall, ordinary-looking guy with short brown hair and hazel eyes. He’s wearing an Irish Fisherman’s sweater and jeans. I don’t remember his name, but I think he works for one of the TV stations. He’s the second one to ask me about it.
“Yeah. Eric is the editor now. We found out about it this morning.”
“He doesn’t seem to be a likely choice, if you ask me. This is how many magazines…two, three…that he’s been in charge of. All of them failed. He should stick to writing. That editor from New York was an odd choice, too.”
“I really don’t know that much about it. And I liked David, the one from New York. I’m sorry he’s gone, but I’m sure things will be fine with Eric in charge.”
“Little Mary Sunshine here—huh?” He grins. “I‘ve heard that resumes have been streaming out of there all day.”
I shrug my shoulders. I don’t want to think about Voices, but it seems to be Topic Number One tonight.
“That’s Alcatraz, isn’t it?” I ask pointing to a rocky island with low concrete buildings on it. Then point at another. “What’s that? Is it another island or a peninsula?”
“Angel Island. It’s a state park.” He turns and looks at me. “Are you new to San Francisco?”
“Sort of new. Ali—she’s the one talking to Tony—and I moved here from Seattle a few months ago.”
We talk about how San Francisco compares to Seattle. I am surprised to learn that Mr. TV Station likes kayaking. Not many people even know about kayaks or they think that only Eskimos use them for hunting seals. He tells me about exploring the Sacramento River delta after the Spring floods are over. The delta is an immense area at the north end of the Bay with hundreds of miles of twisting waterways, he explains. The water is at its lowest at this time of year which makes it a good time to go there. He goes on to tell me that the Navy uses a lot of the area to train sailors for river boat operations in Viet Nam, so there are limits on where he can go these days.
The Bella Maria continues north across the Bay then Tony turns it west toward Sausalito. From the water I can see that the only flat street in Sausalito runs along the waterfront. It is all steep hillside behind it. Austen’s home must be somewhere high up there on one of the winding streets. I am surprised to see a few rather strange-looking houseboats moored at short docks. Some of them are wildly colorful, others absolutely ramshackle. They are not at all like the tidy houseboat communities in Seattle. Mr. TV Station tells me that Sausalito used to be a fishing village. Lately it has become fashionable in an eccentric, bohemian way to live there.
It turns out that Tony’s brother owns a restaurant near the waterfront and we are all going there for dinner. Wow, Tony must be a really successful printer—a big boat, treating us all to dinner and drinks—and he’s so young. He can’t be over 30, maybe even younger. And he’s had Ali at his side since we left the Marina.
Tony’s brother, Luke, welcomes us as we settle in around a big table in the restaurant that looks more modern than the typical Italian style décor found in San Francisco. Instead of dark burgundy red walls and Chianti bottles for décor, there are white walls and large, framed Italian travel posters.
The TV station guy—I wish I had caught his name—is on one side of me, Charli—her boyfriend calls her Charlotte sometimes—is on the other. Big plates of antipasto are set on the table immediately, along with bottles of red wine made by Tony’s uncle up in Sonoma. We eat. We drink. We laugh.
Everyone has their own take on the change at Voices. A couple of people have stories about Eric, but nothing worse than I have heard already. Someone says that there may be a new newspaper like Voices starting up in the East Bay. No one seems to know any details about it, even whether it is located in Oakland or Berkeley. I notice that Tony doesn’t say a word about this new weekly; he probably knows something, but is not going to tell us or even let on that he knows. Unlike Marin which is right across the Golden Gate Bridge north of San Francisco, the East Bay seems far, far away—another world altogether.
Suddenly, I see Austen standing near the entry with John and the blonde woman who was with them at Vesuvios. They appear to be waiting for a table. I look away instantly, then scold myself: don’t try to hide. So I look back at them again. He sees me and I smile. He smiles back and winks. Oh, is he going to come over? I hope he doesn’t. Cathy’s comment about the ‘Austen wall around me’ has really stuck in my mind. Only Ali, and maybe Charli, in this group know I’ve been dating him. I don’t want the others to know—at least not now. I enjoy meeting new people, discovering new things—that’s why I moved to San Francisco. Being surrounded by a wall… I don’t even want to think about it right now.
Then I realize that Mr. TV Station has asked me something.
“Sorry. I was distracted,” I say, smiling apologetically. “Too much to think about with all that’s going on at Voices.”
I look over there again and Luke is seating Austen, John and the young blonde woman at a table. From the way they are talking to each other John, Austen and Luke seem to know one another. Maybe this is another restaurant where Austen eats often.
The food and wine seems never-ending, but eventually we finish with tiramisu—a heavenly Italian dessert made with lady fingers and a cream filling —and strong coffee. As we all get ready to go back to Tony’s boat, I glance over toward Austen again and see another woman sitting at their table. She has long black hair, a lacy black shawl wrapped around her dark red dress, and is wearing knee-high black pirate boots. I can’t see her face. She is talking to Austen who is laughing, apparently at whatever she has said. A bolt of jealousy burns through me. Who is she? Is she his date tonight? Is she going to spend the night with him? Am I just one among many? My fears, not deeply buried in the first place, start bubbling to the surface. Suddenly everything I was warned about seems to be coming true right in front of my eyes. This is horrible. Worse than horrible.
I can barely concentrate on anything but that woman in pirate boots all the way back to the Marina. I’m sure my distraction is apparent to Mr. TV Station who continues to talk about boats and his job for a while. When I barely reply, he finally stops talking and we both watch the lights of San Francisco grow closer and closer against the night sky.
Chapter Fifteen
Ali is floating on a cloud. Never mind that it is a typical chilly San Francisco summer morning socked in with fog. She is glowing—she could heat our little cottage by herself. She never glowed with Drew, but now there is Tony and she looks happier than she has in a while.
“What did you think of Ned?” She asks as she spreads butter on a slice of toasted cinnamon bread.
“Who’s Ned?”
“That guy next to you at dinner. The one that works for the TV station. He’s a friend of Tony’s from high school.”
“Oh, him. I didn’t catch his name. He seemed nice. Did you know he goes kayaking in the Sacramento delta?”
“Maybe you should go kayaking with him.” She smiles and wiggles her eyebrows at me.
Hmmm. I wonder if last evening was a set-up. Ali seems determined to find someone else for me. Maybe I was supposed to meet Ned without it appearing to be a blind date. He was alright, but… Then I think of seeing Austen with that woman in pirate boots. No, no, no. It’s all too much for me to sort out right now.
“Maybe.” I gulp down the last of my coffee. “I have to get dress
ed. Austen should be here in a few minutes.”
A half hour later we are heading north on Highway 101 over the Golden Gate Bridge, and he keeps on going past the Sausalito exit.
“What’s up with your roommate? She actually was friendly this morning.”
“Oh, she met someone new. She’s all happy, happy now. More like she used to be in Seattle. She broke up with that lawyer she was dating for a while. He turned out to be sort of strange, not what he seemed at first. He was more involved with antiwar effort than with her. It’s all just girl stuff.”
He chuckles. Neither one of us has said a word about last night. I still wonder who that black-haired woman in the pirate boots was, but I wouldn’t dare ask. I don’t want to act like some jealous, possessive girlfriend even though that’s exactly how I feel. Who is she? Is he dating her? Is he taking her to bed? Does he have a harem of girlfriends? Am I just one among many? The weekend girlfriend? I have to act normal—no jealousy showing.
“Where are we off to today?”
“Healdsburg. Up in wine country. Luke, the guy who owns that restaurant in Sausalito, has an uncle who owns a vineyard and winery near there. That’s where we’re headed.”
I almost blurt out that we were drinking the uncle’s wine last night, then catch myself. I don’t want to draw attention to my being there with a group that didn’t look much like business and him being there with that black-haired woman with her pirate boots—it’s like two big silent elephants sitting between us that we both are ignoring.
“Wine tasting sounds like fun.”
“Not exactly wine tasting, but we can do that too.”
I decide to change the subject and tell him about the change at Voices and that a lot of the staff is already looking for work elsewhere.
“Are you thinking about getting another job?”
“No. Eric stopped by and talked with me briefly. He seemed to be interested in my background at TV Weekly. I don’t know why, though. As long as I will still be working for Dan everything should be okay. If it’s not okay, well, I’ll make that decision when the time comes.”
“Luke’s brother Tony is a good man to know.” Austen says. “He apparently knows everybody at every magazine, newspaper, big department store—every business in the Bay area that uses printing. Luke told me that Tony does that boat trip out from the city a couple of times of year. Before he passed away his father did it regularly for his customer and potential customers.” He grins. “I think you are in the latter category.”
Pop. One of the elephants vanishes. I thought of that boat trip and dinner as social with some business. Austen looked at it as primarily a business dinner for a group of printing customers. No wonder he didn’t stop by to say hi to me. Hmmm…maybe I should have spent more time talking to more to people in the magazine business, making new business contacts, instead of talking with Mr. Ned TV Station about kayaking and canoeing.
The further north we go the more beautiful the countryside around us becomes. Old, dark green oak trees dot the rolling, golden hillsides. More and more vineyards stretch out in bright green rows away from the Redwood Highway. It is warm like a real summer should be. I’m so glad I wore my new yellow sundress with spaghetti straps. Austen turns off the highway onto a narrow two lane road that winds over the hills, then turns into a long drive leading uphill to Luke’s uncle’s winery. The sign at the entrance to the drive reads: Free Wine Tasting.
The first thing I notice is the old stone building that seems to be half-dug into the hillside. It looks ancient, like pictures I’ve seen of European wine cellars. It must be where the wine casks are stored while they are aging. The house, nearby, is a modern ranch style home with a big picture window looking out toward the vineyard. The trees around it are massive old oaks that cast dark shadows beneath them.
Salvatore, the uncle, is expecting Austen. He is in his late 50s with a full head of steely gray hair and is as friendly and warm as Luke and Tony.
“Call me Sal,” he says as I am introduced.
It becomes apparent quickly that this is a business visit, not wine tasting. Sal leads us on a tour of the facilities, quoting figures and facts about acreage and yields, then goes into more detail about the equipment. Austen asks questions and more questions. I am surprised at how much he knows about the wine business until I remember a book and pamphlets about wine making I saw on his bedside table. Finally we sit at a weathered wooden picnic table under the shade of an oak tree near the sprawling house and Sal opens some bottles of wine. We taste each of them. It feels like sharing a few glasses of wine with an old friend on a lovely summer day. I wish this could go on forever.
Austen wants to take home a mixed case of the wines, and Sal insists that he accept the case as a gift and carries it to the Mustang.
“How do you like the car?” Sal asks.
“It really hauls,” Austen answers as he opens the trunk. Sal stows the wine inside. And they talk about cars for a few minutes. Men and their machines, I think. How they love them no matter what their age is.
“Well, send the information to my accountant,” Austen says as he hands Sal a business card. “We’ll take a look at it.” Then adds almost as an afterthought: “It’s beautiful country up here. And Julia probably likes the warm weather.”
I smile and nod my head.
As we head back toward the highway Austen asks: “What did you think of it?”
“It is a beautiful area and it was interesting to hear what he said about wine making. Are you thinking about going into the wine business?”
“No. Luke told me his uncle was looking for an investor so I thought I’d come up here and check it out. John’s interested in it, too. The wine business has good long term growth potential from what I’ve been reading, but his facilities need upgrading. We’ll see what he has in mind.”
Austen the investor. That’s unexpected. I am definitely not going to ask him about his money—that would be rude. But I don’t have to ask.
“Rock ‘n roll may not be forever, Julia. I love it and I’m going to ride it as far and as long as I can, but back in Texas and Louisiana I saw a few of those old guitar players, scratching around for money to pay rent and buy groceries. I don’t want that future, so my accountant and I have been looking around for investments. I like the idea of being part owner of a winery, but I’ll have to see what kind of figures Sal comes up with. If it makes sense, I might do it.”
Lunch in Healdsburg stretches out to be a long, lazy afternoon of good food and good wine, followed by a slow stroll around the park-like square at the heart of this old Victorian farm town.
The fog has rolled in by the time we get back to Sausalito, but after a day of warmth and sunshine it feels like a comforting white blanket.
Austen orders pizza delivered from Luke’s restaurant and turns on the TV. We watch The Dating Game for a few minutes, then he turns it off.
“A bunch of idiots. I’d rather watch the boats on the Bay,” he says as he walks over to the floor to ceiling window facing the Bay and Berkeley. “I’ve seen some really big ships out there at night. I don’t know if they are commercial oil tankers or the Navy. There are a couple of Navy bases on the Bay. Maybe they are sneaking in and out in the darkness—that would be about right for this damned war.”
The doorbell rings.
“Ah, food,” he says as he strides to the front door.
Then, from where I am sitting on the brown leather couch, I hear a woman say: “Hi, Austen.” She has a breathy, almost little girl quality to her voice.
“Hi, Mirabelle. What do you want?”
“Can I come in?” Her tone is very sweet.
Instantly I know who it is. The black-haired mystery woman with pirate boots I saw him with last night. Sparks of jealousy stream through me and I almost stop breathing as I listen to them talk.
“No. I have company.”
“Oh. That’s too bad.” She sounds pouty. “Well, maybe another time, Austen.”
“No,
Mirabelle. Don’t bother to come back.”
“Are you sure you don’t want me to come in? It could be fun for the three of us.”
The three of us? Pigs will sprout wings and fly and I’ll walk back to the city in bare feet before I do that.
“No. Goodbye, Mirabelle. Don’t come back.” Austen is clearly ticked off. His voice is icy cold.
I hear the door close and the lock click.
“Shit.” he snarls as he sits down on the leather couch beside me. “That woman is one of those trophy hunters. She attaches herself to one guy in a band so she can have bragging rights or something. When another band comes into town, she moves on to one of them. She’s got a reputation a mile long.”
“It sounded like she was after you.”
“Yeah, maybe. She showed up at Luke’s last night. God only knows how she found the place. Somebody over at Tommy’s told her, I guess. She was hanging out over there, but probably didn’t get any takers.” He tilts my face up toward him. “Are you worried about that, Julia? Jealous a little?”
“No.” I lie.
“That’s too bad. I’d like it better if you were jealous.”
“Oh, in that case I’m screaming mad with jealousy. Can’t you see my green eyes? I want to tear out her black hair and throw her and her pirate boots off the Bridge.” We both laugh.
I feel better now. I guess there was no reason for my attack of jealousy. At least I hope there was no reason. I hope he is telling me the truth—that she just showed up at the restaurant, uninvited, that she wasn’t his date. The other elephant has vanished. It was all in my mind.
The doorbell rings again. This time it is the pizza.
The thin film of dust that covered us after driving around all day in the convertible swirls down the drain. The shower feels warm, heavenly. The English cucumber soap smells so clean and fresh. We don’t do sex in the shower—just little touches here and there.
Playing for Julia Page 10