Catharine Bramkamp - Real Estate Diva 04 - Trash Out (7 page)

Cassandra took Carrie’s hand
as if it were a
lifeline
.  “Come, I’ll show you around.  Ben thinks the wedding will be perfect here.  And I agree
.
I’ve created the perfect showroom for my product.
  All the stuff just came in, you must see!
”
  Her voice ended on a high, lilting note.

We followed her slender frame
as she floated
across
an expansive
patio that was
patterned after
Delphi
by someone who’s never been.  Artfully placed half broken pots decorated the edges of the p
atio.
Tops of
D
oric columns served as outdoor tables both
raised high
for tasting and built low and surrounded by curved cement benches for picnics.
The arched gazebo at the end of the patio fell just short of replicating the temple of Apollo, which was a relief.  Never the less, the whole of the outside copied the
atmosphere of an extravagant Las Vegas theme
d
hotel. Fortunately,
according to Ben,
Cassandra produced some excellent
wine, which
hopefully
compensated
for her taste in decor. 

I
was
look
ing
forward to a
conciliatory
glass
of wine
as we followed her into the tasting room.

The tasting room was an extension of the patio area.  It was plastered
with frescos
of Greek-like landscapes that of course could be the hills and cypress trees right outside
or mock
-
ups of Greek islands
.
  The tasting bar
was built of slender marble held up by thick glass.
That color would work in
the downstairs powder room
.  I took a picture and emailed it to Ben while Cassandra fussed below the bar searching for wine.

“
The white from
Adelaide
just came in, 300 cases
!
” She ducked under the bar. “
H
ere it is.  I’m so excited,
and the
stemmer crusher and storage is ours this year
, we think it will save so much time!”

“Yes it will.”  A young man dressed in
shorts and
a faded tee shirt
bearing
the logo for Passport 2007 strolled in.  He put his hands on his slender waist and watched Cassandra struggle with the screw top on the wine.
  Prophesy Estates, picked out in gold, on a purple label flashed in the sunlight.

“Here,”
h
e
took the bottle from her and twisted it open.  I know screw tops save the wine from spoiling, I know they are more s
anitary,
cheaper and more dependable for the vintner.  But
I miss the ceremony
of
opening
a corked
bottle
.
  Cassandra moved to the end of the bar
as if putting distance between the work of wine opening and her own lofty title as owner/wine maker.

“Fred,
” she didn’t look directly at him, but delivered her speech focusing on the wall above him. “I’m taking
Miss Eliot
out to tour the grounds.  Are you out here
now?”

The young man winced at her tone.  “I was check
ing on the wine.
”
Since I was the only other person on site, it didn’t seem all that important for Fred to man the tasting room.

Cassandra clearly did not intend to introduce us.  Ben did not mention a staff at
the winery but it made sense that there would be more
staff
than just Cassandra running the business.  I looked at this Fred with interest.  He was not dressed in traditional tasting room attire.
  No Prophesy Estate logoed polo shirt or work shirt.  No slacks, and apparently no combs.

“I think you should look at the red again,”
he suggested.

“
Later
,
”
s
he interrupted him.  “
Come on,”
s
he glanced at me and then at Fred.  “Both of you
come with me.
  Fred can take care of the front.  That’s what I hired him to do.”

But
I for
one,
did not intend to allow
Cassandra to order me around.  I stood my ground and turned to Fred. 
“I
’m sorry, I
didn’t introduce myself.
I’m Allison Little, New Century Realty and this is Carrie Eliot, the bride to be.”  I
thrust my
right
hand at him and he reluctantly took it.  He wasn’t an attractive man, his skin was scarred from a vicious battle of acne during his teens, h
e was
naturally pale made worse by his apparent affinity for cave aging wine, and he was far too slender.

He
nodded at me and took his place behind the bar.  He
gripped a second bottle of
S
auvignon
B
lanc
and
viciously twisted the screw top.

“You must be very excited
,
” I
continued trying to keep the atmosphere light
.  “What with the grand opening this weekend
and now a wedding
.”
 

Fred
glanced at Cassandra who busied herself pouring
a glass for Carrie.
T
he color was brilliant gold against the white marble. Nice touch.

“
Wedding
?” 
H
e questioned.

“I’m holding my wedding here.”  Carrie hauled up her three inch thick wedding
binder
, scattering tired post it notes that had no more will to live, in her wake.

Fred
frowned.
“
When?” 

“In four weeks
,
” Carrie confirmed
as her brow furrowed
.
“
A
lmost exactly four weeks.”  She glanced at me and I shrugged as if to say, it’s cool, you can do this. We can do this.

“Can you do that?”  He asked Cassandra sharply. “Are you being paid?”

Carrie drew up to her full height of five foot two and glared at the
boy
. “Of course she is being paid.”

Cassandra
handed
Carrie
a glass and took one for
herself
.  We both sipped and for a second, Cassandra’s expression was one of pure anxiety.  I set down my glass and smiled at her.

“It’s just lovely.” I lied.
It wasn’t exactly how I remembered it.  The wine was just okay
, not the grassy bright white I
remembered drinking at Ben’s
. But
this
could still be
suffering from
bottle
shock
,
it had just come all the way from
Australia
.

She relaxed and turned back to Fred. 
“Of course
I can handle it,
i
t’s my winery.
”
She tossed back half her wine and
smacked the glass on the table with such force
it
was a miracle the glass didn’t shatter
.

He carefully replaced the cap on the wine bottle
,
stashed
it in the refrigerator under the counter
and reached for another.   “That’s fine, you plan something.  I’ll be right her
e
, in the tasting room.
Where I belong.
”
He added
,
his eyes trained on Cassandra.

 
Carrie glanced between the two co-workers, or boss and employee. 
“
Y
ou guys are busy. 
I
just
need to
review
the logistics
, then we’ll be on our way
.”  She set her glass down with a chink and took Cassandra’s arm. “Show me the parking lot
,
” she
commanded.

“I think
tenting the parking lot
will be the best for the dinner.  We are setting up one this weekend so we can experiment and you can tell me if you like it.”  Cassandra looked relieved to escape the tasting room.
  I looked at Fred for a second or two but he was busy scowling and cleaning the
already
clear, pristine
,
white wine glasses. 

“I’ll just be outside.”  He nodded and didn’t say a word. 

I hea
r
d Cassandra and Carrie’s voices from the front of the property and I wandered to the back.

I strolled out to the edge of the side parking area
,
took a deep breath and focused on the dusty grape vines. Behind me loomed the half filled storage room.
Half
the area
was filled with cases, the other half held three stainless steel tanks and a tall U configuration of barrels
. They all looked
like they were
more for show than storage.
The red wine was fermenting in big plastic
bins;
I love the smell of fermenting wine.  I lifted my nose to take in the yeasty smell, but nothing came to me. 
Maybe
it was already
finished
.

I hea
r
d a sound
from
behind me
.
Fred shuffled up.

“Fred?  You don’t look
old enough for that name
.”

“
I’m almost t
wenty
-
four.”
H
e hunched his shoulders and buried his hands deeper into his front pockets.  “Fred
was
my great
uncle, I am the tribute to him.  Do you know anyone named Fred in my generation?”

I did not and said so.

He kicked the earth.  “
Check it out.  Normally you find this dirt up on the hill, but it’s here on the
valley
floor.”
  His face suddenly cleared and he looked more handsome, more engaged.

“Does it have a name?”  I knew there was
a resurgence
, or maybe just an acknowledgment in the first place of how the earth
(dirt) influences the character of the grapes, what you can grow well, and what you can’t. 

“It’s best for Zin.”  He
leaned
down and
sifted
the
reddish
gravely earth between his fingers.  “It’s always been best for Zin, a truly American grape.
Not hers though.
”

He dusted his hands and stood.

Most of the vines had been stripped the week before
,
just a few wrinkled grapes, the rejected raisins, hung from the turning leaves. The harvest was right on schedule.  Cassandra wasn’t able to pour for the Harvest Awards event, but it looked like she’d be able to manage a total of 800 guests in the next few weeks.

“
Not hers?”

He gestured down the valley. “These are contracted to Wind
R
unner, like Cassandra’s family vineyard used to be, before she took it back.”

“Is that a problem?”  I knew it was one of the reasons Ben and Peter were interested in the wine.

“No, we do it all the time, no big deal.”

“
Y
ou know a lot.”

He nodded.  “My family started here in the early seventies.  Just like Cassandra’s.  But we didn’t make it –
phylloxera.  And
my parents found farming too stressful, so they sold to Gallo.
”

“Why are you here at a tasting room?  I take it you went to Davis?”
 

He nodded.  “BS in
oenology
.
As if that helped.
”

“Why aren’t you making wine?”
  I looked out at the valley. The floor was planted with grapes as far as the opposite mountains would allow.

“
N
o opportunity. I have my degree, but no one wants a wine maker named Fred, it’s not very romantic.
  I have, well, this is an opportunity I couldn’t pass up.
”