Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Nineteen
“That Champagne may be right up there with one of my favorites, Veuve Clicquot. It’s a little less bready. It would be interesting to compare Domaine Carneros Rose with Veuve’s Rose, or maybe make a taste comparison to Taittinger. We should go to France, Champagne tasting, where there are some smaller houses that you may like. I want to take you there, and…” she rambled, climbing into the backseat of the SUV, Larry holding the door while Jake braced her hand with his other hand at her hip. She leaned into his stiff arm, functional but feeling the alcoholic bubbles dispersing through her blood, opening her nervous system up, allowing room for silliness.
“That sounds wonderful, Sweets. Oh, careful,” he directed, a concerned tone to his voice as she plopped into the seat, crossing her feet with white Converse low tops, yanking down the edges of her yellow sundress that had ridden up her thighs. That morning when she’d stepped out of the bathroom in this outfit, her hair down, trace mascara and lip gloss, her feet adorned in tennis shoes because he had told her they’d be doing a lot of walking, Jake, grinning, had said, “Damn if you aren’t scrumptious, so adorable.”
She’d traveled as a paid companion on several wine tasting trips to France, always careful to take a few sips and discard the rest, her guard fortified, playing a role as the sweet, demure, upscale mistress. Most often, the staff working at the wineries and chateaus knew what she was. There was no pretense; she had been bought to coo, to look adoringly into some man’s eyes she loathed, not because they were mean or disrespectful, no, because they mandated that she be somebody she wasn’t. Even though she benefited from the arrangement, she couldn’t fight back the distaste she had for their weakness. In order to feel powerful, they needed to have a human adornment, despite most of these men possessing more money and assets than ninety-nine percent of the world’s population. Those same men hadn’t been sated with that, making sure that their time was spent with their wives and children; no, they needed a pliant woman to stroke their egos, not just in private but publicly. Those were the men she distrusted the most: not the ones who watched her strut around in lingerie as they stroked themselves during lunch breaks or after work before returning home, nor the ones who wanted to meet simply for sex, or the ones who were single and just needed an accessory to decorate their arms at high society events. No, those men might be filling a void, but the men who had families and still hired her so they could let the world know, I have it all: power, money, prestige, and the ability to have this on display any time I want it. This is my weekend toy while my family stays home, maintaining the fa?ade. I am untouchable .
Jake scooted in next to her. “Seatbelt,” he whispered, then leaned forward. “Larry, can we pull around behind the building when we get to Temair Winery? The owner said there’s a back drive closer to the caves, and they have the spot I requested reserved for the picnic.”
Larry, in his mid-forties, was very familiar with the Valley; he’d told them earlier he’d grown up here. “Sure, yes, they let me know as well, Mr. Skyler—sorry, Jake,” Larry replied. He smiled, looking back for a second, catching Jake’s expression.
Rakell knew Jake hated being called Mr. Skyler; seeing that slight grimace on his face, she pushed her shoulder into his arm, and in a low, sultry whisper, said, “Sort of like how Mr. Skyler sounds, mate.”
She chuckled when his eyes slid to her, making sure she could see his scoffing expression.
“Ms. McCarthy, perhaps I’ll let you call me that, if you’re a good girl. We’re going to do a cave tour while Larry picks up food for lunch, and since you ate two small bites of caviar and nothing else, I want to make sure we get food in you.”
“Stop, I just wasn’t interested in cheese. I mean I like it, but I just need to…” She caught herself, watching Jake’s face morph from playful to concern. “Larry, when you pick up lunch, can you please grab an apple and perhaps a salad, no dressing, no croutons.”
Jake cut in, “This is a vacation, I want you to enjoy…”
“Yes, yes, of course, Oakville Grocery has great salads. Jake ordered two of their sandwiches, the chicken-bacon-gruyere cheese and the Reuben, both fantastic, and a few other items but I can definitely add…”
She grabbed Jake’s knee. “So only the most fattening, high-calorie sandwiches possible. No, you can’t do that to me…besides, your breath will stink from the Reuben,” she added, keeping her tone playful. “Larry, are there other sandwiches less…”
Jake tapped the screen of his phone. “I’ll change the order and send it to you, Larry. Sorry, those are my favorites, and you should hear Dwayne talk about their Reuben.”
“Well, does Dwayne kiss you after eating it?” She heard Larry chuckle softly in the front seat.
“Of course not,” Jake said, offering nothing, looking away as if considering something.
She let her head fall on his shoulder. “Jake, I just have to be careful. Literally, my measurements, height, and weight, which I already lie about, get sent every time I’m considered for anything, even an acting position. So, before anyone will even give me a chance to prove my acting ability, they are judging this,” she said, yanking his hand and placing it on her lap. “My hip size matters more in this industry than my abilities. You know that…” She tried to explain, but his fingers started creeping up her thigh, snagging yellow fabric along the way.
She had the urge to throw it out there, all the random thoughts about him, her, her dreams and what she knew it would take. Her hand went to his fist, balled up with the scrunched yellow fabric. “Jake, I, I…”
Her gaze shifted to him, joined by a sharp intake of breath. When their eyes caught on each other’s, there was a longing in his, but she also registered concern, like he was questioning something. “Jake, you know I’m good at acting. God knows I had to do it long enough, for so many different men. I always tried to make sure I was who they wanted me to be, subdued, intelligent, but not more than them, of course. Sophisticated but simultaneously enamored with their level of cultural knowledge, eager but not pushy, sweet but not simple…it’s fucking exhausting. Now I’m doing it again.”
Jerking his torso sideways, eyes flashing at her. “Don’t fucking do that with me,” he hush-shouted, loud enough that she caught Larry’s eyes flicking to the rearview mirror.
She threw her leg up and said, “See these?” Pointing at her white Converse tennis shoes, she continued, “Do you think if I were trying to impress you, I’d be wearing these? I don’t think my body is why you kept showing up in my life. I think you genuinely like me in whatever.”
“And whatever size, I like you enjoying life, not twisting yourself all around for a fucking camera.” She watched the fabric spring from his fist as his hand opened. “I just don’t like the whole…”
“I know, because you’ve never dated anyone in this industry.” Sarcasm oozed from her tone. “Yep, Jake Skyler’s always dated the girl next door, no famous models, actresses….” She jabbed his side when he looked away.
“Okay, yeah, you know this, but I don’t want to see it hurt you.” His tone softened, his hand back on her knee, fingers massaging her skin. “So, my girl next door, who is seconds from being famous, I want you to stay you, not the pretend you, just be you.”
“Jake,” she murmured, her head drifting back on the seat, absorbing his touch, trying to think through the Champagne.
“Yeah,” he whispered, still massaging her leg, his hands crawling up her thigh.
“Jake, how come you didn’t say anything about Bernardo? I mean, why not tell me right away?” She rotated her head on the headrest to get a clear picture of his face, watching as the corner of his mouth flinched downward, his eyes securing on her, blinking as if writing a speech in his head. “Jake, why, why didn’t you…”
He pressed his thick finger firmly against her lips, halting her speech. “I think you know the answer to this, but I’ll clarify,” he said, letting an audible sigh escape before he continued. “I didn’t want that to be in your head when you auditioned. He’s my issue, but I knew if I blew up about Bernardo, it would affect you. Yeah, I wanna beat his ass, but I didn’t want to be party to tripping you up…”
She wondered as she stared at him if he hoped she’d get the part. Did she dare ask him, or was that incendiary? Would she be purposefully starting a fight? Would she ask Matt that? Yes, she didn’t guard herself with Matt. With Jake, she thought, his presence made her feel like she was in her own skin, but there was still a fortress around her psyche. Sometimes, there were things she had to play out in her head before they burst from her mouth. Reaching up, she took his finger in between hers and moved it slightly away from her mouth before kissing it, watching his face soften. “Thank you,” she murmured against his finger, swallowing the knot in her throat, his sincerity evident in his gaze. She kept her voice tender so he would know she meant that basic thing that seemed to roll from people’s lips without thought, the phrase you are taught almost before you can speak, never really stopping to think about how important it is. She wanted to say that ubiquitous saying laced with as much meaning as possible. “Thank you, Jake,” she reiterated, emphasizing his name before her lips touched his finger again, keeping her focus on him the whole time.
His eyelids blinked in appreciation; in tandem with the subtle upturn of his lips, she noted the embers of shared understanding passing between them before he pulled his finger away. He cupped his hand around her neck, pulling her toward him, his thumb pressing down on her jawbone. Her jaw fell open as she watched his lips move to hers, pressing against her mouth. He murmured, “Sweets, now that’s how you say thank you.” The chuckle in his throat vibrated on his lips, his mouth soft against hers. She heard his seatbelt pop open and then he was on her, his torso against her side, his hand reaching around. Feeling her own seat belt unbuckle, she was caught up in the fervor that swirled around them like they were in some lovestruck play, like the guy had waited an eternity to touch the girl. Jake’s mouth forced her lips open, his tongue diving in, their tongues dueling as if their hunger could be diminished with a fight. For a moment, she remembered Larry, but then Jake’s other hand was up her dress, resting on the crotch of her lace panties, likely considering his next move. Her pelvis curved into his hand as she parted her legs. She gasped at the feel of his large finger finding her wet folds, the growl that spilled into her mouth from his lips a sign he liked what she knew was her need for him. This guy's touch intertwined with his emotional availability was too much to resist.
Her clit lit up from the brush of his finger; his mouth grew even more aggressive, just as she heard the crunch of the tires, the SUV hitting gravel.
In a low voice, Larry said, “Huh, Mr. Skyler, Jake, sir, we are about to park.” Jake slid his fingers from the exploration of her wet folds with a quiet groan.
She jerked away from his mouth, shaking her head while giving Jake a demonstrative glare.
“Sounds good, Larry. Thank you,” Jake said, staring back at Rakell, slowly lifting his fingers to his lips, dipping them into his mouth, sucking her juices, then running his tongue over his lips like he was licking ice cream, enjoying every drop.
Leaning into his ear, she said, “You’re impossible, Jake Skyler. You know that?” She feigned a disappointed tone, yet she couldn’t stop the small laugh that jumped from her mouth.
He caught her hair in his fist, speaking into her ear: “And you love it, bad girl. ’Cause you know how hungry I am, and I know what I want, so getting just a taste of that cream makes me want the whole fucking pie now . Let me get your door,” he stated, moving from the back seat to the passenger door that Larry held open.
She heard him and Larry talking about getting sundries for the picnic while she and Jake were doing a cave tour, then Larry’s last line: “It’s a very scenic, private spot, so after I get you set up, I’ll return to help carry things back to the car once you text me.” Rakell was pretty sure he was wiggling his eyebrows, gesturing to Jake, their coded message: so you two can end what you started in the back seat.
Hearing Larry, heat rushed to her chest, then crept up her neck. When Jake opened the door and extended his hand to help her, he smirked and said, “Someone’s excited about the private wine tour.”
She bounced back with her own gesture, her middle finger to her chin, but had to smile at his loud guffaw as he wrapped his arm around her, then led her toward an arched wooden door on the side of a hill. Jake stood behind her, both his hands rubbing up and down her arms. The cave tour and barrel tasting was like going back in time. Joe, who gave them the tour, was the owner and original winemaker. Rakell guessed he had to be in his eighties, but he moved like a much younger man. He explained that he’d passed off the winemaking job to his grandson, who had graduated from UC Davis with a degree in biochemistry. After a few years working in biotechnology, he’d returned to the family farm and taken over for his grandpa.
Joe had scraped the money together to buy the land when he was in his late twenties, after realizing he hated working in the city. He told them the story about getting the land, then showed pictures of the first shed he’d put up and the small A-frame house his hippie girlfriend, now his wife of fifty-six years, had moved into with him. He reveled in how much Jake knew about the history of Napa Valley, explaining that he’d bought the land eight years before The Taste of Paris, which had elevated Napa Valley in the eyes of the “elite wine snobs,” as he referred to them. He pulled generous pours of their premium cabernet and syrah blends from a giant glass siphoning tool, all the while discussing the tasting notes with them.
Rakell took a sip of their famous cabernet mixed with ten percent petite verde, puckering at the subtle hints of black cherry and currants swishing in her mouth. “Oooh, that one, it’s so approachable but complicated,” she fussed. “That’s my favorite, I think, but they are all so good.”
“Well, young lady, you have excellent taste,” he crooned, smiling, his eyes crinkling as he looked at Jake, as if Jake were another example of her keen eye for excellence.
Jake swallowed his sip. “Yes, Joe, she does. Isn’t this the one that’s ranked 98 by Wine Spectator ?” he said just before tipping the glass of purplish red liquid to his lips again.
“Yes, son, it is, but that doesn’t matter. You know that we wanted something that would hold up to that Texas BBQ you sent us last year for Christmas,” Joe said, stretching up to clap Jake on the shoulder.
“Well, it doesn’t need BBQ to be excellent. Are you selling futures yet?”
“Yes, to you, of course. I also have a few bottles of the 2018 saved for you. I'll get them to pack it up for you today. Let me know how many cases you want of the futures. It won’t be out until 2026, and you know the drill. Lay it down for another ten, ready to enjoy about the time your first child is finishing kindergarten.” Joe chuckled as he looked at Rakell.
Rakell’s throat constricted; she had to concentrate on swallowing.
She noticed Jake’s eyes on her when he said, “I hope it’s not that long away.”
She shifted her focus to avoid Jake’s steady gaze, taking the last sip in her glass. Her tongue coated with tannins, her head swimming with wine, she breathed in through her nose, squelching the panic that his casual words evoked in her.
It was clear to her that the older gentleman legitimately seemed thrilled to see Jake and talked to him like he was part of the family. From the conversation, she knew Jake and Joe’s grandson had spent time together. Apparently, the family had season tickets to the Sacramento Condors; his “hippie” wife had been raised in Nevada City, a couple of hours from Sacramento, in the mountains between Sacramento and Tahoe. Joe had joked that is where all the Berkley dropouts live.
“Thank you, sir, for taking the time to give us a personalized tour. I knew you’d help me impress this girl,” Jake said, taking the opened bottle of cabernet that Joe had just uncorked for him.
“Certainly, Jake, anytime, son, but next time, we’d love to have you and Rakell for dinner—you know Diana loves to entertain. We are all so appreciative that you introduced our family wines to the owners of the Condors, and now they buy them for all their hotels. It’s been such a blessing to have that added assurance.”
It struck Rakell when she watched Jake and the older man hug that elder people were drawn to Jake. He led with natural deference when he was around people older than him, like he had something to learn even if he were a big superstar athlete, and the thought scampered in her head: My dad would have really liked you, Jake . She shuddered. Jake wrapped his arm around her shoulders and said, “Let’s get you outside where it’s warmer. I should have warned you that the cave tours are chilly.”
When they reached the top of the hill, they found a red and black checkered blanket spread out between two Sequoia trees providing shade; intermittent rays of sun seeped through the large branches that swayed above them as if they were holding hands while slow dancing. Larry had also placed nice dishes and cutlery at the edge of the blanket, just beside a large wicker picnic basket and the small cooler Jake had brought with him; sitting on top of it were two wine glasses with pale-yellow liquid, which she guessed was sauvignon blanc from its color. Larry and Jake exchanged a look before Larry repeated his earlier instructions to Jake: “Just text when you’re ready. Merryvale is not expecting you for an hour, and if you need longer, I can always call them.”
Rakell took off her hat before kneeling on the blanket, as Jake handed her the glass of white wine. “Palette cleanser, then we can enjoy some of that eighteen cab, but you have to eat because we still have one more winery,” he explained, turning toward the picnic basket. She eyed the food that Jake was slowly taking from the basket, first unwrapping a sandwich. “This is turkey with light pesto, no cheese, on sourdough. It’s pretty clean.”
Her mouth watered as she looked at the sandwich; strategically, she could eat the turkey, maybe a few bites of the bread.
“I also had Larry pick up two salads. This is their signature: blueberries, apples, spinach, and candied walnuts.” Then he reached into the basket. “Also, I had to get this cheese. It’s Humbolt Fog, made close to here.” She scrunched her nose as he pulled the cheese and a small box of crackers from the basket, setting it down on the thick, wooden board Larry had placed on the blanket as part of the setup. Jake’s face shifted as he noticed her expression. “Listen, just try a bite or two. It’s unlike any cheese you’ve ever tasted; it’s a unique goat cheese. Just a bite, Sweets,” he urged, assuring her as if coaxing a small child. Then he added, “It’s protein, and there’s a chicken curry salad plus fresh strawberries for dessert. Oh, and you have to try this,” he added, grabbing a brown box from the picnic basket and a fork. He cut something in the box, then said, “Fresh heirloom tomato and feta tart. The California heirloom tomatoes make this sumptuous.” He spoke as if he was tasting it.
Staring at the tart, the flaky crust with feta cheese and delicious-looking tomatoes, her mind went back to her mom’s garden where she’d grown Bumley Bounty tomatoes because they were easy, but she also had Red Figs and Blue Beauties. “My mom used to make tomato tarts like that, but with homemade focaccia bread and goat cheese, with these tomatoes called Blue Beauties because their skin is purplish-blue. They have a sort of sweet, almost fruity taste, superb.” She felt his eyes searching her face as she talked about her mom, and she stopped. No way would she open herself up to Jake’s follow-up questions, so she redirected, “I definitely need to try the tart.”
“What else did your mom grow in her garden?” Jake spoke tentatively as if he was opening a box carefully because the contents were unknown.
Ignoring his question, she moved onto all fours, her eyes on him. “I need a bite of that tart, now,” she said, crawling a couple of feet toward him, opening her mouth coyishly.
Instead of using his fork, he took the piece he’d cut off in his fingers. “Open wide, this is a big bite.” She tried to ignore the calorie counting that ticked in her head, to relish this moment, the breeze, the droplets of sun spilling through the branches, the wine working its magic on her nerves. Jake fed her the tart; the creamy feta, the buttery crust mixed with the acid from the tomatoes, slid on her tongue. Jake’s fingers grazed her bottom lip after he put the piece of tart in her mouth. She clamped her lips around it as she closed her eyes, savoring the taste that had exploded on her tongue and was disintegrating in her mouth. Then she felt the edge of a glass against her lip and heard him whisper, “Sip.” Her eyes sluggishly opened, taking in his knowing grin; she sipped from the glass he held, the crisp wine with the essence of grapefruit and green grass washing the remnants of the tart down her throat. “Good, huh?” he murmured, obviously pleased with himself.
She opened her mouth again. “I need another bite. More, please.” Still on all fours, she chuckled to herself when she noticed him working to keep his eyes on her face, not the cleavage she could feel bursting against the yellow cotton fabric. “That was so delicious.” With the second bite, her senses luxuriated in the taste once again. He insisted that she try the Humbolt Fog cheese on a cracker with a tab of fig spread. She knew she should object, but at this moment, everything felt too perfect, like there would be no consequences for all the pleasure she was soaking up. “Yes, okay,” she said, sitting back and moving closer to him, letting him feed her. “That’s so, so amazing. I think the closest cheese is maybe Valencay. Have you tried it, the pyramid-shaped one?”
“Yeah, I know it. I think I like this better.”
“Me too, maybe. I need to try them side by side,” she commented before draining her wine glass. He poured some of the cabernet into another glass and offered it to her. He reached into the basket, moving his hand around, and said, “There it is. I wanted to give you your birthday present somewhere that you’d never forget.” He handed her a small box.
She stared at it; the size of the box meant jewelry. She thought, please don’t be like all the other rich men who buy expensive gifts that are meaningless …gifts for their wives and girlfriends to appease them while they spent time with the women they paid to bed, and gifts for the escorts as a token of apology. Their message: I can’t really be with you, you know that, right? She wondered if she would ever escape those years, if she could build a future where her years as an escort would be forgotten, those experiences no longer her default reference.
“Go ahead, open it,” he said, tapping her arm, his voice animated like a kid who’d just painted a rock with a heart for his mom and couldn’t wait for her to see it because he knew she’d act like it was the best damn thing she’d ever received.
“Jake, I don’t want you to…”
“Just open it, I designed it, and I’ve been thinking about the perfect time to give it to you.”
She pulled the lid off the top and stared at the simple bracelet. “Oh,” she said, picking it up. “It’s so different.” She kept inspecting the bracelet, a band of gold and silver that looked to be hammered metal. The two bands were parallel, with half an inch between them, and then they intersected and twisted together until they reached the clasp where they formed a heart.
“Sooo, I thought this was us,” he explained, pointing at the origin of the silver strand and gold strand, “but then we intersected and…well, the heart is just a symbol of where we are going. I’m obviously not a jewelry designer, but one of Melissa’s best friends from high school started a jewelry company. She’s impressive,” he said, picking up the bracelet and opening the clasp.
She lifted her wrist and watched as he put it on her. “Jake, well, this is beautiful. I think it’s the best gift ever. I love that you designed it.” She touched his cheek. “This may be the best birthday I’ve ever had.” She always thought her twelfth birthday had been her best, the year her dad had surprised her with Snowbird, her first horse. That memory had become tainted, and now she saw it differently because of the life lived since then. Would this birthday celebration with Jake, on the edge of a vineyard, the sun shining above them, the faint breeze tickling her skin, wine buzzing through her, seem different one day, not like the idyllic dream that played out right now? She pushed that thought away; there was no way to know if the future would change how she saw this day, but for today, she wanted to soak it in, pretend it would last forever.
She dropped back on the blanket and asked, “How much time do we have here?” She spread her arms on the blanket, bending her knees, the yellow fabric of her skirt slipping down her thighs, folding around her pelvis. She watched his eyes travel to the apex between her legs, aware that he could see the yellow lace of her thong.
He cleared his throat. “We have time. What do you have in mind, Sweets?” He was straining to speak as if his mouth were filled with gravel.
“I’m not sure,” she cooed, her hand traveling to her knee; then her fingers crept down, then the inside of her leg toward her crotch, keeping her eyes fixed on him as he watched her hand. She dipped her finger under the lace, pressing it into her wet slit. “Mmm…” she whispered, eyes fixed on his open mouth. “Maybe I could be dessert,” she said, pushing herself up, sliding her moist finger from her pussy. “You said you liked cream.” She touched her wet finger to his lips, inserting it when he opened his mouth. She snatched it back, jumped up, and said, “But you’ll need to catch me first.”
His eyes sprung wide. “Not sure you want to play this game.” He stood, watching her back away. “I’m the fastest quarterback in the league. Haven’t you been listening to the sportscasters?”
“Not sure about that, Mr. Skyler. They reported just a few weeks ago that Noah Hill from Miami had more running yards than you.” She stepped back again, watching him approach her, with a wicked smirk on his face.
“Because…I’m trying to be a team player and not hog the ball.” He took two large steps forward. “Do you want a head start, you little gazelle, or just wanna…”
She turned, sprang forward, and ran around one of the massive trees, laughing, the wine making her head fuzzy. She giggled watching him sprint toward the tree, and before she could take another step, his hand gripped her elbow. “Got you, just like you wanted me to.”
Her breath caught in her throat as he moved her against the tree, “Ahh…Jake…”
“Shh, hush while I get my fill. Spread your legs.” He grabbed both her hands, placing them above her on the tree. “Don’t move,” he growled, going down on his knees in front of her, his head going below her skirt, just before she felt his nose nuzzling against the moist strip of fabric between her legs.
“Oh Jake, I…” rushed from her mouth as she felt his hand move her panties to the side, his tongue dipping into her pussy. She moaned, feeling the heat pool between her legs as speckles of sun danced on her skin.