by Olga Bicos
18
Ryan turned the glass in his hand, painting the sides with the Syrah. Pale legs of red ran down, showing a nice consistency and weight. He’d used the wine thief to extract a pitcherful from the barrel for the staff. They got a kick out of tasting the vintage, guessing it would be his best. He nosed the wine and tasted. It wouldn’t be much longer before they bottled.
Viña Dorada was primarily known for its sparkling wines made in the Spanish tradition. Expanding into other wines had been one of the first changes he’d made. In the United States, consumers bought sparkling wine primarily for weddings and New Year celebrations. Before Ryan took over, ninety percent of the product at Viña Dorada had sold in the month of December.
The reality was that they could only make so many changes in consumer habits through marketing. He’d explained to Gil and Marta that Viña Dorada needed to evolve. Now the label had a name outside of the sparkling wines where it once dominated and won medals at top competitions.
He put the glass down, flipping through a couple of messages on his desk. The lab again. He’d call tomorrow. He needed to keep a tab on the carbon dioxide levels. They might need to blow some nitrogen.
He realized he was moving things around the desk—the glass, his papers, the phone—like one of those plastic puzzles where the trick was to slide the pieces around until the picture made sense.
You sent me an invitation.
Or maybe he was trying to rub out the picture altogether—Holly looking so dismayed and so hurt.
Ryan walked over to the window. The house sat atop a knoll like the castle keep it mimicked, looking over the hills of the vineyard. That’s why he’d chosen this room for his office. The timeless view gave him perspective.
Inside his head, the plastic pieces shifted again. Twelve years after her death, he could still see Nina right there in front of him. Laughing at him. She always did enjoy a good laugh. He had this one memory of Nina laughing beside him in bed.
They’d broken into a house in Pacific Heights. The home belonged to one of his “godmothers,” so he’d known the code to the alarm. Nina always thought it was hilarious how Vanessa had only one child to share with her many society friends, hence the multiple uncles and aunties.
The house had been empty, the occupants gone on vacation to Hawaii. With his help, Nina had broken the door to the wine vault. He’d been pretty far gone already from a night of partying or he never would have agreed to open the Lafite-Rothschild, 1982. The wine was worth about a thousand dollars a bottle and they both knew it. But that wasn’t enough for Nina.
They’d been naked on the bed in the master bedroom, the wine almost gone. Nina had tried to give him some pills she’d found in the medicine cabinet. She was a year younger than Ryan, but she’d always been the more daring. It fascinated him, how she was willing to try anything. Fascinated and repelled.
He’d shaken his head, refusing her pills. He didn’t like that loss of control that Nina seemed to crave. But she’d moved over him, straddling him, pressing her gift past his lips with her own.
I need you to be more alive than this. That’s what she’d told him.
She’d had a beautiful wicked laugh. It was the thing he’d loved most about her.
Ryan turned away from his office window, the view now nearly done in by dusk. He thought that if Nina were here, she’d get a good laugh out of what was going on. And she’d like how twisted everything had become. Nina had always loved the spotlight.
You sent me an invitation.
He hadn’t sent Holly a damn thing. But he thought he knew who had.
When he and Daniel were kids, Ryan had tried out this theory. He’d been really excited, absolutely certain Daniel would climb aboard once he heard. They could trade places, like that book, The Prince and the Pauper.
It made sense. He was tired of the burden of being the Cutty heir, tired of the “tremendous responsibility” his mother would tell him about every other minute. He had to dress right, go places he hated, get the best grades. He had to be perfect.
It’s only you, Ryan. He remembered his mother telling him that. Both Cutty and Moore are depending on you.
He used to wonder about that. Why he was the only one. Why Daniel didn’t count.
He’d never coveted the Cutty fortune, probably because it was constantly shoved in his face, while Daniel had the family business dangled teasingly out of his reach. Ryan grew up dreaming of making his own way, of being his own man. My choice. He’d needed the challenge, just like his grandfathers before him.
“I’ll sail off and they’ll never find me,” he’d told Daniel, explaining the details of a ten-year-old’s escape plan. “They’ll need you then, see? There won’t be anybody else.”
Which was pretty much what had happened after Nina died.
He’d actually been relieved when Daniel took over Cutty House. It was like paying off a bad debt. So sorry my dad was such an asshole. I never wanted any of it, really…. And Daniel had stepped up to the plate to take over and run the place. It was almost too perfect. At last, Daniel would get the recognition he deserved.
But Ryan should have known better, should have guessed it wouldn’t be enough. Like Nina, Daniel needed more. And now it seemed he wanted Ryan gone altogether.
Ryan picked up the glass from the desk and once again swirled the wine to take in the aroma. Black currant, cedar and spice. In a way, the Syrah represented everything he’d learned the last ten years from Gil and the other vintners in Napa. The first two years had been tough. He’d been a wine maker, manager, nursemaid and surrogate son all at once.
But last fall, they’d had their best harvest ever. He’d successfully expanded their product base. Between functions like today’s flamenco festivities and other entertainment, the boutique vineyard did a nice business and was getting ready to spread its wings and grow.
He’d been so caught up in the business of Viña Dorada that he’d convinced himself he could sit back and enjoy their success. Forget the past—let life take its course. The pattern of his days dictated by the vines…
Ryan left the wine on the desk and dug out his car keys. Let life take its course. Now didn’t that sound perfect?
But then, platitudes usually did, he told himself, heading for the door.
As it turned out, he didn’t have to go far to find her. She was waiting in the parking lot.
Surprise, surprise.
She walked up to him, looking so determined. Sometimes her face was a bit of a shock. He’d see her from afar and imagine Nina. But then she’d come closer, and it was like one of those kaleidoscopes shifting into another pattern altogether.
Like now. She was wearing clothes right out of Nina’s closet, daring, sexy…but she’d put a gardenia in her hair. Nina never accessorized with anything that wasn’t twenty-four-carat something. And the expression on Holly’s face would never happen if she’d been Nina, a spoiled beautiful girl who just couldn’t care that much.
“I was halfway to the city when I turned around,” she said.
He noticed she barely reached his chin despite the heels. Nina could almost look him straight in the eye.
“I had this idea,” she continued. “I was going to march right up to your door. But I’ve been standing here for the longest time, trying to find the courage.”
“Then it’s a good thing I came out.”
She nodded, but somehow he knew it wasn’t in response to anything he’d said. She had a speech going in her head and darned if she wasn’t going to have her say.
“Someone is doing this. Setting us up,” she said. “And I want it to stop. What happened earlier with Nina’s parents—”
“I understand.”
“No…no, you don’t. You can’t.”
She began to pace, as if motion somehow helped. Another difference between her and Nina. Nina was like a cat, languid, never making an unnecessary move, always holding a reserve. Holly had energy to spare.
“I have this wonder
ful job.” She stopped, catching his eye to make certain he was listening, as if she might have to fight to keep a man’s attention. Nina just assumed she had the world at her feet.
“Only, the dream job is mine because I look like some poor dead woman, and that is so beyond weird that I still don’t quite believe it.”
Her eyes were dark enough that, in the low light, the pupils almost disappeared into the rim of brown. “Daniel said he thought it was some sort of sign that I looked like Nina. Good karma for Cutty House. He told me I was the only person who could save the project.”
“And you believed him?”
“I drew some sketches, just quick design ideas to try and get Daniel to see a new vision for the place.” She shook her head. “I’ve never done anything like those sketches. Cutty House just came to life for me. It was this amazing experience, a real rush.” She looked up, meeting his gaze dead-on. “I’d had three really bad years and then, suddenly, everything was going to be okay. I was back on my game, doing the work I loved.”
He could see all those hopes and dreams in her face, the energy of discovering that talent inside herself.
“Yes, I believed him,” she admitted. “I wanted to. Cutty House just seemed to fit, the project and me.”
“Like magic.”
“I’m sure you think that’s very arrogant. Look, I’m not channeling the spirit of Nina or anything. And I realize now you didn’t send that invitation. And,” she said with a tiny smile, “I can see you’re not some loser worker bee here at the vineyard, either. I don’t know what’s going on—well, actually, maybe I do. But to send me here to scare these poor people? I just can’t imagine that kind of malice.”
There was apprehension in her eyes. At the same time, she held herself stiff and straight, as if trying to assert herself.
She’d never looked less like Nina.
“But I think…” she said, stepping closer, making that connection, the one that sizzled and popped inside his head, making him a little crazy because he’d never felt the charge of it before. Not with Nina or any other woman. “I think you can imagine people who would want to hurt them.”
He took her arm, gently this time, steering her back to her car.
“Welcome to the family,” he told her.
If SoMa was dance central for the city, North Beach turned out to be its breadbasket.
Ryan explained the neighborhood’s history, beginning with the Barbary Coast and its whorehouses and gambling parlors. Even before the earthquake in 1906, Italians had migrated here to work as fishermen and factory laborers, giving birth to “Little Italy.” The 1950s brought the Beatnik era, the 60s, Carol Doda baring her breasts at the Condor nightclub.
But things were changing here in the big city. Trendy shops and restaurants replaced the mom-and-pop outfits. A martini might cost you ten dollars and dinner your firstborn. Still, Ryan liked the diversity, not to mention the food.
He took her to the Rose Pistola, with its fall colors, rich wood and leather upholstery. It featured an open kitchen, and the hostess made walk-in seating sound like the Second Coming. Something about no conventions in town. Ryan ordered the octopus. Holly, the prosciutto and figs.
She glanced at his beer. “An interesting choice for someone who works at a vineyard.”
“The loser worker bee likes his brew.”
She could feel herself flush. “I’m sorry I called you that.”
“Don’t worry. They weren’t your words originally. Drinking wine is my job,” he said. “It’s seldom my entertainment. Now a good beer? That’s refreshment.”
“The article said you were drunk.”
She could see she’d surprised him. She’d surprised herself, something she’d been doing a lot lately.
She still wasn’t used to the way he looked at her. Of course, it was because of Nina. There would be this shift in his head every time he saw her. Not Nina.
He took his time to answer. “We’d both been drinking, yes.”
“I don’t think you killed her. You’re not the type.” She was going for the gold medal in provocative statements. “But an accident. And the drinking. Well, it happens like that sometimes, doesn’t it?”
He gave her a look. “You know me that well?”
“Maybe I like to see the best in people.”
“No. You take it a lot farther. You want to see the best in complete strangers.”
“And here I thought the way you were following me, that we were getting close.”
It was a joke, but neither of them laughed.
“Look, I saw you with her parents,” she said, finding evidence to support her argument. That’s usually how it happened for her unfortunately. First the gut reaction, then reason bubbling to the surface to back it up. “They don’t hold you responsible.”
He never broke eye contact. “I was nineteen. Nina was a year younger. We were engaged to be married.” He spoke the short terse facts as if he had them memorized. She wasn’t the first to ask him about that night, not by a long shot.
“Our parents were old friends,” he continued, marching out the story. “Gil and my father met in sixth grade and hadn’t separated since. The Travers’ sparkling wines were practically a staple at Cutty House. Gil and Samuel wanted to expand. They were opening a string of restaurants, a marriage of the two businesses. So why not arrange another kind of marriage? A real one. Like in the old days. Nina was beautiful, adventurous. At the time, I didn’t think it was such a bad idea.”
“What happened?”
“What always happens when you sell yourself on someone else’s dream. I woke up. They’d planned out the next fifty years and it scared the life out of me. Before she died, I told her I wanted to break things off. I didn’t want to take over Cutty House or the vineyard.”
He took a moment before he delivered the last devastating piece. “And I told her I didn’t love her. That maybe I never had.”
“You said all those things after getting drunk?”
“A condition that wasn’t exactly out of character for me in those days.”
“I gather Nina didn’t take it well.”
He got back to the octopus. “She had a few choice words for me. We fought. She took off in that damn sports car of hers. I tried to stop her.”
“It was an accident,” she said, seeing the truth in his eyes, relieved.
He seemed to think about it. “If you give a kid matches and a bottle of gasoline, then leave him to his own devices? I wonder.”
“You think you’re responsible?”
“I knew she was drunk. I was too much of a coward to tell her sober. Nina was volatile. I should have guessed something would happen.”
“The newspaper said you were accused of running her off the road. There was a witness.”
He glanced down at the plate. She could almost hear him sorting through the information. What to tell, what to hold back.
“Someone left a message with the police but didn’t identify themselves,” he said. “They never came forward. And the evidence found during the investigation didn’t support the story.”
“But why would someone lie?”
“Ask Daniel,” he said simply.
Daniel, the answer at every turn.
“You think Daniel left me that invitation.”
“As a matter of fact, yes. My mother would have received one. Right now, he’s her boy wonder. It wouldn’t be difficult for him to get it from her.”
She shook her head. “But why? I mean, why hurt Nina’s parents like that?”
“Because they are important to me.”
And when she shook her head, finding it hard to believe, he added, “After Nina died, Gil had a stroke. Marta pretty much shut down the vineyard. They were going to lose everything. I felt I owed it to them to step in and take over. To turn things around. That’s where I’ve been the last twelve years. With Marta and Gil. You want to hurt me? I can’t think of a better target.”
She imagined what it must hav
e been like. If he’d wanted to slip into the sunset on his boat as Emma claimed, he’d sure taken a wrong turn. Nina’s death had pinned him down to the very things he’d tried to escape.
Still, it made her wonder. Were these the actions of a hero or a guilty man?
She shook her head. “I can’t believe Daniel would set me up, not for this. There has to be something else, someone else.”
“If he thought I got away with murder? Maybe he wants to make sure I get what I deserve—or maybe he just wants to make sure I don’t get anything at all.”
“No. That doesn’t sound like Daniel.”
He grabbed her hand from across the table. “And what would? You know him about as well as you know me, which is not at all. Who gave you that dress, Holly?”
“If I believed—”
“Those clothes,” he continued. “That’s the way Nina dressed. He’s trying to make you into Nina, sending you here like a little present. Surprise! You’re right, it doesn’t make sense. But then, Daniel doesn’t always follow the rules. You have no idea who you’re dealing with.”
“Yes. Yes, of course.” Because everything he said sounded perfectly logical.
“I’m tired of watching you play along,” he said, releasing her hand, a different man in his anger. “You want my advice? Pack up and race on home. He’s not the man you think he is and neither, by the way, am I.”
She nodded, as if listening to every word, but at the same time hating how starry-eyed and naive he’d made her sound. If the shoe fits…
“Well, that certainly clears things up. Thank you.” She slipped out from the table, leaving the appetizer untouched. She picked up the silly purse she’d bought with Emma, realizing how much she’d enjoyed that shopping trip, how fun it had been to become someone else. Another trap.
“What are you going to do?” he asked, rising to his feet.
She smiled. “Everyone keeps asking me that.”
She walked out, digging through her purse for the valet ticket. Ryan was right behind her.
“I can’t believe you’d be this stupid,” he said. “You’re staying. You’re building his damn house. Even after what happened today?”