Heard It Through the Grapevine

by Pamela Browning

  “I can’t even recall the last time I had a birthday party,” he said. Something in his tone made Gina’s eyes pop open again.

  “Really?” she said.

  “Really. It was when I was about ten. My parents hired a clown to entertain us, and someone fell off the pony and broke his arm. I remember the ambulance better than anything, all those red-and-blue flashing lights. I wanted to go for a ride in it, but my friend with the broken arm went, instead. It didn’t seem fair. It was my birthday.” He chuckled at the memory.

  “When is your birthday, Josh?”

  “In two weeks.”

  “That would be on a Sunday?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  She pushed aside the sheet and sat up. “Because I’m going to give you a party.”

  “Gina, don’t get carried away. I thought you were sleepy.”

  “I was. Now I’m not. I can’t believe you haven’t had a party since you were a kid. You need a party, Josh.”

  “I never thought about it,” he said. “I figured grown-ups didn’t have people fussing over them on their birthdays.”

  “Maybe that’s the way it is in your family, but in mine, a birthday is a big deal. We can have your party at the winery. I’ll invite my whole family and some friends. It’ll be fun.” She settled back against the pillows, already planning.

  “Now that you’re out from under the bachelor auction, can’t you relax? Have some free time? Maybe go to Boston with me?”

  “After your party, we could discuss it,” she said. She’d make a run to the coast, pick up some mussels. Then she could make her special tomato fettucine with mussels for the party.

  Josh traced a finger across her bare breast. “Now that you’re not sleepy anymore, we could discuss something else,” he said suggestively.

  “Who said I’m not sleepy?” she challenged him.

  He moved his hand downward, and she rolled toward him, giving herself up to all the pleasurable sensations that Josh knew how to evoke so very well. Which was when she decided was that Josh was right after all. She wasn’t sleepy. Nor would she sleep for quite some time.

  “IT’S LIKE THIS, JOSH,” Walter Emsing said on the phone on Sunday, a week later. “My people tell me that we can buy Vineyard Oaks for a pittance. They make a good product. They have a good reputation. The vineyard will be a fine addition to Starling Industries.”

  Josh’s mind whirled. He’d figured he would have more time.

  “What’s the rush?” he asked bluntly.

  “We don’t want some other outfit to beat us on this one.”

  Josh thought about Fredo and his desperate efforts to save his family’s winery. He thought about all the Angelinis who would be out of work if Walter went through with this plan. He thought about Gina and how much it would hurt her if Vineyard Oaks was sold to outsiders.

  “The net of it is, Josh, that we’re prepared to make an offer the Angelinis can’t refuse.”

  “When?” The word almost stuck in his throat.

  “Next week. Josh, I’ve got to run. I have a call on another line. Talk to you soon.”

  “Sooner than you think,” Josh muttered, and then tapped out the number of Vargas Aviation, a local charter outfit that could supply him with a plane immediately.

  After he’d arranged to fly to Boston that night on a Gulfstream V jet that was ready and waiting at the local airport, he dialed Gina’s number at home. She wasn’t there. He also dialed her shop, but for some reason her answering machine didn’t pick up. He started to pack and decided to call her later.

  He never reached Gina that day. He called Barbara to see if Gina was at her house, but Barbara said that Gina was meeting with an architect to discuss the plans for the teen center. Josh vaguely recalled that she’d mentioned something about it.

  He scribbled out a note explaining to Gina that he was going to be away until the end of the week, and gave it to the Vargas Aviation driver who came to pick him up, asking the guy to drop it off at Good Thymes when he drove back into town. The driver said he would do it, and Josh put the matter out of his mind.

  He spent the whole flight to Boston mapping out a plan that he hoped would appeal to Walter Emsing, despite the ministrations of a buxom flight attendant who knew who he was and was determined to impress him. At one time he might have welcomed her attentions, but now they were only a distraction and, finally, an irritation. He brushed aside her offers of brunch at her hotel, cocktails ditto, and made himself concentrate. If he could just convince Walter that Fredo and the rest of the Angelinis were the best people to run Vineyard Oaks, he would be able to save the winery from being gobbled up.

  He was doing this for Gina. He knew how hard she’d take it if Starling bought her family’s business.

  But he was also doing this for himself. If Gina found out that he was in any way instrumental in Walter’s proposed buyout, there was no saving himself as he had with the bachelor auction. No practical joke would get him out of the bind, and Rocco most definitely wouldn’t be on his side. Worse yet, Gina would boot him out of her life for good.

  “YOU’LL COME TO JOSH’S PARTY, won’t you?” Gina asked Shelley.

  Shelley had stopped by Good Thymes to buy tincture of anise for a lingering cough. “You’re giving a party for him?”

  “A birthday party at Vineyard Oaks.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “We’ll set up tables in the wine cellar like we do for wedding receptions,” Gina said. It was family tradition to hold such celebrations there.

  Mia popped up from under the counter. “I’m making a big banner that reads Happy Birthday, Josh. Frankie’s supposed to help me.”

  “And where will you hang the banner?” Shelley asked playfully. Mia was a favorite of hers.

  “I don’t know yet.” Mia disappeared under the counter again, where she was doing her homework with Timothy curled up beside her.

  “Gina, could I talk to you for a minute?” Shelley aimed a meaningful look toward Mia’s space under the counter, and Gina nodded. She followed Shelley to the other end of the shop.

  Shelley continued in a low tone. “I wanted to ask you about Frankie and his math. Rocco says Frankie won’t be allowed to play in our accordion band if he doesn’t bring his grade up. Tell me, what’s the problem? Does the kid need a tutor?”

  Gina took her time answering. “Maybe,” she said. “He’s smart enough, but he can’t seem to settle down to do his homework every night. I think his bad grades are a result of simply not doing the work.”

  “I’ve been to Rocco’s house for dinner several times lately. When we’re busy cleaning up, Frankie is supposed to be doing homework, but he either says he doesn’t have any or that he’s already finished it. Usually, he ends up outside shooting baskets in the driveway.”

  “Rocco has tried to check behind him, has attended more parent-teacher conferences than you can imagine, and he’s at his wit’s end. He sees the band as a way to make Frankie measure up. In other words, it’s like a carrot on a stick. Bring the math grade up, and Frankie gets to be in the band. If the math grade is unsatisfactory, Frankie doesn’t.”

  Shelley sighed. “Leo Buscani thinks playing in the band would be the best thing in the world for him. He says Frankie responds well to the kind of self-discipline required to play a musical instrument. He thinks that self-discipline will carry over into Frankie’s schoolwork. He’s seen it happen before.”

  “I’ll speak to Rocco,” Gina promised. “Maybe he needs to talk to Leo.”

  “I’ll suggest it. Thanks, Gina.”

  Shelley, after a hurried goodbye, headed back to the Bootery, and Gina resumed planning the menu for the birthday party.

  “When is Josh coming over?” Mia asked as Gina pored over a list of wines and made a note to ask Maren if she could borrow a steam table for the serving line from Aunt Dede.

  “I don’t know,” Gina said absently. She hadn’t heard from Josh since Sunday morning.

  “I wish h
e’d come over,” Mia said.

  “Me, too.”

  Josh didn’t call that night, either, but Gina wasn’t concerned. He had told her he would be visiting his friend in San Francisco soon, and that was probably where he’d gone.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Josh stepped out of the taxi in downtown Boston into a driving rain. He paid the cabdriver and blinked up at the towering Prudential Building before yanking up the collar of his raincoat and marching into the lobby of the nearby building that housed the offices of Starling Industries.

  Ever since he’d landed at Logan Airport an hour or so ago, he’d been overcome with the grayness of everything. Gray skies, gray buildings, and the people wore dark clothes, not the light, bright colors he’d grown accustomed to in California. He felt darker, smaller, grayer himself. And it was noisy here. A constant cacophony of horns blaring, trucks roaring and overamplified music emanated from passing cars.

  He was bundled up in a wool-lined trench coat and a wool scarf, and when he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the gold-veined mirror beside the elevator, he almost didn’t recognize himself.

  The elevator deposited him at a reception desk on a high floor. The receptionist graciously offered to relieve him of his coat, and he was ushered into a blessedly quiet waiting room, where he cooled his heels for an uncomfortably long time. He switched off his cell phone; no point in taking the chance that a call would interrupt his meeting with Walter.

  When he grew tired of sitting, he wandered over to the floor-to-ceiling window for a bird’s-eye view of the city. The cars below looked like toys; the people scurried like ants. They somehow seemed insignificant, and he felt a pang of longing for the blurred outlines of the mountains visible beyond the river from the window of his apartment in Rio Robles. He missed Gina suddenly and with an urgency that he couldn’t have imagined a couple of months ago.

  “Josh! What a pleasant surprise. Come in, come in,” boomed Walter Emsing from the door of his office.

  Josh turned and tried to force thoughts of Gina from his mind. If he was going to accomplish what was necessary for the good of her family, he had to stay focused on the goal. He couldn’t forget why he had come back to Boston for even a few seconds.

  “Walter,” he said, shaking the man’s hand. “I’m here because we need to talk,” he said.

  Walter ushered Josh into his office. “All right,” he said. “Tell me what’s going on.”

  “Quite a lot,” Josh told him. To himself he added, Like falling in love.

  “Something that will change my mind about our plans for Vineyard Oaks?”

  “I hope so,” Josh said. He removed his proposal from his briefcase; he’d worked on it feverishly and had it formally prepared by an assistant this morning. He’d only slept a few hours since he’d left the Napa Valley, and his eyes were gritty. But he was clean-shaven and dressed in a suit in order to impress Walter Emsing.

  “Let’s see what you have,” Walter said, and Josh handed the folder over.

  Walter thumbed through it rapidly, then tossed the papers onto the desk between them. “You know my feeling about acquisitions,” he said brusquely. “Buy ’em out and get ’em out.”

  “If you do that with Vineyard Oaks, you’ll be ignoring one of their greatest assets—the strength that comes from a close-knit family.”

  “I fail to see that as strength, Josh. I believe that family cohesiveness can be a weakness when running a company.”

  “Not in this case,” Josh shot back. “Vineyard Oaks produces excellent wines—there’s no doubt about that. My report lists the prizes they’ve won. You can even taste the wine that recently copped a prestigious award in an international contest.” He produced a bottle of Vineyard Oaks merlot from his briefcase and handed it to Walter.

  Walter appeared nonplussed. He set the bottle on his desk and stared at it.

  Josh continued. “It would be to Starling’s advantage to become a silent partner with Vineyard Oaks. To retain their name on the labels of the wines produced there. To treat Vineyard Oaks wines as boutique wines and ship to private customers, thereby raising the price to the eighty-dollar-a-bottle range. We’d establish a niche market, Walter. It’s something Vineyard Oaks has never tried.”

  “All right,” Walter said. “Your suggestion intrigues me. I’ll give you fifteen minutes to tell me more about it.” He leaned back in his chair and frowned.

  Josh prepared to argue his case. He reminded himself that the livelihoods of a lot of people depended on what he said. He had convinced himself that Vineyard Oaks shouldn’t be sold to Starling, but now he would have to convince Walter. Which wouldn’t be easy, considering the forbidding expression on the man’s face.

  GINA SPOTTED FRANKIE AS HE pedaled furiously past the gateposts and did a wheelie in the parking lot. He jumped off his newly painted bike, letting it fall where it landed, and stormed up the steps and through the door.

  “Gina,” he said, out of breath. “Is Josh coming over today?”

  “I don’t think so,” she said. She hadn’t heard from him in two days.

  “Where is he?”

  “He’s gone to visit a friend in San Francisco, I think. Why?”

  Frankie scuffed his shoe against one of the half barrels she used for storing gingerroot. He scowled. “I want to speak with him is all. I thought maybe he could talk to my dad.”

  Gina pushed aside the small fabric bags into which she was tying bits of lavender for sachets. She folded her hands in front of her. “Okay, Frankie, what’s this about? Can I help?”

  “Aw, I’m not sure anybody can. But maybe if Josh talked to Pop about my math grade he might let me play in Mr. Buscani’s band. Pop really pays attention to Josh.”

  “Oh, math again. Frankie, your father wants you to bring that grade up.”

  “I’ve tried, honest. I did pretty good on the unit we had about learning to figure sales tax. It’s those darned powers I can’t get.”

  “Powers?”

  “You know, like figuring two to the seventh power and stuff like that.”

  “Frankie, dear, your dad worries that playing in the band will take more time away from your studies. Show him that you can bring the math grade up, and then I’m sure Rocco won’t be so concerned about your spending too much time on your music.”

  “I promise I’ll work extra hard if he just lets me go to the practices! Can you talk to my dad, Gina? Please? If Josh can’t?”

  Gina sighed. “Sure. I’ll try.”

  “When you see Josh, will you ask him?”

  To see Frankie so distraught was rare. Playing in the band must mean a lot to him.

  “Of course I will. I don’t know when that will be.”

  “It better be soon. He better come back.”

  “He will. You’ll see him at his birthday party on Sunday, remember?”

  Frankie brightened slightly at the reminder. “Oh, I almost forgot. That’s cool.”

  “Mia wants you to help with the banner. Ask her about it.”

  “Okay. Thanks, Gina.”

  “You’re welcome,” Gina told him, but she didn’t think he should get his hopes up too high.

  ON THURSDAY HER COUSIN Emily stopped by Good Thymes, ostensibly to inquire about using echinacea for a cold brought about by the chill wind that swept out of the mountains at this time of year, but when Gina had handed her back her change, Emily lingered.

  “I heard Josh went to San Francisco,” she said, obviously fishing for information.

  “Mmm,” Gina said, determined not to react. Emily was Aunt Maureen’s daughter, which meant that Aunt Maureen had probably heard from Maren that Josh was away. The family grapevine was alive and thriving.

  “Well, I hope he’s going to be back on Sunday for his birthday party,” Emily said.

  “I’m sure he will be,” Gina told her.

  “If you haven’t talked to him in a long while, how do you know?”

  Gina didn’t mean to sound testy, but she did
anyway. “Who says I haven’t talked to him?”

  “Oh, I heard it around,” Emily said with a vague wave of her hand toward town.

  “Hasn’t anyone told you that you shouldn’t believe everything you hear?” Gina said, infusing her tone with a lightness that she didn’t feel at the moment.

  “I guess I shouldn’t. Bye, Gina. See you Sunday.”

  Gina fumed to herself long after Emily left, and she resented that the seeds of doubt had been scattered over her plans for Josh’s birthday party. She tried to reach Josh on his cell phone but hung up when he didn’t answer. She’d already left a message for him, and he hadn’t called her back. She wished he’d mentioned his friend Brian’s last name. She’d look him up and call Josh to make sure he hadn’t forgotten about the party.

  Still, she was certain that Josh wouldn’t forget. Even though she wished he’d call, she forced herself not to listen for the phone’s ring. Instead, she made a list of items to pick up on Saturday when she went to the coast to buy the mussels.

  “I’LL HAVE TO TAKE THIS UNDER advisement,” Walter said in his most pontifical tone. “We’ve already started the ball rolling to buy Vineyard Oaks, you know.”

  This didn’t sound good. One thing Josh had learned from playing bocce was that once a ball started rolling, it was hard to stop.

  “Who’s going to see that proposal next?” Josh asked.

  Walter reeled off some names, but Josh realized this was only a smoke screen. He had the distinct impression that once he was out the door, Walter would toss his proposal in the round file under his desk—the wastebasket.

  “If you’d let me talk to them in person,” Josh said desperately. He tried hard not to sound as if he were clutching at his last straw.

  “You’ll be seeing one of them, I should think. Your dad.”

  “You didn’t mention him.”

  “He works closely with Peter Troxler.”

  That was one of the names Walter had mentioned, but Josh hadn’t felt that the relationship between Peter and his father was that close. Nevertheless, it was worth exploring.