The Truth is in the Wine

by Curtis Bunn

  “I did not say that,” Brenda said with indignation.

  “Ms. Wall, that’s exactly what you said.”

  “Well, I don’t remember that,” Brenda added.

  “Doesn’t really matter if you remember,” Ginger said. “It only matters if it’s the truth. Paul, you told me you got downsized out of your job. But you told your mother something different. Why?”

  “My mother is right,” he said. “We should speak on this in private.”

  “No,” Ginger said sternly. “Right now. What happened? You were fired? Why were you fired, Paul? I know why. I’m seeing if you’re going to tell me the truth.”

  “It was some B.S.,” he said.

  “So it’s true? You got fired and told me you got laid off,” Ginger said. She was remarkably calm for someone so furious. “Why would you do that?”

  “Because I was embarrassed,” Paul said. “Embarrassed by what they did to me.”

  “No, if your mother is correct—,” Ginger said.

  “Ginger, I do not recall saying anything like this to you,” Brenda said. “Where are you getting this from?”

  “I got it from you, Miss Wall,” Ginger said. “You said some nice things about me and about the marriage and then you told me your son got fired from his job because of sexual harassment.”

  “I knew that, but I wouldn’t tell you,” Brenda said.

  “Why wouldn’t you tell Ginger?” Madeline jumped in.

  “Because it wasn’t my place to,” Brenda said.

  Voices started to rise. “Wait, can we hold it down some?” Paul said. “We already were embarrassed here last night.”

  Ginger ignored Paul.

  “Well, you apparently felt like it was your place to go last night because you sure enough told me that,” she said. “So the question is, Paul: Why didn’t you tell me? You told your mother, but not your wife?”

  “Gin, I didn’t know what to do,” Paul started.

  “So it’s true?” his mother-in-law asked with disdain in her voice.

  “Gin, can we go somewhere for ten minutes to talk about this?” he asked.

  “First of all, I’m not going anywhere,” she said. “And secondly ten minutes hardly would be enough time for what I have to say to you.”

  Paul was trapped. There was no wiggle room, not an inch to squirm free. So he released the burden that he had been carrying around for nearly a year.

  “It’s true, but I didn’t harass anyone,” Paul said. “I’m sorry I lied to you, Gin. I really am. I didn’t want you to think crazy about me because it’s such a stupid reason to get fired.”

  “What did you do?” she asked, calmly. “It must have been really serious for them to let you go after—what?—fourteen years?”

  “There was a woman on the job,” he started. The eyes of the women were locked on him. The fall morning turned summer hot for Paul. “Her name was Sophia. She worked in the office. Any paperwork that I had to file after a job I had to file with her. So, one day she asks if I would like to go to the grand opening of an art gallery. I told her I would check with you and that I didn’t know.

  “I asked for her number to text her my answer. When I texted her that we already had plans, she started texting me all kinds of stuff. It was crazy, like she was cultivating a relationship in her head.”

  “What did she look like, Paul?” Madeline wanted to know.

  “Ginger, can we finish this in private?” Paul asked.

  “No, keep going,” Ginger answered.

  Paul took a deep breath. “She’s an attractive woman, Ms. Knight. But that has nothing to do with anything.”

  The women did not respond.

  “Before she switched up on me, we would exchange text messages about harmless stuff,” he went on. “After about two weeks, we became really familiar with each other. She told me she was dating and so I didn’t feel like there was anything there to be concerned with.

  “Well, one day, Big Al sends me a text message. It’s a short video of two people doing this sex trick where a guy flips the girl over and when they stop, they are in this wild sex position. Well, I forwarded it to her, to Sophia, and she took offense.”

  “You did what?” Ginger said. “You sent a video of two people having sex to a woman? Why would you do that? That’s what you wanted to do to her? You didn’t send it to me, but you sent it to some woman on your job?”

  “You didn’t want him to send that to you anyway, baby,” Madeline said.

  “Mother, please,” Ginger said. “Paul, why would you send something like that to a woman?”

  “It was a mistake,” Paul said. “A grave mistake. I thought we were friends, like one of the guys. I shouldn’t have done it, of course, looking back on it.”

  “So what’s the B.S. part, Paul?” Ginger said. “You sent a woman a very inappropriate video. Doesn’t seem like B.S. to me.”

  “It’s B.S. because she then started going back through my text messages to her and started changing the meaning, changing the context of what I was saying. So, instead of my text reading: “Wanna meet at the Ritz for a drink?” she said it read like I was asking her out on a date or to spend the night at a hotel.

  “She responded: ‘Aren’t you married?’ It wasn’t intended like she was insulted or anything like that. She meant it at the time like, ‘Aren’t you married? You’ve go to go home and be a husband.’ That’s one of the running jokes we had.

  “She would ask me about doing something and I would tell her, ‘No can do; going home to the wife.’ And so it became this running joke with us where she would say, ‘Aren’t you married?’ to almost anything I said.”

  “Now I see where the B.S. comes in—with you,” Ginger said.

  “Gin, that’s not true,” Paul pleaded. “Listen to the rest of it. So, when she gets the video, all of a sudden our jokes became me harassing her. And because the video was pornography, they called it sexual harassment.”

  Ginger stared at him with so much anger. Paul did not know what to do, so he kept talking, thinking the longer she listened the clearer it would become to her. Wrong.

  “It was crazy,” he continued. “Here I thought she was a friend, but she turned out to be someone out to get me.”

  “Why was she out to get you?” Madeline asked.

  “Because I would not go out with her,” Paul said.

  “You never met her out?” Ginger asked.

  “No,” Paul said. “I mean, she met all of us out a few times. It was never just her and me. She did talk about me rejecting her. She’d say, ‘Married man, you need to loosen up a little. Every time I ask you something you say, ‘I’m married.’ So I think she simply was not used to a man being disciplined with her. And she didn’t like it. I don’t know what her motivation was because I never talked to her again. But she saved all our texts and interpreted them to the mediator. Meanwhile, I didn’t have any text messages because I deleted them all.”

  “Paul, this sounds crazy to me,” Ginger said. “If there was nothing going on, if you didn’t have an interest in this woman, why wouldn’t you tell me about her? You never mentioned her name. I always asked who was with you when you would hang out. Never, not once did you mention a woman’s name.

  “So, because of that, it’s hard for me to believe that simple story. You lost your job because you were chasing another woman. Period.”

  “No, it’s not as simple as that,” Paul said. “I am not going to allow you to believe this nonsense.”

  “Nothing you can do to change it now,” Ginger said. “I’ve been in the dark for eleven months. I came out here in good faith to mend our marriage. And yet I found out that you’re a cheater and that you don’t trust me enough to tell me something very personal, something that really affected our marriage, but you told your mother.

  “Thanks for trusting in me.”

  And with that, Ginger tossed her cloth napkin onto the table and headed out of the hotel’s front door. Madeline stood and stared at Paul
before following her daughter.

  “Ma,” he said, looking at Brenda.

  “Paul, I am so sorry,” she said. “I promise you, I do not remember telling her you got fired. But I was so messed up that I guess I did. Maybe it was on my conscience and I didn’t realize it.”

  “It’s okay,” he said. “It’s my fault. I always hated not being upfront with her. Should have told her back then and faced the music.”

  “Well, you’re going to have to talk to her—but when she cools off,” Brenda said. “Saying something now is only going to make it worse. Trust me, I’m a woman.”

  “How can we go and have a nice day with her mad at me?”

  “Easy,” Brenda said. “She doesn’t want to have a bad time. Plus you have your momma here. Come on, let’s go. They’re probably outside waiting on us.”

  And they were. Paul used the remote to open the doors and physically opened the front passenger door for Ginger, who stepped into the car without acknowledging her husband.

  Paul revealed a printout that had various wineries listed. “So, we can go to Beringer now and hit one or two others before the day is out. And we can stop somewhere for a nice lunch,” he said. “Anyone have any thoughts on that?”

  Ginger looked away from him, out the window. Madeline said, “I don’t feel so great, so I’m not really ready to taste wines.”

  “Actually, me, either,” Brenda said.

  Paul was devastated. He was called “Vino” by his mother because he loved wine. He traveled to California on a plane despite his immense fear of flying. He was finally in his dream location with the closest women in his life…and no one wanted to go taste wine.

  But he did not reveal his frustration. Not totally. “I can’t believe I cannot get to a winery now that I’m finally in Napa,” he said. “But we’re a group traveling together, so it’s not only about me.”

  He started the car and sat there for a moment or so.

  “I have an idea,” he said. “How about us taking a drive back toward San Francisco so we can see the Golden Gate Bridge during the day? We went across it, but it was too dark to really enjoy it. There’s a park right there, Golden Gate Park. We can go there and take some photos and take in the beautiful scenery.

  “By the time we get back, it will be time for lunch and hopefully everyone will feel better and we can visit a winery. What do you think?”

  “You know, you can walk across the Golden Gate,” Madeline said. “Let’s do that.”

  “That sounds like fun,” Brenda said.

  “I’m gonna leave that to you all,” Paul said. “I’m sure it will be exciting, but flying here was exciting enough for me.”

  Ginger did not say anything. Paul hated when she was that way. He hated it because he did not know where her mind would go, but he knew it would not be a pleasant place.

  “Gin, does this plan work for you?” he said.

  “Fine,” she said, not bothering to look in his direction.

  “OK, well, I’m going to take the scenic route through downtown Napa so we can get a feel for where we are,” he said.

  Brenda pulled out her camera. Madeline fumbled with her phone. Paul lost himself in the moment as they rode through the charming and quaint town, laced with interesting shops and restaurants, with people milling about. The temperature was in the low sixties with the sun spraying rays over the place as if a spotlight.

  “Magnificent time to be here,” he said. “We could not have picked a better weekend.”

  “It is beautiful,” Madeline said, but more to Brenda than Paul.

  The foliage and yellow and red leaves in the trees and on the ground made for an image that one would see in a painting.

  “I could live here,” Paul said. “It’s been ten minutes and I already know I could live here. It’s so warm and so quaint. And it helps that there is wine all around you. I can be consumed in wine. OMG.”

  “It’s interesting that you can love wine so much but not become a wino,” Ginger’s mother said.

  “It’s just like you liking alcohol but not becoming an alcoholic,” Brenda said. She said it pleasantly, but she was defending her son, whether he wanted or needed it or not.

  “I don’t know if I like what you’re insinuating,” Madeline said.

  “Don’t get your Depends in a bunch,” Brenda said, and everyone laughed, even Ginger.

  “I’m glad to see some smiling faces in this car,” Brenda added. “I’m feeling better and we should have a good time and enjoy each other.”

  “I agree with you, Ma,” Paul said. Then he added: “OK, in honor of you ladies getting, uh, inebriated last night, why don’t we share a story about an embarrassing moment that we haven’t shared with anyone before.”

  “That’s easy,” Ginger said. “I married you.”

  “Ouch,” Paul said. “That was mean. But at least you smiled. I like seeing you smile, Gin.”

  They were at a light before jumping on the highway headed toward the Golden Gate Bridge. They looked into each other’s eyes for a few seconds before she looked away.

  “Who wants to go first?” Ginger asked.

  “I’m not sure what kind of story you’re looking for, so Paul probably should go first,” his mother said.

  “OK,” Paul said. “I’ll go. Now, this has to be a story you never told anyone. OK? OK, about ten years ago, Helena had a school project where she had to take a coffee can, punch holes in the bottom of it and use it as a plant holder or something. I remember buying her one and then another one because something was wrong with the first one.

  “So, this was a time you might remember, Gin. We were meeting in Buckhead at Phipps Plaza to go to the movies. It was the spring or fall—I can’t remember which—but I had a pullover sweater on. So, anyway, I had a job in College Park and you were already in Buckhead, shopping or something. You had Helena with you. So, we were going to the movies and I rushed home, showered, changed clothes and got into the car to meet you all.

  “Well, I am so anal about seeing the previews that I decided I would pass on going to the bathroom and would go when I got to the movies. So, I get on 85 North at the Connector and—bam—it’s a logjam. Traffic is backed up for a few miles. So I’m anxious about getting to you all on time and I hate traffic and now I’ve got to go to the bathroom so bad that I’m squirming in my seat.”

  The ladies are laughing and hanging on to his every word. He went on: “So, we’re at a standstill and I’m in the center lane with no way to take an exit. By the minute, I’ve got to go to the bathroom more and more. So I start looking around the car for a cup or bottle or anything because I’m about to pee on myself.”

  “Oh, my God,” Madeline said.

  “My mind is racing. Then it hits me: I bought that second coffee can and Helena left it in the trunk. So since we’re at a standstill, I pop the trunk, get out of the car right there on 85 and hurry up and grab the coffee can and jump back into the car. I had no other option; I couldn’t hold it much longer.

  “So I’m frantically trying to open my pants, get the belt loose and the zipper down because I’m about to wet myself, which I could not let happen. I’m sweating. It’s an emergency. I don’t know how it is for women, but when a man has to pee badly and knows he’s about to let it go, it’s harder to hold it back.

  “Finally, I get myself free and I position the can between my legs and—I’m sure you know the relief you feel when you’ve got to go really badly.”

  Paul started demonstrating behind the wheel his actions. He feigned closing his eyes and throwing his head back in relief. “I had saved myself and the relief felt so good,” he said.

  “But then I started feeling something. My butt got warm. I looked down, and the can I was peeing in had holes in it. It was the first can I bought, not the second one. So all that pee that went in the can came right out in my seat.”

  The women howled, they laughed so hard. Paul was laughing hysterically, too, Then he started reenacting the moment. He
pulled himself from his seat, as he did that night.

  “I lifted my butt up so I wasn’t sitting in a pile of pee,” he said, and they burst into laughter again for several seconds. “It was a total mess. And once you start peeing, you can’t stop.”

  Madeline and Brenda were falling all over themselves. Ginger was in tears. Paul, too. And he kept them in stitches.

  “So I emptied my bladder and was sitting there on the highway in my own pee.”

  “Stop, Paul,” his mother managed to get out between laughs. “You’re crazy. I can’t take any more. Please stop. Oh, my God.”

  But he wasn’t finished. “So I was relieved in one sense, but soaking wet and pissy in another,” he said, and Ginger buried her face in her hands, laughing so hard she could barely catch her breath.

  “Paul, I don’t believe you,” she said.

  “I’m serious,” he said. “So now I have another problem. And we’re still sitting in the same place; traffic had not moved. So I’ve got to do something. So I pop the trunk again to get some towels I have to wash the car out of the trunk to soak up some of all the pee on my seat.”

  The ladies again are doubled-over in laughter.

  “I hurry up out of the car, hoping no one can see the big piss stain that covered my whole behind. I get the towels and place them on the seat and jump back into the car. I had about four towels, so they sopped up the urine pretty good.”

  He stopped to join the others in laughter. When he composed himself, he said, “So, I solve that crisis. I have gotten the pee off my seat. But my pants are soaking wet. Traffic starts to move a little bit and I almost swerved into someone because I was taking off my pants as I was driving.”

  Once again, there was laughter among the women. “You’re killing me with this one,” Brenda said.

  “So, I use my feet to slip off my shoes and squirm my way out of my pants and drawers. I’m literally riding up 85 with my naked butt on a pile of pissy towels.”

  The women roll down the windows; they laughed so hard they got hot.

  “So,” Paul continued, “I’ve got about fifteen minutes max to get my underwear and pants dry.”