He is no longer smiling. He looks straight across the room at Joe. "What is this? A joke?"
The room is deathly quiet. No one moves.
Leonard points at his third glass. "From its nose, I, too, would say cabernet sauvignon. A damn good one. But the mouth! It's downright skunky. It's horrible. It's not corked, but it's really skunky." He shakes his head in disgusted contempt.
Joe Trella is so appalled he is speechless.
Cory's mind races to a terrible conclusion. He glances toward Toby and sees the fury in the man's face. He turns back toward Leonard. "May I have that glass of wine? The one you just tasted."
"Be my guest." He places the glass in Cory's outstretched hand.
Cory takes a sip. It is indeed skunky, contaminated.
He turns toward the assembled audience. "This wine is tainted. It's quite different from the wine in my glass."
A number of omigods are emitted from the shocked wine lovers assembled there.
Joe rushes over to Cory and takes the glass from him, tries the wine and spits it out in disgust, just making the bucket. He shakes his head incredulously. "What in god's name has been done to this superb 2004 Sente cabernet sauvignon?"
Cory is certain now. He doesn't even think about what he's going to do next. He looks at Joe. "That glass was intended for me, not for Leonard."
Joe now stares at Cory with hard, unfriendly eyes.
"Let me illustrate something." Cory looks toward the floor. "Snoots! Here, boy."
The dog's ears perk up at his master's voice and he gets up and stands beside Cory's stool, wagging his tail, wondering what the game plan is now.
Cory offers the dog his own third wine glass, the untainted cabernet. Snoots sniffs it without great interest. He lowers his muzzle over Cory's shoes and nudges the same southeast spot on the right sneaker that he'd pressed just minutes ago.
Leonard has been watching this and is baffled, but intrigued.
Cory then takes Leonard's third glass and offers it to Snoots, who sniffs it with great interest, ears and tail up. He shoves his nose into the large tulip-shaped bowl for a better sampling.
"Whatever is in that glass apparently has just the right touch for a dog's palate," remarks Leonard, suddenly amused by the situation.
There is a relieved burst of laughter from the gathered crowd. But, Joe is not smiling.
Cory quietly stands up and turns to face the assembled audience. He takes a deep breath and pauses for a moment. Just do it.
"I need to say something. First, I really do love wine. I've tried to learn about it, explore it. I've truly enjoyed the wines of this region, for example. Zinfandels from Sonoma may be my favorites. But, I am not someone with Leonard Pillar's extraordinary palate. And I never will be."
There is not a sound from anyone and there is no turning back. He crouches down next to Snoots, and puts an arm around him. "This guy actually is, though."
Joe is no longer pale, he's red. Toby's expression has turned to sullen vindication.
Cory stands up and continues. "My real name is Edward Cornelius Wilder. I go by Cory. I'm a computer scientist and I did research for a startup in Menlo Park. Then, because the startup went in a direction I didn't believe in, I quit. I do theoretical work in computer vision and I didn't want to spend my time optimizing ad throughput for web sites, or developing infrastructure for social networking applications. So, with time on my hands, I got curious one evening about whether I could train my dog to identify different wines. Dogs have amazing noses, far more discriminating and sensitive than our human noses. Maybe even a million times more.”
Dawn is watching him with her arms drawn around herself, cocoon-like.
Cory speaks more assertively now. "So I devised a training program for him, loosely based on some of the adaptive techniques I read about in animal behavior studies and canine scent-imprinting instruction manuals. Even so, I worked with him for months. But now, for example, Snoots can recognize that two tiny drops of wine are both from the same 2004 single-sourced cabernet sauvignon from Sente. He made that call just a little while ago right here. And he can make these identifications in seconds, not minutes or hours. Even more interesting, he can recognize close similarities between different wines."
Todd French gives an involuntary gasp of dismay.
Cory shrugs with a smile. "That's the whole strategy of my blog, Blind Tasting. Snoots detected the close similarity between a vintage from a tiny, under-appreciated winery up in Dry Creek and a highly regarded cult zinfandel from the award-winning winemaker, Todd French. Those of you who read Blind Tasting know what I'm talking about. All of my calls were actually made by Snoots."
Someone in the crowd yells, "Good dog, Snoots!" There is another burst of laughter that momentarily relieves the tension.
Cory holds up Leonard's glass. "Someone put a chemical, probably some kind of animal scent, in this glass, because they wanted to out me, to show that I wasn't a real wine master. They apparently suspected that Snoots was making the calls and they were right. An animal scent would be a smart move. It would be an effective way to disrupt the signals that a dog was trained to pick up on, something more interesting for him to lock on to."
Cory removes his dark glasses and looks around the room, with his wide-set brown, 20-20-vision eyes. For a moment they look straight at Julie; her face is a frozen stare.
"As you can see, I'm not blind. It was just a ruse so Snoots could be with me at the tasting."
He holds up the glasses. "I wired these with communication devices. When Snoots is offered a small wine sample on my finger, he tries to find a close match to it among other tiny wine samples that are doped into my shoes. I only need a drop of wine for each control."
Cory points toward his sneakers. "If he finds a match, he presses a tiny sensor located just below the drop of his chosen wine. That action transmits a signal to these glasses, via Bluetooth, and information relevant to that wine -- for example, its winery, the vintage’s year, the varietal -- is then displayed on a small LCD inside the glasses as text for me to read."
Leonard looks incredulously at him. "Holy shit."
Cory looks at Leonard, then back at the crowd, then straight at Toby. "I know this sounds like some con or rip-off, but it is neither. This dog can really make these identifications. It's revolutionary."
He's done. There is total silence in the room.
Then Leonard shakes his head, smiling good-naturedly. "I'll be damned. I've always been a dog lover. Now I know another reason why."
Appreciative, relieved laughter from the crowd suddenly lightens the mood of the room. Then, tentative applause slowly builds into steady, heartfelt applause. The photographers start taking pictures.
Joe looks at his assembled guests who have each paid three hundred dollars to witness this. He feels as though he just dodged a bullet.
Leonard, still dumbfounded, turns to Cory. "So how, what made you believe you could actually teach him to do this?"
"I'm a geek," Cory replies, smiling at him. "It was an interesting technical challenge."
A Bay Area reporter approaches, her photographer right behind. "Does he actually drink the wine?" she fires off at Cory.
"No, he just smells it." Cory lets the photographer take a close-up of Snoots.
"We'd like to do an interview with you. With the dog."
Cory is suddenly surrounded by reporters.
Joe assesses the general atmosphere, it's going to be all right. The dog story will override whatever was going on with Leonard's wine. Joe isn't sure he likes the dog story, he'll need to think about it, the implications. Is Toby involved? That will have to wait, too.
Joe begins to shepherd people toward the terrace for the catered buffet. His assistants are quickly refilling the wine glasses of the guests, many of whom are already snapping pictures with their smartphones and texting and tweeting the hot news at Trella to envious friends unable to secure tickets to the first-ever Pillar tasting.
Dawn, s
eeing that Cory is the center of attention at the moment, walks over to Toby, who is still sitting at the far end of the bar.
Her blue eyes flash as she delivers her thoughts to him. "I know this was your prank, so don't even bother to confess. I'm sure Cory has figured it out, too. He's damn smart, you know. And, I'd say he let you off the hook just now. But, he's a gentleman."
Toby's dark eyes look unflinchingly into hers and he nods, approvingly. "Impressive stunt. I didn't appreciate just how impressive until today."
His eyes narrow a little, but stay focused on her. He shakes his head. "But, you weren't honest with me. Don't get on your high horse."
"Because I didn't disclose our trade secret?"
"Why not admit the dog was doing this from the beginning? Did you think you'd never get caught? I saw Cory walking him without that harness the night I dropped you off. Just by chance. Did you ever consider where this little game was leading? The harm it might inflict?"
Dawn looks more deeply into his eyes. "It wasn't a game, Toby. It was a quest, to understand something not known, not well-defined. Until we explored it. I wish you could understand that. We never meant any harm to anyone."
She leaves the bar and walks past two young couples who are contemplating the wine in their glasses. One of the women, wearing a designer mini dress, holds up her glass. "I like the mouth." She takes another sip. "It's like musk."
Her male companion, dressed in a silk Italian shirt, swirls his glass. "Skunky!"
They all laugh and repeat the word. Skunky.
Chapter Fifty-One
Trella Terrace. Cory works his way through a crush of curious people who have all sorts of questions for him and want to pet Snoots, who is basking in the attention. Cory spots Denis at one end of the buffet chatting with Linda and goes over to him.
"Have you seen Julie?" Cory hopes he's still welcome here.
Denis gives him an inscrutable smile. He'd made a point of observing any interaction between Julie and Cory today and when Cory made his speech, she clearly was shocked and unhappy. He saw her leave. That's enough for Denis; he doesn't owe this guy a thing and he wants to protect Julie from more disappointments with men.
"She left a while ago. Had some other engagement."
Cory nods, defeated. He can't ask Denis for more information. But, he can't let Julie just disappear without hearing an explanation, an apology, from him.
Denis turns amiably back to Linda, focused wholly on her and Cory knows he has been dismissed. It's time to go. He looks for Dawn and encounters Leonard.
"So, what now? Leonard asks him. “How does all this change Blind Tasting?"
"I don't know. Maybe I'll put a jpeg of Snoots on the main page. And an offer to refund everyone's PayPal charges. Including yours."
Leonard laughs, shaking his head. "Hell, I'd say you've earned every one of those."
He places a hand on Cory's shoulder, almost paternally. "The calls were good. I don't care whether a man made them or a dog. The wine is all that ultimately matters.”
His face grows more serious as he looks at Cory. "But, what you've done, accomplished, could change things."
It's over. They're on 101 heading south, Dawn at the wheel with Cory next to her. Snoots is stretched out in the back, enjoying the whole seat for himself.
Dawn sighs. "I misjudged Toby big time."
"He was really sharp to figure out that doping wine glasses would work. He just couldn't control where Leonard decided to sit."
"It's sort of my fault,"
"So you told him?"
"Never. He talked about his hunting dogs and wondered why they rolled in skunk scent when it's such a deterrent. So, I sketched a couple of damn benzene rings on a napkin to illustrate the differences between attractant and deterrent. Maybe that gave him ideas."
Cory gives her a wicked smile. "Benzene rings? Wow, who knew biochemists used such kinky pickup routines in bars."
She takes one hand off the steering wheel to jab his shoulder. "Did you find Julie?" she asks him, more serious now.
"No. She left."
"You need to find her, Cory.'
"Yeah."
He pulls out his iPhone and punches her address into the Google maps application; he already knows it from matching her phone number in a People search. The application pops a red pin down on the map to mark the location on Telegraph Hill.
"Why don't you just call her?"
"Because, there's a good chance she won't answer if she sees my number."
"Then I'm driving you there right now."
"I feel like I'm stalking her," he says, unhappily.
"You want to just forget it?"
"No." Cory lets out a breath of frustration.
"What's our exit? For the city."
San Francisco. Dawn is tense in the Saturday evening traffic. Normally, she never drives here. It's an incredible effort on her part, a gesture of how much Cory's friendship means to her. They are on Geary Street and a taxi rushes by, inches away. She winces, clutching the wheel.
"Want me to drive?" Cory offers, seeing the anxiety in her face.
"No. If I leave you here, I still have to get myself home. Might as well get used to it now."
"I don't even know if she's home."
Dawn brakes abruptly as a car cuts in front of her.
Snoots is now sitting up, a little uncomfortable with the jerky moves.
Cory shows Dawn where to pull over to drop him off. He'll have to walk up steps on foot the rest of the way to Julie's apartment on Telegraph Hill.
He puts a hand back over the seat to stroke Snoots, who is curious about what his pack is up to. Cory turns back to Dawn. "Don't wait for me. Just get yourself back on 101 South, following the signs. Can you take Snoots for the night? Will you really be okay with the driving?"
"Yes, but what are you saying? I'll wait. Call me on my cell when you know what's going on."
"Dawn, I need some time alone to think. If Julie isn't around maybe I'll go listen to some music, walk along the Embarcadero. I'm feeling pretty disconnected."
She looks at him, protectively, nodding. "Okay."
She suddenly gives him a hug. "Be careful, Cory. Don't wander the streets here late at night deep inside your thoughts. Do your thinking from a nice hotel room, promise?"
He looks at her fondly. "Yeah. Here's my key. Just drop him at my place in the morning. Be a good boy, Snoots. Drive carefully, Dawn, and try to stay relaxed."
She gives a snort of derision at that remark. Then she's off.
He turns and begins his ascent up Telegraph Hill.
Chapter Fifty-Two
Telegraph Hill. Cory takes in the elegant, garden-like neighborhood surrounding him. He admires the tall spacious windows and the entryways decorated with large Italian pottery full of expensive greenery, and he reflects on the affluence displayed here. Julie lives here, probably surrounded by wealthy, sophisticated neighbors, some of them successful single guys who like wine and surely wouldn't fail to notice Julie.
The address he wants is tucked back along a narrow brick walkway. It's a single-story stucco building, nestled in climbing green vines and fragrant, low-hanging cyprus branches. There is light coming through windows and he can faintly hear music. He recognizes it, Bach's Goldberg Variations performed electronically.
His first reaction to the light and sound is enthusiasm; it means she's home. But, what if she's not alone? What if he's interrupting something? Jealousy suddenly courses through him and he forces logic back to the foreground of his thoughts. He's here to offer an apology to her. He lied to her and he isn't going to just leave it at that. He knocks decisively on the front door.
Light fills the entryway as the front door opens. There she is, her hair tied back in a blue kerchief, dressed in a man's blue work shirt, faded jeans with paint spatters on them and old tennis shoes. She's resting one hand on the door, the other hand is holding two artist's paint brushes. The Bach is much louder with the door open.
&n
bsp; She looks at him without speaking. It's clear she is surprised to see him here.
His eyes take in her curved lips, high cheekbones, her dark brows above the discerning, green eyes. He's trying to find his words, how he'll begin. The realness of seeing her right now makes his head swim.
He looks straight into her eyes. "I came to apologize. I'm really sorry about the deception."
She looks at him silently.
He continues to explain himself. "Your number was on my cellphone and I found your address from that." He's beginning to feel idiotic, but he can't stop talking. "I thought of calling you, but I was worried you might not answer, so I came in person. I really do need to apologize, Julie." There. It's out.
"I'm pretty mad at you." Her voice is calm, soft.
"Yeah, you should be."
"Well, you're here now. Why don't you come in." A little touch of ice now in her voice.
He wonders if he should leave. He goes inside.
They are in her living room. It's sparsely furnished with a simple leather couch and low Japanese table. Large floor pillows, some green, some blue, are the only other seating. A good quality Persian carpet covers an area of the hardwood floor. A very large, abstract oil painting hangs above the couch.
He notices the paint brushes in her hand. "Did you paint that?"
"No. Would you like some wine?" She glances at him, heading for her kitchen.
He despairs over her polite formality. "Not tonight, thanks."
She stands there, waiting.
"Julie, I came here to see you."
"And who are you tonight? If you don't mind me asking."
She really is mad. "I'm Cory. I've always been Cory." It comes out a little defiantly, probably not good.
They are both standing in the living room, frozen to their spots. She studies him from her spot, determined to keep the lid on all of the raging, conflicting feelings roiling inside her.
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