“It’s not rocket science,” he said. “Felipe does the hardest part. You seem entirely capable.”
I nodded, letting it all sink in. “I mean, it’s really up to her,” I said. “What she wants to do.” I had a feeling, though, that if Everett were to tell Linda that she was free to leave, she would go. Seeing her at the sound check the night before, the way she sparkled with Jackson, it was intense.
“True,” he said. “I’ll tell her about the hotel idea before I tell her she should follow her dream. Maybe the idea would change things. Who knows?”
“Who knows,” I said.
“I’m just a tired old man, though. What are you doing up here with me, getting all weepy? Get back to your party,” he said. “I’ll just listen from up here.”
“But . . . ,” I said.
“Go,” he said.
“Okay,” I said. I tried to pat him on the shoulder, but he grabbed my hand instead.
“Thank you,” he said.
“Thank you,” I said, and headed back down to the cottage. “Can I take Tannin with me down to the tasting room? I need him for some social media.”
“If he’ll go,” he said.
“I’ll carry him,” I said, knowing how loyal he was to Everett.
* * *
—
The day went along relatively smoothly: The weather warmed up, the sun came out, the office phone was ringing with people asking about the event. I hung out in the office answering calls, giving details. I regretted not charging a higher ticket price. Maybe we could have even made money. It was the first of many events, and now I was developing an e-mail list of local people I could go back to with more fun happenings. It was, after all, an investment in the future of the winery. I had a tiny suspicion that part of the popularity had to do with Everett’s accident; it had made the local newspaper (there wasn’t a lot of local news in Sonoma). And it was also possible that there was nosy-neighbor interest because Linda and Jackson had dated in high school, or just an honest interest in a night out drinking wine and listening to the best homegrown jazz the county had to offer. Celeste assured me that it was the latter, but the gossip in me couldn’t help but think it was the two former.
I set Tannin up in the tasting room, where the wine and the band were already set up, and sent out some party-day Instagrams and tweets, hoping it looked more glamorous than it felt. I texted the photos to Everett, so that he could see what we were doing. I also texted them to Gillian and Duncan. Duncan texted back, “Cool dog,” and Gillian texted back a bitmoji of herself dancing. Those two always cheered me up.
I unfurled heavy tablecloths, arranged chairs, and even pitched in to clean a bathroom that I didn’t know existed behind the tasting room. It looked like it hadn’t been visited in years, but at around noon on the day of the party, I had realized there was no place to go to the bathroom other than in the office. And being that the office was in complete chaos, that would be a bad idea. I decided not to post photos of the newly cleaned bathroom, but I did veer a bit into the personal by posting a photo of my sparkly dress and black heels laid out in my room. The Tadashi Shoji dress was one that I’d bought in New York at one of the many sample sales I had frequented in my budget-conscious days there. It had always been sexy, if a bit snug, so I knew it would look good after Celeste’s compliment from the morning. I looked at myself in the mirror and decided to take a selfie in addition to the dress laid out. I looked good and I felt like flaunting it. All I wrote as a caption was “#livingthedream.”
CHAPTER 20
I headed down to the tasting room to check it out before it was filled with people. I loved a party before a party. After the setup but before the onslaught of partygoers. I had to admit that Celeste and I had arranged it beautifully, and Everett agreed. He texted back to my photos, “Looks gorgeous, kid.”
I had put a hand-lettered sign behind the bar that read FIRST FRIDAYS AT BELLOSGUARDO, and even though the idea about the history of the winery had been kind of spur-of-the-moment, a social media idea, really it stuck with me. I had pulled the history from the website as Linda had written it and had placed little centerpieces created from empty wine bottles around the room on the high snack tables that we had rented. Each one was surrounded by the wildflowers that grew outside the front entrance to the tasting room. Each bottle had a little sign around its neck that I had hand-lettered, detailing a moment in the winery’s history—its founding, its first gold medal, the year of the founding of the wine club, the year of the first rosé. I walked the periphery of the room, straightening and resetting. Everything looked perfect. I loved the idea of the history of the winery on the little signs, and the bottles they were on (mostly) corresponded to the years that the signs indicated. They didn’t have a bottle from the year that the winery was founded, but they did have one from the one-hundredth-anniversary year, so I had used that instead.
I told the servers to put the food on the bar and to hang out near the periphery until folks started to arrive. I stationed one of the servers near the door with a cashbox to sell day-of tickets and an iPad to verify the prepaid ones.
Jackson was early as well, and he and his band walked in as I was instructing the servers. He introduced me to York, the drummer, who was resetting the drums and grumbling about how Jackson had set them up the day before during the sound check. Kenny waved at me as he warmed up his trumpet.
“I think this is going to be big, Hannah,” Jackson said. “I’ve heard people talking about it all over town.”
I beamed. “You think so? I really hope so. We’ve sold about one hundred tickets, and the phone has been ringing all day. I hope we get a hundred and fifty people. Wouldn’t that be great?”
“It would,” he said.
I went back to the office and brought out bagged lunches that I had requested for the band after Rory finished prepping. “I made you some sandwiches,” I said. “Not that you won’t get to eat during the party, but just in case. I had the chef make them special.” I put the bags on top of the low speaker.
“Thanks!” York said between drum hits.
“And of course have as much wine as you want. I also have some beer stashed somewhere if you want that.”
“We’re a Sonoma jazz band,” Kenny said. “We drink wine.”
Jackson laughed. “I’ll take a beer, thank you very much.”
“Well then, me too,” Kenny said. York raised one drumstick and I ducked behind the bar to get them the beer I had purchased just for this purpose. They were doing me a huge favor by playing for food and tips, so I wanted to make sure they at least were fed and watered.
Behind the bar, I made sure that we had plenty of steel-cask Chardonnay chilled for the evening and put out some glasses for initial pours. The bartender, of course, hadn’t arrived yet, but he didn’t have to do anything except open corks and pour wine, so it’s not like he needed to prep anything. I was trying not to be nervous. I tweeted a photo of the band setting up and another of the empty wineglasses. “Tix still avail for #FirstFriday at @Bellosguardo. See you there!”
* * *
—
Linda hadn’t come down yet and guests were starting to arrive, so I pulled a bottle of sparkling rosé from the office, grabbed some glasses, and went up to her room in the house. I wanted her to see how beautiful the tasting room looked before it was overrun with people. I sheepishly knocked on her door. It took a moment, but she came to open it wearing a full-body slip and black kitten heels, her hair half-up in clips in the midst of straightening.
“I was worried that you weren’t going to come,” I said. “So I brought you some liquid courage.” I popped open the bottle and poured her a drink. I handed it to her and she took a long sip with her eyes closed. When she finished, she looked at me and smiled.
“Thank you. That was just what I needed,” she said. “I just haven’t gotten dressed like this in a long time. I thi
nk I’d been wearing those leggings every day for a year.”
“You look great so far,” I said. She did. The slip was slimming and she’d already put on makeup. It looked like she knew how to contour. Maybe I needed to get makeup lessons from her.
“Thanks,” she said.
The master bedroom was a bit more modern than the room Everett was staying in. The four-poster bed was not ornately carved, but just simple wood beams. There was a tufted settee, but it was a light linen rather than brocade. In Linda’s dressing room (oh, how I would kill for a dressing room), she had a simple silver mirrored vanity and a wall of white cabinetry that made up her closet. It was relatively bare, though. She hadn’t filled the shoe shelves with shoes she wouldn’t wear. There were just a few pairs of ergonomic Clarks, some sneakers, a few pairs of sensible heels.
“I’m excited for the party,” she said. “But also nervous. I haven’t seen a lot of these people in a long time.”
“You looked at the RSVPs?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said. “Lots of people from the area, old friends. It’s not quite like a wedding . . .”
“Well,” I said. “You’ll look fabulous for it.”
“My dress is hanging in the bathroom,” she said as she finished flatironing her hair. “Can you get it for me?”
I walked through the dressing room to the marble bath. This was entirely modern. Marble floors, walls, and countertops. A glassed-in shower with two showerheads. We could charge 500 dollars a night for this suite. Maybe even 750 dollars in peak times. Her dress hung behind the door and it was perfect. Red silk, A-line, with an empire waist and sleeves gathered at the shoulders. It would hide any flaws but be sexy nonetheless. I brought it back in to her.
“This is perfect,” I said.
“I bought it a few months ago,” she said. “It was going to be the dress I wore on the day I left. I called it my blaze-of-glory dress.”
“I like that,” I said.
“Everett called me in today,” she said as she whisked a last bit of powder over her nose. She stood up and put her arms in the air, and I settled the dress over her.
“Wow,” I said as it fell around her. “It’s even better than perfect. You’ll be the belle of the ball.”
“Thanks,” she said, blushing a little.
“Well, it is your winery,” I said.
She nodded; her face looked a bit mournful.
“What did Everett say?” I asked.
“He told me about what it felt like to almost die. And how that had changed his outlook. On happiness and living in the moment. He apologized. For a lot of things. I apologized. He said I should leave if I wanted. But he also told me about your idea for the inn.”
“And?” I asked. “What do you think?”
“It’s a great idea,” she said. “This old house is so wasted with just us knocking around in it. We barely even use it. And, it’s been, well, too quiet. We’ve let it go. We should share it.”
“It’s such an amazing house,” I said.
“Anyway,” she said. “I think I am going to go away for a little while. I don’t want you to be surprised when I do. I might come back, help with the inn. But I don’t think I can be married to Everett anymore. Or tied to this place. I told him he could have everything. I just need a little bit of money to live on, and he agreed. And we agreed it could be temporary. Or permanent. We could decide together.” There was a little tear in her eye. But I could tell she didn’t want to let it flow, mostly because it would ruin her makeup.
“That sounds very mature,” I said.
“It does, doesn’t it?” she said. “I guess at some point along the way I accidentally became a grown-up.”
I gave her a hug, trying not to muss her hair. “Well,” I said, “I guess you have a date to get to, then.”
“I guess I do,” she said, giggling a little.
We headed down to the party, and I tried not to think about how much everything was going to change.
* * *
—
We entered through the office, coming into the room behind the bar. And the room was full. The music was playing, a tune that sounded like a jazzed-up version of “California Dreamin’.” The bartender looked harried, opening bottles as fast as he could.
“This is amazing,” Linda said, grabbing my arm. “It’s never been this full.”
“I love it,” I said. I asked the bartender if she needed help, but she shooed me away.
So Linda and I entered the fray of the party.
The servers came up to us immediately, offering us pork sliders and salmon tartare on cucumber slices. But we weren’t hungry. Instead, we wove through the party listening to snippets of conversation.
“Did you see her dress?”
“. . . food is fantastic, not a hint of butter.”
“. . . love that song.”
“. . . sad what happened to Everett . . .”
“Did you know this place has been around . . .”
It felt like everyone in Sonoma had come. I looked around at the people dancing and snacking and drinking and imagined full sit-down dinners and charging people 150 dollars a seat. I envisioned bringing in top chefs from San Francisco and Los Angeles, installing them in the cottage and inviting the crème de la crème of Sonoma and Napa, even Seattle, Los Angeles, for a night of dining and dancing. Having them rave about the wines. Bringing cases back to their respective homes. Word of mouth could be a slow process. But somehow, word had spread and the tasting room was filled with energy. And for that I was thankful. I hoped Linda was too.
* * *
—
When the band took a break, I split off from Linda to check in with Celeste. We watched as Jackson, wearing all black and a cowboy hat, strode across the room in what looked like two steps and leaned against the bar. We inched closer, pretending to reset the bottles to hear what they were saying. It wouldn’t have mattered if we had walked right up to them, though, because they didn’t see anything except each other.
“You look amazing,” he said, his eyes twinkling behind rimless glasses.
“Oh, this old thing?” Linda beamed.
He touched her hand and said, “This will be fun. Can I have a dance during the next break?”
“Only if you play a song that I like,” she said.
“I’ve got it all queued up,” he said.
“Wow,” Celeste said when they separated. “That was intense.”
“Yeah,” I said. I didn’t tell her what I knew about Linda. It was none of her business.
* * *
—
When the music started again, I faded to the back of the room, stood behind one of the snack tables, and watched the crowd. I took a mental photo of the room. I had made this happen. I wanted to keep it forever. A number of people were dancing; some were leaving; some were coming. The food seemed to be circulating in the proper amounts. I couldn’t quite tell how many people were in the room, but it was at least sixty, maybe even seventy. I declared myself a success and took a sip of the sparkling wine that the bartender had poured for me earlier in the evening but that I had been absently carrying as a prop ever since. It was a little bit warmer than I wanted it to be, but I also didn’t want to make my way back through the crowd to get another one. I sipped slowly and felt my brain relax. I hadn’t realized how stressed I had been about the night until just this moment, as the stress lifted. I had done a good job. This was what they had hired me for, and I was doing it. I hadn’t one hundred percent believed in myself at the beginning, but here was evidence that I had done something to change the winery. I was basking in my own glory when I felt a tap on my shoulder. Standing behind me was Ethan. My stomach plummeted and my hands became immediately sweaty.
“What are you doing here?” I stammered.
“Surprised?” he said.
I raised my eyebrows and tried not to clench my jaw. “Pretty much,” I said.
“I tried to call and tell you I was coming,” he said. I had noticed a few missed calls from him on my phone yesterday, but I had been too busy with the sound check and dog photo shoots to answer.
“It’s been crazy,” I said.
“It’s great,” he said. “I wanted to talk to you. And for once I knew where you would be.”
“Can it wait until after the party?” I asked. “You can go up to the cottage if you’re tired. They’re using the kitchen for food prep, but you can do work in the bedroom if you need.”
“I came all this way,” he said, starting to get heated.
“I know, but I didn’t ask you to do that.”
“Hannah . . . ,” he pleaded.
“I’ll get you a good bottle of wine from the back.” I gestured toward the office.
“That’s not why I came here,” he said.
I gritted my teeth and said in a loud whisper, “Ethan.”
He could see that I was getting angry. “Okay, okay. I’ll hang out for a while,” he said, took a glass of wine off a passing tray, and disappeared into the crowd.
* * *
—
Celeste came over to me, drinking the sparkling rosé. “What a great party,” she said.
“The food is a hit,” I said, still shaken by the interaction with Ethan. I could feel my voice wavering, tears just behind my eyes. But Celeste didn’t notice. She was basking in the party too.
“My pleasure,” she said. “I just wanted friends I knew to go into business together.”
“Is Thunder here?”
“Looking gorgeous,” Celeste said.
“Show me,” I said. “My maybe ex-boyfriend is here. Was here. But now he’s disappeared.”
Celeste pointed to an extremely tall bald man wearing a suit that looked like it was made for him. Perfect pinstripes.
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