The ring was not as big as Carrie’s of course. But it was far above adequate, or even average.
“A family stone.” Ben explained. He detached it from the wine glass (the bottom snapped off) and slipped in onto my finger. The center diamond was about three carats, a deep cut that sparkled in the afternoon light, Two triangles of topaz emphasized the white of the diamond, and most important; it fit perfectly.
“Here,” he produced a handful of Naked Ladies; trumpet shaped dark pink flowers, each with it’s own clean stalk. “They only bloom in August,” he explained, “so every August when you see them, you’ll think of us.”
“I think of us all the time.” I said, I held the flowers in one hand and I studied the ring, it wasn’t ginormous, but it was deeply cut and multifaceted enough to stand as a metaphor of our love being multifaceted, deep, precious – expensive.
“This is amazing, I can’t believe your mother let you have it.”
“She didn’t. I found it in Emily’s safe deposit box, she was holding it for a special occasion, so I rescued it. Is it big enough?”
I tore my eyes away from the sparkling bauble. “Big enough?” The stones winked like sunlight. “What is big enough? For my hand? For our love? For an ad hoc lighthouse? For - ever?”
“That’s pretty sentimental. Especially for you.”
I nodded. “It is perfect, you had it made for me?”
“Of course, you are unique, your ring should be too.” He replied.
I dropped the flowers and lunged toward him, knocking him back. I straddled him and began kissing his face. I would have made love to him on the spot except the local boy scouts chose that moment to descend on the beach to earn their driftwood badge. I couldn’t wait to show the ring to everyone, maybe even my mother, who never did think I’d amount to much. Now she’ll be happy. And I was happy, as long as I could keep my mother’s hands off this wedding.
“When do you want to have the wedding?” He asked reading my fleeting panicked thoughts. He smoothed my hair, but made no gesture to get up from his prone position.
“I don’t know,” I moved my hand to watch the flashes of blue and white light. “A big wedding may be a problem for me.”
He nodded. “I participated in the big wedding thing with Beverley, she wanted something in the city.”
“How lovely for you.” I said archly, remembering his ex, a thin, nervous, greyhound of a woman. I could easily visualize how she would command the stage as the bride. It must have been kind of scary.
I expressed that last comment out loud.
“Scary? She was hell on wheels and my mother wasn’t any better. I thought my brother had a big to do; this was monumental.”
“Did you like it?”
“I don’t know why we needed such a show.” He wrinkled his brow as if the event still loomed over his previous unclouded future.
“And would you care to illuminate?” I pressed. Honestly, the men are so bad at describing what is really important, like was the bride dressed in something big and fluffy or did she wear something slender and elegant dress like a Vera Wang? What did the brides maids wear? What were her colors? I knew to ask all these questions because I had spent the better part of my year discussing these concerns with Carrie.
He sighed. “She wore one of those princess dresses, you know with a big skirt with a ton of material and a long train. She had a crown.”
“A tiara,” I supplied.
“Yes, like that. She also wore long white gloves because she wanted to make a production of handing off the bouquet, then slowly peeling off a glove so I could jam the wedding band on her finger.”
He shaded his eyes, then positioned me so I blocked the sun from his face. “I don’t think you realize what a nightmare all that is for the average guy.”
“It’s not your show.” I couldn’t help pointing out, especially if this never occurred to him. “You are Ken, propped up next to Bridal Barbie. We never needed any more than that.”
“And you?” He asked. “What do you need?”
“I need you.” I replied.
“So is that a yes?”
I grinned, “It’s not even a yes, it is of course I’ll marry you.”
He let out a deep breath. “Good.”
I was mellow and happy as we drove back to my house, a place that was decreasing in status as home, but increasing in it’s status as problem listing, with its very own problem listing file on my desk.
“Patrick and Carrie are holding a show. I’m not up for a show myself.” I finally said.
He nodded. ”And we’ll support them. We’ll think of what we want to do after their day is over. It’s not too long to wait.”
He was right. The October wedding was rising up like the first day of school. Carrie was part frantic and part excited, I was all excited and part detached, vague and frantic only when Claire or Kathleen texted me.
But to compensate, I watched how the light bounced off the center stone of my new ring. I loved gesturing with my left hand. I loved showing off. I knew it would get old, but until then, I planned to enjoy every second.
I wondered about Ben’s reaction to his first wedding. Mine turned badly more quickly than his. But we had both been burned. Could a different venue guarantee a different ending? We could marry in a balloon. We could marry in Hawaii on the beach. Mother would love that: bare feet, no pantyhose. We could marry at the river on a raft or in a kayak. I ran my hands through my hair. It was a conundrum. What could we do? We could marry in a box, we could be married by a fox, we could marry here or there. We could marry anywhere. What would make this one different? What could I do to express to Ben that I loved and wanted him and not the production?
The agitation in the office was electric, Rosemary and Katherine restlessly circled around the office like negatively charged ions. They could agree on the Sign Nazis, but not on what to do with the signs. They could agree on foreclosures, but not the solution. At the very least they could agree that my new ring was gaudy, possibly in bad taste, but I wasn’t fooled for a second.
Once it stopped being about me, I cheerfully abandoned the office in favor of more freaking wedding research. I picked up Carrie and drove up for reconnaissance at Prophesy Estates. Even though Carrie said yes to the venue, we still wanted to check it out. Beat arguing over what to print on the wedding cocktail napkins.
“Did you feel that last night?” Carrie tossed her purse into the back seat of the Lexus, it landed with a solid thud. She climbed into the passenger seat still clutching her oversized wedding binder. It reminded me of the big fluffy wedding binder in “My Big Fat Greek Wedding.” A film that was becoming increasingly prophetic.
“Feel what?” Had I been with Ben last night? Had the earth moved?
“The earthquake, tremor really,” she amended. “It was probably only a three or something, but still, knocked my clock off the night stand.” She peered in the direction of the Mayacamas Mountains, even though it would be another twenty minutes before we could really see them decorated with steam from the Geysers.
“Didn’t feel a thing.”
“Maybe you dropped that thing on the floor and I felt the tremor.” She reached across me and grabbed my left hand.
“Careful, I’m driving.”
“Oh like you can’t handle it. Jesus, Mary and Joseph, this is huge.”
“Said the woman wearing a satellite dish.”
She examined it and ohh and ahh over it, for exactly the right amout of time. “It’s spectacular. Do you want to hold a double wedding?”
“I do not. And thank you. It was very romantic and I’m very happy, and no, I don’t worry about the tremors from the Geysers, there isn’t even a disclosure form for them. We’re all focused on the Rogers fault line.”
“You’re right, I’m just a little sensitive about everything. Do you think we should print Patrick and Carrie Forever? Or Carrie and Patrick and just the date?”
At what point did the printing on the
napkins for the reception become a harbinger for long term marital happiness?
“Forever has a nice sound.” I offered, momentarily distracted by the light hitting my own ring.
A wine country wedding is the stuff of dreams and Sunset Magazine feature articles. And Patrick and Carrie’s would be no exception. In fact I wondered if one of the editors of Sunset was invited.
“I have some samples here.” Carrie shifted in the passenger seat and tried to balance the massive notebook more securely on her lap. “God, with the Furies helping, everything is three times more work.”
“So elope.” I suggested callously. I turned off at the Healdsburg exit and headed east.
“You elope.” She growled, uncharacteristically.
“I just might.”
Carrie slumped into the seat of the car abandoning the opportunity to force me to admire seven different shades of paper napkins. “How’s the shower coming along?”
“I don’t want to discuss the shower.” I unconsciously started grinding my teeth, then consciously tried to stop.
“Then don’t tell me to elope, you know perfectly well what the problem is.”
Part of the over-all strategy for the wedding was to assume cooperative weather, which may be just as reckless as Ben’s dependence on sub-contractors who were not genetically inclined to efficiency. But we were in this too deeply to consider rain. There were always tents and we could pretend the whole thing was cozy and we did it on purpose.
Bolstered by that thought: that we were infallible and everything would turn out, I pulled into the newly poured, unmarked asphalt parking area for Prophesy Estates. We were the only car on the lot, so to speak.
Carrie climbed out and squinted at the newly remodeled tasting room. “It looks decent enough.”
“We can tent this parking lot.”
She made a face. “We could rent floors,” she considered the option for a moment. “That wouldn’t be bad, it will look like a big ball room.”
“Then why don’t you just hold it in a ball room?”
She leaned in and retrieved the wedding planner. “Because then it wouldn’t be in a winery would it?”
It took me too long to think of an appropriate rejoinder. The owner herself interrupted my ruminations as she flowed down the main walkway trailing diaphanous fabric in her wake as if trying out for the lead in a romance novel.
“Here you are!” Cassandra brushed back her blond locks, so light they looked white, and squinted at Carrie. “You must be Carrie.”
Carrie smiled coolly and offered her hand. Her own huge ring glinted in the sunlight. She already knew the stories about Cassandra, filtered through yours truly, so she was holding back her natural enthusiasm, if only for my sake.
Cassandra made me nervous. She was a little too dependent on Ben, dependency manifesting in gestures like stroking his biceps, blowing in his ear and ruffling his hair. But when I raised this subject, Ben rubbed his face and merely said, “You know how some people are born old and some are born young?”
I didn’t really, but I nodded as if this had something to do with Cassandra’s propensity to slide her hand up and down his thigh when he tried to review her spread sheets. “I’ve heard of that old soul/new soul idea, but I don’t think I buy it.”
“You wouldn’t, you’re more grounded, completely grounded. Solid.”
“Enough with the solid.” I cut him off.
He grinned. “I think Cassandra is a brand new soul, so new it’s like she’s lost her way and doesn’t even understand the new world she’s been thrust into. But she has a fantastic touch with wine, talent like that should be nurtured.”
Cassandra took Carrie’s hand as if it were a lifeline. “Come, I’ll show you around. Ben thinks the wedding will be perfect here. And I agree. I’ve created the perfect showroom for my product. All the stuff just came in, you must see!” Her voice ended on a high, lilting note.
We followed her slender frame as she floated across an expansive patio that was patterned after Delphi by someone who’s never been. Artfully placed half broken pots decorated the edges of the patio. Tops of Doric columns served as outdoor tables both raised high for tasting and built low and surrounded by curved cement benches for picnics. The arched gazebo at the end of the patio fell just short of replicating the temple of Apollo, which was a relief. Never the less, the whole of the outside copied the atmosphere of an extravagant Las Vegas themed hotel. Fortunately, according to Ben, Cassandra produced some excellent wine, which hopefully compensated for her taste in decor.
I was looking forward to a conciliatory glass of wine as we followed her into the tasting room.
The tasting room was an extension of the patio area. It was plastered with frescos of Greek-like landscapes that of course could be the hills and cypress trees right outside or mock-ups of Greek islands. The tasting bar was built of slender marble held up by thick glass. That color would work in the downstairs powder room. I took a picture and emailed it to Ben while Cassandra fussed below the bar searching for wine.
“The white from Adelaide just came in, 300 cases!” She ducked under the bar. “Here it is. I’m so excited, and the stemmer crusher and storage is ours this year, we think it will save so much time!”
“Yes it will.” A young man dressed in shorts and a faded tee shirt bearing the logo for Passport 2007 strolled in. He put his hands on his slender waist and watched Cassandra struggle with the screw top on the wine. Prophesy Estates, picked out in gold, on a purple label flashed in the sunlight.
“Here,” he took the bottle from her and twisted it open. I know screw tops save the wine from spoiling, I know they are more sanitary, cheaper and more dependable for the vintner. But I miss the ceremony of opening a corked bottle. Cassandra moved to the end of the bar as if putting distance between the work of wine opening and her own lofty title as owner/wine maker.
“Fred,” she didn’t look directly at him, but delivered her speech focusing on the wall above him. “I’m taking Miss Eliot out to tour the grounds. Are you out here now?”
The young man winced at her tone. “I was checking on the wine.” Since I was the only other person on site, it didn’t seem all that important for Fred to man the tasting room.
Cassandra clearly did not intend to introduce us. Ben did not mention a staff at the winery but it made sense that there would be more staff than just Cassandra running the business. I looked at this Fred with interest. He was not dressed in traditional tasting room attire. No Prophesy Estate logoed polo shirt or work shirt. No slacks, and apparently no combs.
“I think you should look at the red again,” he suggested.
“Later,” she interrupted him. “Come on,” she glanced at me and then at Fred. “Both of you come with me. Fred can take care of the front. That’s what I hired him to do.”
But I for one, did not intend to allow Cassandra to order me around. I stood my ground and turned to Fred. “I’m sorry, I didn’t introduce myself. I’m Allison Little, New Century Realty and this is Carrie Eliot, the bride to be.” I thrust my right hand at him and he reluctantly took it. He wasn’t an attractive man, his skin was scarred from a vicious battle of acne during his teens, he was naturally pale made worse by his apparent affinity for cave aging wine, and he was far too slender.
He nodded at me and took his place behind the bar. He gripped a second bottle of Sauvignon Blanc and viciously twisted the screw top.
“You must be very excited,” I continued trying to keep the atmosphere light. “What with the grand opening this weekend and now a wedding.”
Fred glanced at Cassandra who busied herself pouring a glass for Carrie. The color was brilliant gold against the white marble. Nice touch.
“Wedding?” He questioned.
“I’m holding my wedding here.” Carrie hauled up her three inch thick wedding binder, scattering tired post it notes that had no more will to live, in her wake.
Fred frowned. “When?”
“In four weeks,” C
arrie confirmed as her brow furrowed. “Almost exactly four weeks.” She glanced at me and I shrugged as if to say, it’s cool, you can do this. We can do this.
“Can you do that?” He asked Cassandra sharply. “Are you being paid?”
Carrie drew up to her full height of five foot two and glared at the boy. “Of course she is being paid.”
Cassandra handed Carrie a glass and took one for herself. We both sipped and for a second, Cassandra’s expression was one of pure anxiety. I set down my glass and smiled at her.
“It’s just lovely.” I lied. It wasn’t exactly how I remembered it. The wine was just okay, not the grassy bright white I remembered drinking at Ben’s. But this could still be suffering from bottle shock, it had just come all the way from Australia.
She relaxed and turned back to Fred. “Of course I can handle it, it’s my winery.” She tossed back half her wine and smacked the glass on the table with such force it was a miracle the glass didn’t shatter.
He carefully replaced the cap on the wine bottle, stashed it in the refrigerator under the counter and reached for another. “That’s fine, you plan something. I’ll be right here, in the tasting room. Where I belong. ” He added, his eyes trained on Cassandra.
Carrie glanced between the two co-workers, or boss and employee. “You guys are busy. I just need to review the logistics, then we’ll be on our way.” She set her glass down with a chink and took Cassandra’s arm. “Show me the parking lot,” she commanded.
“I think tenting the parking lot will be the best for the dinner. We are setting up one this weekend so we can experiment and you can tell me if you like it.” Cassandra looked relieved to escape the tasting room. I looked at Fred for a second or two but he was busy scowling and cleaning the already clear, pristine, white wine glasses.
“I’ll just be outside.” He nodded and didn’t say a word.
I heard Cassandra and Carrie’s voices from the front of the property and I wandered to the back.
Catharine Bramkamp - Real Estate Diva 04 - Trash Out Page 4