"No."
She takes a minute to rearrange things in her trunk before she lets Cory put the flat tire in it. "I don't want a dirty tire on my picnic gear," she jokes.
"Picnic gear?"
"A habit I picked up in France. I keep an oilcloth packed in here, for sitting on. It's from Province."
In a brash inspiration Cory asks her, "Want to go look at the stars for a few minutes? On your picnic gear?"
"What?" Julie is shocked, but feels a giddy delight at his suggestion.
He realizes his huge error. Some instinct shoves him gracelessly back on track, concocting another disingenuous spin on the truth. "I used to be an avid star gazer. I'm pretty good with constellations. I could talk you through some. Is it clear out?"
She smiles, looking overhead. "Absolutely clear."
She looks up and down the road, the soft breeze blowing her light red hair away from her face. "There is open pasture up this way. I think the car's okay here on the shoulder. Want to climb the hill and have a look? I mean, I'll have a look for both of us."
"Thanks." He's getting way too good at this.
She retrieves the oilcloth and closes the trunk of the BMW, then instinctively takes her purse before locking the car. They head up the deserted country road, arm-in-arm, the seeing with the seeing-in-hiding.
The pasture is on the left and they leave the road and begin walking through it. They are probably trespassing, but mean no harm. It's late and they'll be gone soon.
She leads him toward a small knoll with a few oak trees on it. It's a nice vantage point for star-gazing and for looking out across to the vineyards on the dark horizon. Julie picks her spot and spreads out the blue and yellow oilcloth from Province.
Cory lets her lead him to it and sits down. He leans back, resting on his elbows, and looks up; he can see the Milky Way even through his dark glasses, there is almost no light pollution out here.
Julie sits down next to him and takes off her sling-back heels, letting her toes touch the dewey grass.
"Can you locate the Big Dipper?" he asks her. It's a constellation almost everyone recognizes and she finds it quickly.
He then tells her, "Follow the handle to the cup. If you look upward from the two end stars of the cup, the next bright one is Polaris, the North Star. It's almost directly over the North Pole. That's a way to orient yourself, like when you're at sea."
She easily finds the tip of the Big Dipper, then Polaris. "I see it!" she exclaims and tells him which direction is north.
He smiles, looking toward the north. "You know Polaris is actually two pairs of double stars. I once read that a test of visual acuity for 19th-century sea captains was whether they could resolve Polaris as a double star with their naked eye."
She is touched by his candid interest in the sighted abilities of sea captains. She leans back next to him, now resting on her elbows, and surveys the sky. "We're really looking back into time, aren't we?" she muses. "I mean, they say light travels at a finite speed, so it could take years to reach us. I guess many millions for some of these stars."
"Yeah," Cory agrees, feeling a rush of enthusiasm at her words.
She looks at him earnestly. "So what they're really doing right now out there while we are here, watching them, we can't know. We can only know what the light tells us, when it reaches us."
With a mischievous laugh, she adds, "If little green guys from Betelgeuse are drinking the most stellar wine in the galaxy right now, we won't know about it for a really long time."
"About six hundred and forty years from now."
"By then, they'll already have drunk the last drop of it."
He laughs, delighted by her observation. This beautiful, red-haired wine master who used to live in France has an intuitive grasp of Einstein's theory of special relativity.
He wants to fling off his dark glasses and look straight into her eyes. He wants to point out yellow Saturn and the white binary star Procyon, and the orange giant Arcturus, the constellations of Perseus and Cassiopeia, Draco and Orion. Show her how to find each of them, and talk to her all night about physics, computer vision, the beauty of mathematics, the entire, incredible universe that surrounds them. What is stopping him?
He turns toward her. "There's evidence that the expansion of the universe is speeding up. It's a hot topic right now in theoretical physics. To account for it."
Julie feels an unexpected pang of sadness at his words. Sitting on this hillside tonight, she thinks she understands what star-gazing means to this man, what computers and science must mean to him. He had to give them up when he became blind, it was somehow just too difficult to continue. So he'd found something new, lesser, to pursue. Wine. And yet he cheerfully and generously shares his real interests, his real loves, without bitterness.
The last time she had spread this oilcloth on the grass she was still married to Michel, believing her destiny lay with his famous chateau in Bordeaux. They enjoyed a picnic under olive trees on their property when he and Janine were already irrevocably entangled. But, she didn't know it that day. The pain came later.
But, here the summer night is soft and fragrant and the breeze is dancing, a California breeze, an American one, not French. Next month is her thirtieth birthday. Can she find her way again in her home country, after so many years away?
"You know, I don't even know your name. I know you conceal your identify with your pen name, but I have to confess, I find it a little odd to call you 'The Taster'."
She looks at him, feeling the warmth radiating from his body.
He hesitates for a moment, then tells her, "My friends call me Cory. I'd like it if you did, too." It's the first really honest thing he's told her all evening.
"Cory." She tries it out. "Is that for 'Cornelius'?"
"Yeah."
Their shoulders are just touching. He moves his hand slightly to find hers and encloses it in his own. They sit long minutes without speaking.
She leans her head closer to him and he feels her hair brushing against his neck, the scent of her perfume is deeper, sweeter. He turns his head toward her and their noses touch. then their lips.
It's a feather-light kiss at first, but he kisses her more deeply. It's not Becca's mouth, but it's a sensuous mouth, warm and responsive. Her smooth hands touch his face, his hair, his beard. It feels incredibly good.
"May I take them off?" she whispers between kisses.
"What?"
"Your dark glasses."
Anxiety sweeps over him. "Okay. I'll do it."
Keeping his eyes closed, he removes the glasses and puts them carefully into the breast pocket of his shirt. They are bulky and create a bulge, so he removes them again and puts them on the grass behind him. He keeps his eyes tightly closed.
Beginning again, she touches his closed eyelids gently and kisses them. This is ground zero she's exploring and he is tense.
She senses it. But, they've already kissed, are kissing, and she feels bold enough to express more. "Don't be self-conscious. You're very handsome, you know." She wants to lose herself in the caresses of this deeply intelligent blind man, but what is the tension about? She pulls away gently, looking at him. "What's wrong?"
He needs to explain himself in some way. "It's not you. I just haven't been with anyone, a woman, I mean, since I became-" You pathetic liar.
She laughs softly, empathetically, "It's been a while for me, too, since my divorce."
Putting her arms around him, she whispers with fervent conviction, "You don't have to be alone because of what's happened to you."
He buries his face into her hair, his nostrils filled with its spiced perfume. How did he get into this incredible mess?
"Cory," she whispers amorously.
He pulls her to him and kisses her hair, her neck, her throat. Keep your eyes closed! His fingers find the buttons of her blouse, undoing them. He slides his hands around the bare skin of her waist, her back feels like velvet. He unloosens her bra and feels her unbuttoning his sh
irt. Don't open your eyes! They kiss ardently now, their mouths open and locked together, his hand rapturously closes on her breast, full and round. Keep them closed! She's pulling him down to her, her bare breasts pressing hard against his bare chest. He slides his hands to her hips, they're undoing each other's jeans, pulling them down.
Then he remembers he has no condom with him. He pulls his head up tensely, but she pulls him back to her. "No, I don't want you to stop!"
He begins to kiss her shoulders and breasts again, then exhales in frustration. "I have no protection with me."
Now she stops. "Oh!"
Sighing deeply, she sits up, breathing hard next to him, suddenly wondering if she still has something in her purse. A remnant of her defiant fling with an old friend on the Costa del Sol after she learned of Michel's irreconcilable infidelity.
She finds the little bag resting by her shoes and rummages through it, closing her fingers over a small foil package.
"The other bit of picnic gear." She laughs softly, pressing the little packet into his hand.
He laughs too, eyes closed, as he opens it by feel alone.
They resume what they began, more deliberately at first, a humorous bond between them now. He lays her back against the oilcloth, covering her body with his own.
He dares not open his eyes, but he lets his hands, his mouth, his body, speak for him truthfully. Her sensuality is riveting, consuming, his disguise is unraveling. Her body, and the conscious willing mind that inhabits it, pulse with desire and he rides the rolling, towering waves of ecstasy with her until he no longer cares or knows whether his eyes are open or closed.
Afterward, they lie together, their moist skin cooled by the night breeze. He feels the smooth suppleness of her naked body against him, rising and falling quietly in peaceful breaths. He'd love to look at the form of that body, assess its anatomical beauty with the only sense that was deprived of it tonight.
He thinks that's a bad idea at this point and his eyes are securely closed. She shifts her head against his shoulder and he relishes its warm, heavy weight.
Nagging little worries begin to creep into his mind. Where are the dark glasses? If she finds them in the grass before he does, she'll detect the electronics. Then what?
He doesn't want to find out. He releases her gently and sits up, feeling in the grass alongside him for the glasses. He finds them and puts them on. Safe at home base.
Feeling vulnerable now, Julie sits up and stretches, feigning nonchalance. "Maybe we should start back? It's after two."
"Yeah. Probably a good idea."
She watches him, a little disappointed about the words he didn't say to her, but also curious and amused at the comical sight of him, nude with only a large pair of dark sunglasses on, feeling about for his clothes on a starlit night.
She isn't going to presume what his needs are, but it seems that he feels more naked without those glasses than without his shirt and pants.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
101. On the drive back to the peninsula, Cory and Julie are mostly silent except for Cory's verbal directions for which exits to take. Their abrupt transition from first-time dinner companions to explosive intimacy on a Sonoma hillside has left both of them wondering how to behave.
Except for that occasion on the Costa del Sol, Julie has not had sex with anyone since her divorce from Michel. Until tonight. Did she seem reckless, too forward, to Cory with her nifty little condom ready to go? Maybe he expected something different, because, why all the tension before and after? Is he in love with someone else? He certainly wouldn't talk about that.
She has no idea how long he's been blind, but it hasn't been forever. And he told her he hasn't been with anyone since his blindness.
The very recent memories of an hour ago flood over her again. It was incredible, he was incredible, but something just feels wrong.
The reality of her life comes into focus more clearly with every mile; she's on her own in the world now, not part of a team. No one is making any promises to her, and the ones that were made are now broken.
Cory rides in stunned disconcertedness over what's happened to him. Becca's sharp imprint on his psyche has become vague, amorphous tonight, and it's because of Julie -- a woman he has known for barely twelve hours! But, can he believe it?
And there is his deceit. Like toxic background radiation, he's aware of its signal every time he considers the situation. If he'd shoplifted or cheated on an exam, two things he has never done or considered doing, he wouldn't feel more unsavory than he does right now.
Julie gave herself freely to a man she believes has a tragic story, a man who lost his sight somehow in the prime of his life, and who is bravely going on. with his little wine blog. Jesus.
If she knew the truth, she'd see him as one of those guys in that film, The Wedding Crashers. Is that what he's turned himself into? A con artist praying on a woman's empathy to obtain her sexual favors?
They arrive in front of Cory's house at four o'clock in the morning. He feels the urge to ask her to spend the night with him. They are both exhausted and she still has a drive to Los Altos. Mentally he scans his house; it contains overwhelming evidence that he is not a blind guy, the magazines, the haphazard assortment of wine bottles and blotters strewn about the living room and kitchen. She'd know in a second.
He isn't ready to confront this tonight. Or maybe ever. It's time to say goodbye.
He doesn't trust where a kiss would lead at this point, so he touches her arm and gives her a small smile. "Hey, thanks a lot for the ride. I really had an amazing time tonight."
She looks at him, determined to keep it friendly, casual. She knows he isn't going to ask her to stay. It's more proof that the significance of this evening was one thing, not something else. Accept it and move on.
"Me, too," she replies quietly, sincerely. "Shall I walk you to your door?"
She's too good for that. "I know my way around here pretty well. But, thanks."
He gets out and turns toward the car to tell her, "I'm glad we made it to Salud's. And the tasting today."
"Lots of good wine for sure," she adds, unable to keep a tiny note of cynicism from coloring her reply.
She watches him move carefully along his walkway to the front stoop. She notices flickering light coming from his house, like a television. Is there someone in there? Is that why he didn't invite her in?
As he opens his front door she begins to drive away, painfully aware of how rejected she feels.
Once inside, Cory removes his dark glasses and sees Rob and Snoots asleep on his couch, Rob with one foot resting on the floor, and Snoots with one hind leg dangling over the couch's edge.
The dog looks up, sees Cory, and slides off the couch sleepily. He stretches, kicking each back leg out in turn, and comes over to greet him.
The television is on, tuned to a female wrestling match. It's the only thing emitting light in the room. Cory peeks out the window to see if Julie's car is gone. It is, so he switches on a light in the kitchen.
Rob stirs, sits up and rubs his eyes. He switches off the TV. "Hey, Core."
"I didn't know you'd be here. Sorry to wake you up."
"I felt like hanging out with Snoots. I guess I fell asleep."
Cory pets his dog, ruffling his fur. He flops down in the easy chair, taking off the wired sneakers. "Hey, thanks a bunch for bringing him back. You get Dawn home okay?"
Rob looks down, shaking his head.
Concern crosses Cory's face. "What, Rob?"
Rob sighs resignedly. "That winemaker dude was all over her at the bar. After you left." Rob comes over and pets Snoots, now sitting devotedly by his master's side. "She seemed to like it."
Cory looks puzzled. "The vintner from Two Ravens?" Rob nods and Cory appraises him; the guy looks miserable. "Did you eat anything? How about I make you some scrambled eggs?"
"Sure, thanks." Rob is suddenly very hungry. He didn't eat much at the reception, and he ate one candy bar since then. H
e remembered to feed Snoots, though; the dog happily devoured a bowl of kibble with a scoop of canned dog food on top when they got back to the house.
Cory goes to the kitchen, opens the refrigerator and pulls out an egg carton. He grabs a mixing bowl and starts breaking eggs into it. Anxiety floods his mind; has Dawn inadvertently disclosed their secret to Toby Rovati?
Rob is wandering around the living room aimlessly.
"Want coffee?" Cory asks him.
Rob considers this. "Got any whiskey?"
"Fuck yeah."
Cory walks into his dining area and grabs a bottle of Balvenie Doublewood 12-year-old single malt scotch off a shelf. He carries the bottle with two snifters back to the kitchen and pours two stiff drinks.
Rob is now slouched on a kitchen stool and Cory hands him one of the snifters. They clink glasses and each takes a long swallow of the smoky-flavored golden liquid. Cory resumes his preparation of the scrambled eggs.
Rob looks on, growing hungrier. "How was dinner?"
"We sat with a bunch of wine geeks from San Francisco, magazine writers. Todd French was there, too. He's pretty full of himself. We did drink excellent wine."
"Yeah, but how was the wine babe? Julie."
Cory gets very focused on the eggs. "Nice." Rob deserves a little more than that. "I was nervous about meeting those wine masters. But she's really unpretentious and sophisticated, really knows her stuff. I felt like I could be myself around her. Except I couldn't be. I'm blind, I can't know she's gorgeous, I can't flag a waiter." He sighs. "I had to let her read the menu to me. Jesus, Rob, I was such a phony." In more ways than I'm going to explain right now.
Rob takes another swallow of his whiskey. He won't probe, but he's happy that Becca isn't the only woman now on Cory's radar. "This thing is getting out of control, isn't it."
"Getting? I'd better figure out what crimes I committed yesterday. Intent to deceive? That's a crime, right?"
Rob shakes his head. "If it is, no one could run for public office."
Cory laughs as he gives the eggs a turn in the skillet and puts thick slices of bread in the toaster. "What about escorting a service dog under false pretense on the premises of a business? Plagiarizing the analyses of another species?"
Blind Tasting Page 20