3. Bas
BAS
Ihadn’t worn a sport coat or suit since my father’s funeral, not because I lacked either. After he died, I’d said no to everything that required the attire. For tonight’s event, I chose a gray one with navy chinos.
Gemma’s place was near the river, in an older section of town. I drove up to the small house with the porch light already on and parked out front. She stepped outside before I reached the door.
She was wearing the same dress she’d had on at Izzy and Kick’s wedding, and she was as beautiful tonight as she’d been then.
Her hair was down and fell in dark waves.
Her brown eyes didn’t blink even as I took all five and a half feet of her in, from her full breasts to her narrow waist and her long legs.
When my gaze returned to her face, her pouty lips were made all the more delectable by her smile.
I may have dated women others called supermodels, but none of them were a fraction as beautiful—or sexy—as Gemma.
I wanted to taste her mouth. I’d wanted to since the wedding, and standing on her porch in the dark, I couldn’t stop imagining it. A year suddenly sounded both too long and nowhere near long enough.
I’d half expected her to meet me in jeans, with the dress slung over her arm, if only to prove she was complying under protest. I was happy to be wrong. Getting through events like tonight’s would be hard enough. I didn’t need an attitude from her on top of it.
She pulled the door shut behind her and checked the lock. “What?” she asked.
“You look beautiful.”
“You can save the compliments for when we have an audience.” She climbed into the truck and had her seat belt buckled before I made it around to open her door.
“I would’ve gotten that for you.”
“I have functioning arms.”
“Clearly.” I pulled away and headed into town.
“We need to go over some ground rules before we get there,” she said a few minutes into the drive.
“I figured we might. Go ahead.”
“How do you plan to introduce me?”
“As my date.” I glanced over at her. “It has the advantage of being true.”
“And when somebody asks how long we’ve been seeing each other?”
“Since Izzy and Kick’s wedding.”
She shifted in her seat to face me. “I turned you down at that wedding.”
“You did. Politely, even. But nobody was close enough to hear it. All anyone saw was the two of us talking at the bar, and people believe their own eyes.”
She was quiet for a minute, perhaps wondering how much of this I’d already thought through.
“Fine, but I order my own food.”
I chuckled. “I wouldn’t dream of being so presumptuous as to do it for you.”
“The last man who took me to dinner chose for me.”
“How did that work out for him?”
“He didn’t bother to ask for a second date.”
“Noted. My turn. Don’t bring up the ball tonight. If someone wants to know about it, they’ll ask.”
“Bas, it’s a fundraiser. Talking it up is the entire reason I’m going.”
“A planner who pitches her own event over dinner is a vendor, and every man there has met a hundred like her. A woman who is making them ask about it is intriguing. Believe me, you want to be the second one.”
She thought it over before she answered. “That’s actually good advice.”
“Try not to sound so surprised.”
“I need an exit signal for when you’re ready to leave.”
“I’ll say, ‘Gemma, we’re leaving.’”
“I prefer signals.”
“Fine. I’ll tug my ear.”
“And if I need to leave, I’ll mention cake.”
“You won’t want to leave. You’ll be too busy raking in pledges for donations.”
“Cake, Bas.”
“Fine.”
She smoothed the dress over her knees. “Why do we have to do this for a year?”
“Did I mention Ray Myers will be in attendance tonight?” I said. “He’ll be on his third glass of zinfandel before dinner is served. His daughter passed the bar exam last month, and he’s been waiting for somebody new to tell about it.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“It’s the best tip you’ll get all night. Ask him about his daughter, listen, then suggest the children’s hospital means a great deal to her. When his eyes fill with tears, hit him up for a sizable contribution.”
“My assumption is that there’s a story behind this, but it seems cruel to make him cry.”
“It would be if it didn’t have a happy ending.”
“So, why him, in particular?”
“You’ll understand when you meet him.”
The vintners’ association held a dinner once a month in a private room of a steakhouse in Healdsburg. I’d been going for years, and I’d left before dessert every single time, because industry politicking was my father’s specialty. Mine was the wine.
The welcome we got was different from any I’d had since my father died. Rather than being uncomfortable and pitying, the men who’d known him since before I was born were warm and effusive. And Gemma hadn’t said a word yet.
After he suffered a heart attack while working in the vines, half the county came to his service and told me what a great man he was.
Now, they talked over me like I was still a kid instead of the man who’d been making Whitmore’s wine for years.
I understood their grief. My being invisible caught me off guard.
Halfway through the main course, Hal Brody, whose vineyards were adjacent to ours on the north side, mentioned he’d heard about an upcoming fundraiser.
Gemma gave him the date and told him where the money went. Then she said, “I love your Charbono. I wish more wineries made it.”
I’d known Hal since I was a boy, and the stories he told her tonight were brand-new to me.
His grandfather had planted his first rootstock in 1934, and the varietal she mentioned, also known as douce noir, was one of the first they bottled.
She drew the family history out of him without ever seeming to pry, and by the time coffee was poured, she had a sponsorship commitment from him as well as a couple of silent-auction items.
We stood to mingle when everyone else did.
“Which one is Myers?” she asked.
“Come. I’ll introduce you.” I kept my hand on the small of her back as we crossed the room to him. Her dress was thin enough that I could feel the warmth of her skin through it, and by the time we reached Myers, I’d forgotten what I meant to say to him. Thankfully, Gemma took the lead.
“Mr. Myers, I heard a rumor that your daughter passed the bar on her first try,” she said after they shook hands.
“She’s the youngest in her class too,” he began.
Ten minutes later, she brought up the hospital, saying her event would eventually grow to be its biggest fundraiser.
As I’d predicted, he told her that same daughter had been born with a hole in her heart and that the hospital was the reason she was still alive. Then he asked what she needed from him.
After Myers left, Hal asked those of us still standing near him how pruning was coming.
“Halfway through the south blocks,” I said. “If the rain holds off, we’ll finish in a couple of weeks.”
He nodded at me and returned to his wine. Nobody in this room wanted my opinion. To them, my job was keeping my father’s chair warm until somebody better came to fill it.
I kept my mouth shut and let the conversation move on without me.
A year ago, I could have won them over on charm alone. But then my father would’ve been with me. None of them would’ve dared to treat me so disrespectfully in front of him.
My eyes met Gemma’s, and I tugged my ear.
I waited out front for less than five minutes before she joined me. This time when we got to my truck, she waited for me to open her door.
“Mr. Myers is lonely. You could’ve told me that.”
“You used it better not knowing.”
“His wife passed?”
“Three years ago. His daughter is all he has left, and she lives in San Francisco.”
“Out of that whole room, you sent me to the one man who needed somebody to listen to him. That was almost thoughtful, Bas. You’re ruining the opinion I had of you.”
“Give it time. I’ll manage to ruin it in the other direction.”
She laughed, and I wanted more. It was the first time in weeks that my goal was more than putting one foot in front of the other and getting through the day.
The whole valley treated me like I might break. Not Gemma. She argued with me, needled me, and demanded answers I couldn’t give, and I wanted to kiss her every time she did it.
I pulled into her driveway, got out, and once again, she surprised me by staying put until I came around to her door.
“You didn’t answer my question earlier about why we have to do this for a year.” When she opened the screen, a note that had been tucked into it fell out. I reached down, picked it up, and handed it to her.
She read it, then crumpled it into a ball. “Damn it all. He couldn’t have told me this earlier?” she muttered.
“Bad news?”
She put the key in the door and pushed it open. Since she hadn’t answered me or said good night, I followed her inside.
“Gemma?”
“My landlord informed me he’s selling the house.
” She held up the crumpled ball. “This says he has a showing scheduled for nine tomorrow morning.” She walked into the kitchen, so I followed her there too.
“Coffee?” she asked, pulling two mugs from the cupboard and sticking a pod into the one-cup machine.
“Sure. Thanks. So, what does this mean for you?”
“How do you take it?” she asked.
“Black. Now, answer me. How does this affect you?”
She handed me the first brew, then started one for herself. “Tell me why we have to do this for a year.”
“Because that’s how long I need. Your turn.”
She looked at me cross-eyed. “You’re annoying. It means I have to find another place to live. Why do you need that long?”
She’d kicked off her shoes at the door. Standing in her kitchen barefoot, her hair coming loose, she was even sexier than she’d been when I picked her up. I turned toward the window and looked out at the dark sky instead.
“Bas?”
I could have answered her in one sentence.
In the weeks following my dad’s funeral, I realized that stepping into his shoes would be a fuck of a lot harder than I’d anticipated, particularly within the tight-knit circle of vineyard owners and winemakers that were his lifelong friends.
When I complained to Zeke, who’d managed our vineyard for my father since before I could drive, his advice was honest but brutal.
“You’ve shown up at every function for the last few years with a different woman on your arm, one hotter than the last. You waltz in, think you’re charming, then waltz out long before anyone else leaves. That’s not how these things work.”
“What does my date have to do with anything? I’ve been making Whitmore wine for almost a decade. That’s what’s important.”
He shook his head and added one more zinger. “Find someone steady, and show up with her more than once. Pull your head out of your ass, or you’re gonna ruin every friendship your father spent years cultivating.”
Instead of finding a person, I’d gone out and gotten myself a contract. If that counted as cheating, I planned to keep it to myself.
“If you vanish the week after the ball, nothing changes for me. And I need things to change, Gemma.”
She wrapped both hands around her mug and studied me over the rim. “That was almost a straight answer.”
“Your turn again.” I set my mug in the sink. “Where are you going to live?”
“That isn’t your problem.”
“You’re my date for a year. I need to know where to pick you up.”
“I’ll find something.”
“There are three guest cottages on the estate. They sit empty most of the year. I’ll rent you one for half of what you pay for this place.”
She laughed, but there was no warmth in it. “There’s no way I’m staying on your property.”
“You need a place to live. I have three furnished but unoccupied cottages. You could move in tomorrow.”
“The answer is no.”
I pulled my keys out of my pocket.
“You’re not a stupid woman. Don’t let your pride make you seem like one.”
When I walked out, she didn’t follow.
The main house was dark when I came up the drive. There was nobody in it to leave a light on, and I never remembered to do it for myself.
I sat in the truck, with the engine off, longer than I needed to.
Inside, the hall clock had been stopped since December.
Winding it had been my father’s job, and I couldn’t make myself take it over any more than I could sit in his chair or park in his spot by the barn.
The house had never felt too big while he was in it. It did now.
Zeke’s truck was parked by the equipment building when I came down the following morning. He had the sprayer hitched and was loading sulfur off the tailgate.
“Heard you skipped dessert again,” he said.
“Don’t you have better things to do besides gossip?”
He laughed. “Not this time of year.”
“You heard right.”
“You takin’ the same girl again?” he called after me.
“Same girl for the foreseeable future.” Or a year. Not that I’d fill Zeke in on that minor detail.
The cellar under the winery held the estate barrels in marked rows, with lot codes and topping dates chalked on the heads. I passed them all and stopped at the two in the far corner. Their heads were blank.
I drew a sample with the thief and raised the glass to the bare bulb.
There was no browning at the rim, and the nose was clean.
I took a sip. It was young and hard in the middle.
The finish lasted longer than it should have at this age.
What was in the second barrel was darker, with more grip and less fruit.
Neither one tasted like anything else made on this property.
The level in the first barrel had dropped further than in the second. I topped them both from the jug I kept behind the racking hoses.
The cellar was the only place on the estate where I didn’t mind the quiet.
Topping took ten minutes. I wasn’t ready to return to the empty house, so I sat where I was, wondering if a year was too long to keep two barrels and one contract a secret. Probably, but what choice did I have?