Chapter Five
I was grateful when Kate Wembley from Tributary agreed to take the hour-and-a-half drive from LA to Ojai to meet with me at one of my family’s most illustrious properties. A little over six years ago, my parents opened the first of what would be many EVERLY Bed-and-Breakfasts, restoring a crumbling ten-thousand-square-foot, fourteen-room Queen Anne Victorian home into a luxurious B and B complete with the eclectic modern touches they were famous for, while also carefully preserving the home’s original features. People came from far and wide to spend a weekend immersed in the Everly lifestyle, enjoying the farm-to-table food, wellness classes, and wine tastings.
I finished helping Mom set up the displays of Lemon’s new EVERLYbody Matcha Green Tea Powder Enemas and hurried over to the dining room to meet Kate, who was already at a table in the back corner. She waved me over to where she was sitting and sprang out of her seat to greet me as soon as I got closer.
Kate could have easily been mistaken for one of my sisters, and it seemed more than a few people in the dining room thought she was, snapping pics of us on their iPhones. Like the rest of the Everly girls, she was sun-glossed with long blonde hair and big doe eyes. She seemed to embrace the effortless California vibe, wearing a crisp white tee and loose army-green trousers, a denim jacket hanging around her narrow shoulders.
“I have so been looking forward to meeting you,” Kate gushed, settling back down into her chair.
A server came by to take our order. “I’ll take a green tea,” Kate said. “What about you? Same?”
I thought back to the mountain of matcha enemas I just unboxed in the boutique. “Water’s great, thank you.”
Kate leaned in to the table. “I cannot tell you how thrilled I was when my assistant told me you agreed to take this meeting. We’ve run through a litany of celebrity names to attach to this project, but I wanted you from the start. Your long-standing relationship with the television audience makes you the perfect lens. At Tributary, we want to elevate the reality TV genre beyond competitions and manufactured wedding proposals. We want to showcase the real you—the you the world hasn’t met yet.” Kate propped her elbows on the table and rested her chin on her hands. “To put it plainly, we want to give you a voice. Your voice. I mean, who is Plum Everly, anyway? Is she the baby of a wildly successful family? Is she Rhys Braun’s ex-girlfriend? Is she a shallow fame whore? You want to know what I think? I think you are so much more than what this effed-up industry has allowed you to be. Let us help you tell your story the way you want to tell it.”
Who is Plum Everly?Now, that was a question I wasn’t even sure I could answer at the moment. Who the hell was Plum Everly? I certainly didn’t know. But the fact that this was the first time I’d ever heard a show’s production team mention any interest in getting to see the real me versus getting me to play the role they cast me in was already a welcomed breath of fresh air. Maybe this was exactly the opportunity I needed to put Rhys and the past behind me and figure out who I was and what the hell I wanted once and for all.
The server came by and set down our drinks and two menus on the table. “Can I get you ladies anything else?” he asked. “The carrot ginger soup with curried raisin relish is positively divine.”
Kate wrinkled her nose. “I’m more of an In-N-Out Burger kind of gal, if you know what I mean.”
“I know exactly what you mean.” I motioned for the server to come a bit closer to the table. “Hey, can you ask Frank if he can whip up two Plum Specials?”
The server winked at me. “You got it.”
“Plum Specials?” Kate asked.
I lowered my voice so no other patrons could hear me. “I’m not really a fan of the organic, whole grain, dairy-free, vegan fare around these parts. Frank, one of the chefs, keeps some real food on hand for me. I ordered us two burgers with crispy bacon and a side of fries.”
“Bless you,” she whispered back. “Oh, can we get a glass or two of your house white?” she called out to the waiter.
“Don’t do the white,” I instructed and turned to him. “We’ll take the house red.” He nodded and shuffled off. As soon as he was out of earshot, I leaned in to Kate and admitted, “Even though it seems like anything with the EVERLY logo slapped on it is an instant bestseller, the white wine’s still a bit of a work in progress. Dad’s been interviewing for a new vintner.”
Kate and I talked for the next three hours. She told me about how she dreamed of a career in the entertainment industry since she was a little girl in Appleton, Wisconsin. She confessed to watching EVERLYday religiously as a kid, even telling her parents she wanted to change her name to Clementine and join our family.
Kate was a few years older than me, closer to Pear’s age. After studying filmmaking at the University of Southern California and working her way up the ladder, she started out as Sofia Coppola’s personal assistant and eventually stepped out on her own in the cutthroat world of TV and film development. She admitted that joining a no-name network like Tributary was a risky career move but that she was positively determined to make a go of it, knowing that if she did, the opportunities in the entertainment industry would be boundless.
I don’t know what it was exactly, maybe her candor, the fact it felt like we had so much more than our similar looks in common, or the two bottles of EVERLY Cabernet we’d polished off, but I found myself opening up to her more than I planned.
“You’ve got to be shitting me! He leaked it?! So it wasn’t a hacker after all ...” Kate shook her head while tsking in disgust, poured the last of our bottle of Cabernet into my glass, and then nudged the glass closer supportively.
“He claims he did it for us. For both of us. To help ignite our careers and break us out of the perfect Everly mold.”
“Well, if that isn’t the biggest load of crap I’ve ever heard. Certainly didn’t hurt his career, that’s for damn sure.”
I was surprised when hot tears flooded the corners of my eyes, and I sniffed them back before they could fall. “I ... I just can’t be another joke. This time it has to be different.”
Kate reached across the table and covered my hands with her own. “I absolutely understand. Go to Maubec. Do Heart Restoration Project. Get away from the noise and the paparazzi flashes and let us capture who you truly are. And the best part of all, you get to write your own ending.”
“Heart Restoration Project? Is that the name of the show?” I asked, genuinely intrigued.
Kate reached into her tote and placed a copy of the contract on the table. “It’s a working title. We’re still focus-grouping it. I’m sure it will change. Let me know if you have any ideas?”
For the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel like I was being hired just for my notoriety or the Everly name. Kate seemed to see something in me beyond the spotlight and family expectations. She believed in my potential, and while there was something new and exciting about that belief, there was also something utterly terrifying about it. What if the “real me” wasn’t enough?
I hesitated for a moment, my hand hovering over the contract. “Kate, I appreciate your offer more than I can express,” I began, my voice filled with gratitude. “But I need some time to think about it. It’s a big decision, and I need to be sure.”
Kate smiled warmly. “Of course, take all the time you need. This is about your journey, and I want you to feel completely comfortable. But why don’t you hold on to this copy of the contract, have your people look it over. I sent it through DocuSign just before I got here,” she said, sliding the documents toward me. “Take as long as you need, we’ll wait.”
After Kate headed back to LA, I set out through the orchard for the whitewashed barn my father converted into a small winery about three years ago. While all my sisters had their own talent, brand, and passion, this little gem was his. Dad had always had an insatiable interest in wine and started to dabble in winemaking before really deciding to launch his little pet project.
He figured the property in Ojai, with its Mediterranean climate offering mild, wet winters and warm, dry summers, was conducive to growing a wide variety of grapes that could remain on the vines to ripen for the perfect amount of time because of the temperate seasons. The predictability of the weather and the overall seasonality of the region provided the necessary warmth and sunlight during the growing season and cooler temperatures in the evening, which, according to Dad, helped the grapes develop more complex flavors.
He was most proud of his EVERLY Cabernet, which was bold and complex, offering a rich blend of dark fruit flavors, like blackberry and cassis, combined with layers of complexity, including oak, earthy tones, and spices. The white wines, however, were still a bit of a work in progress, as Dad would say (and my taste buds agreed). Almost four years and many vintages later, sadly, the winery had yet to produce a white wine worth labeling.
Dad rounded the corner, and when he saw me, he called out, “Hey, Plumkin, wanna help me crate this Merlot shipment? I could really use the extra hand.”
I had always loved the nickname my dad had for me, a perfectly charming term of affection. That was until the media took to calling me “Plumpkin” during a particularly rough time I had managing my weight during my teen years. My dad’s version was sweet, but I couldn’t help but internally cringe a little at the reminder of its harsher, less endearing denotation from my past.
I grabbed a few wooden boxes from the pile and carried them over to him. “I already had lunch, but feel free to put me to work.”
He hoisted one of the crates onto the table. “What brings you to the inn?”
“Lemon asked if I could help her out with the collab event she and Kiwi are hosting this weekend.”
“That’s right, they’re rolling out that line of Reiki-Charged Running Shoes. Clever idea they got there.”
“Don’t forget about the Aromatherapy-Infused Yoga Mats—‘Get your own and you too can inhale serenity and exhale stress during your downward dog,’” I joked.
He grunted and rolled his eyes. “Don’t remind me. Do you know how many test scents Lemon and Kiwi had us try before they found a winner? I will never get the smell of their Sweetened Sunflower and Sulfur Mat out of my nostrils. Don’t tell your sisters, but I took that thing out back, and it has done wonders for keeping the foxes and other critters away from the chicken coop.”
“Keep that little marketing nugget in your back pocket in case these don’t fly off the shelves as expected. And for the record, consider yourself the lucky one. I had to test out the sample that smelled like their armpits. I guess after a candle that smells like your feet goes viral, you think everything should be body scented.”
“Just goes to show that popularity doesn’t necessarily equate to good taste,” he smirked knowingly and continued to move the bottles of Merlot into the shipping crate.
Right behind him like a well-oiled machine, I stood where the bottles were lined in rows and started to pass them to Dad. “Seems to me you could slap an Everly label onto just about anything these days and it would sell.” I looked up at him. “Except for me. I guess I’m the dud.”
He stopped what he was doing, two bottles in his hands, and looked back around to meet my eye. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“C’mon, Dad. Don’t tell me it hasn’t crossed your mind. It sure as hell crosses mine ... like every day. Lemon has EVERLYbody. Kiwi has the EVERLYfitness Pilates and yoga studios. Peach has EVERLYdesigns. Pear has EVERLYeats. What do I have?”
“Plumkin, you have opportunities. And support. And people who love you. And most of all, you have potential. You can have or be or do whatever you want. Do you know how many people only dream about that kind of freedom? You have the chance to start over to become the woman you want to be.”
My eyes welled with tears, and it was hard to speak through my tightening throat. “But I’m ... I’m scared. What if I never figure out who I am? Or worse, what if I do, and she doesn’t measure up?” I moved a few of the bottles from the edge of the table and rested against it, almost deflating as the harsh truth spilled out of me. I swiped at the tears rolling down my cheeks and rubbed my wet fingertips down the smooth denim of my jeans. “All these years I’ve blamed the show, the fame, Rhys, even you and Mom for my failings. But what if it’s not that at all? What if it’s me? What if I’m just a lost cause?”
“Everyone ... and I mean everyone feels lost at some point or another, Plum. It’s human. But the thing is, you need to find what grounds you, what anchors you to the earth, to your authentic self, to your true purpose. For me, it’s always been you girls, your mom. And maybe a little bit this winery,” he smirked. “But once you find that thing, there’ll be no stopping you.”
I sniffed and pressed my knuckle to the corner of my lashes, catching another tear before it fell. “How do you know?”
“Because you’re an Everly, my dear. It’s in the family tree, and we’ve got good roots.” He winked and started to reshuffle the bottles in the case, turning with open hands and motioning for me to pass the next set. I shifted my weight off the table and turned around to reach for the Merlot. When I handed them to Dad, he paused as we held the bottles between us, his fingers laced with mine.
His bright-blue eyes looked more gray than usual, but the warmth behind them and the distinct crinkle in their corners were undeniably him. “But a tree can’t thrive while shadowed under the canopy of a larger one, it needs to find its own sun. Maybe it’s time for you to get away. Find that sun. There’s a whole world of experiences out there for you to taste, to see, to live. You always have a home to return to, but you know as well as I do that you need to fly for a while before you decide where you want to nest.”
His words felt like the permission I needed, or maybe the sign I’d been hoping for in regard to Kate’s offer. “You know, the other reason I came to the inn today was to take a meeting with a producer who wants me for a home restoration show in a small town in Provence. Obviously, I know nothing about home restoration, but they assure me that isn’t the focus, or well, it wouldn’t be my focus anyway. Seems they want to give me a platform to show the world the real me, and so maybe ... I don’t know ... maybe I’ll find my sun in France?”
Dad’s face lit up. “Talk about burying the lede! That’s incredible, Plum.” He set down the bottles we were holding and scooped me into his arms for a tight hug. The familiar smell of cedar and sawdust flooded my nose as my cheek hit the fibers of his flannel shirt. I closed my eyes and breathed it in for as long and as hard as I could.
He spoke softly next to my ear, still holding me tightly. “I think it’s just the thing to give you the space and time you need to find yourself.” He gave one last squeeze and then pulled away. “So tell me some details. Where exactly will you be filming?” Grabbing for the bottles he’d set down, he returned to stuffing them into the shipment crate.
I reached for two more and passed them over. “Maubec? Have you heard of it?”
He nodded. “Your mom and I visited there, gosh, it must have been around forty years ago. We ate the most delicious lavender ice cream from this tiny shop next to a gorgeous church I can’t remember the name of now. Anyway, it was like nothing I’d ever tasted before. There was a small park right across the street where I decided I wanted ... no, had to marry your mother. I got down on one knee and proposed right then and there. I tried to convince her to go back across the street to that gorgeous church and become my wife, but, of course, she turned me down. It took another three years for me to change her mind.” Dad tapped his index finger against his lips. “Maybe I’ll grab some lavender from the garden and ask Pear to give it a whirl.”
I scrunched up my nose as I passed him the last of the wine. “Lavender ice cream?! Yeah, none for me, thanks.”
“Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.” He slid the big barn’s stall door closed, snapping the metal clamp down to lock it, and brushed his hands off on his pants. “So when do you leave?”
“The show would film from June through August or so. If I agree, I’ll be leaving in a few weeks, I guess?”
“France in the summertime”—he sighed and cast his eyes to me—“plenty of glorious sunshine.” His face broke into a wide, supportive smile.
I threw my arms around him and planted a kiss on his cheek. “Then I better get going. It sounds like I have a contract to sign and a trip to pack for.”