Christmas in Wine Country

by Addison Westlake

  “Wait,” Lila asked into the phone, feeling like she was drowning and the rescue ship was nattering on about how pretty the water was this time of year. “Endicott Vineyards bought the shop? Our shop?”

  “Oh, hello, Lila. Is that you?”

  “And they made the offer yesterday?” Lila asked, hand to her stomach. Yesterday, as in when Jake had called from the car driving into the city with his father. Yesterday when she’d dreamed the day away with a huge, goofy grin on her face, gushing to her friends about what an awesome guy he was?

  “Yes. They may have been talking long before, there’s no way of knowing, but the offer came in yesterday. Listen, girls, I’ve got another call I need to take. Think about that space on Walker. I could take you by later today if you wanted.”

  Pressing the off button on her phone, Annie’s gaze never left Lila as she said “What. The. Fuck.”

  “I have no idea.” Lila’s eyes were wide with shock.

  “Call Jake,” Annie ordered. “I don’t believe this!” she yelled, balling up a sheet of wax paper and taking aim at the industrial-sized refrigerator.

  With a shaking hand, Lila reached for her purse. Conveniently, she’d recently programmed his number into her phone, giggling and dreamy from kisses as she did it. In the wee hours of the same day that he’d apparently bought the storefront right out from under them.

  Stepping out the back door onto a concrete step for some air, Lila felt a few drops of rain. She’d left her coat back at the bookstore but just then getting caught in a rain shower seemed apropos. Her breathing shallow and ragged, she waited, phone ringing, alternately hoping he’d pick up and make it all go away, and then hoping he wouldn’t pick up because she wasn’t sure she could handle hearing the news all over again from him. The latter wish won. This time, his low, scratchy voice on his message sounded mocking.

  Her hand shaking, Lila began leaving a message. “Jake? You bought our store? I don’t understand…” Trailing off, she lost confidence in the point of the call. Why was she putting herself out there just to get smacked down again? What, did she want him to call back and gloat?

  Hanging up, she wondered if she could have sounded more pathetic if she’d tried. She could hear Annie yelling and stomping around the kitchen in a rage. As for herself, she took a good look at the dark gray storm clouds gathered overhead, noted the rain now coming down at a steady clip and felt like passing out.

  “What did he say?” Annie burst through the door to join Lila on the stoop.

  “He wasn’t there.”

  “What’d you say in your message?”

  “I don’t know.” Lila looked down at her feet, honestly wondering once again if she was going to vomit. “I guess I asked him why he bought our store. I don’t know why this is happening. He knew how excited we were about it.”

  “Wait.” If possible, Annie seemed to get more upset. The silence of her pause veritably crackled. “You told him about it? How we were about to lease the store?”

  “Well, yeah.” Lila started to feel defensive. “We talked about everything—”

  “You told him were about to close? Two days ago? You told him?”

  “It came up.” Lila squirmed uncomfortably, nervously rubbing her phone with her thumb.

  “Are you kidding me?” Annie’s hands flew up in exasperation.

  “Annie, calm down,” Lila pleaded.

  “Calm down?” Annie shouted as she began to pace. “Do you realize what you did? You gave our idea to him! What did it take, Lila? One kiss and a half a glass of wine and you handed the whole business plan to him?”

  “What are you talking about?” Roused from her shock-induced torpor, Lila felt a wave of indignation. “Are you saying this is my fault?”

  “What else am I supposed to think? The place is vacant for months, no interest. Then right before we close you tell the richest guy in town about this awesome plan to open a store there. So he goes and does it himself.” Throwing her hands up once again in anger, she asked, “What, are you saying it’s just a coincidence?”

  “It wasn’t like that.” Lila felt herself losing confidence even as she said it.

  “Well, then, call him and tell him to fix it. If he’s the Prince Charming you seem to think he is.”

  Lila buried her face in her hands, ashamed and sick and lost, not wanting to hear the mocking tone in Annie’s voice, not wanting to remember the conversation with Jake, and especially not wanting to have what was happening happening.

  “You give up so easily!” Annie shouted, her dark hair falling out of her ponytail and cheeks flushed. “Why aren’t you fighting?”

  “What’s to fight, Annie?” Lila asked weakly, shaking her head. “Except fight with you, which I don’t want to do. It just makes me feel worse.”

  Turning, she spun away before she could hear any more.

  * * *

  Tugging the blanket closer under her chin, Lila turned up the volume on her TV. If there’d been a setting “loud enough so you can’t hear yourself think” she would have chosen it. The announcer hyped the starting pitchers in game seven of the American League Championships. The Red Sox vs. The Yankees. The winner would be heading to the World Series. As the commentators debated the good vs. evil/Darth Vader vs. Luke Skywalker/Cain vs. Abel type match-up, Lila used all of her energy to blow her nose loudly into a tissue. Then she sank once again into a lethargic torpor on the couch.

  It was Saturday night, the night she was supposed to be on her big date with Jake. Instead of her skinny jeans she wore old sweats with a hole in the knee. Instead of styling her hair into loose, soft curls and dreaming of Jake toying with them once again, she had all of it bound on top of her head in a giant neon leopard print scrunchie. She wasn’t even sure how she’d ended up with such a hideous thing—maybe it had once belonged to Venice or Valeria back in SF. This might be her new look, she decided, now that she was friendless, dateless and stuck in a dead-end service job in a tiny town in the middle of nowhere.

  Funny how things could change so quickly. Or maybe this was how things had been all along, she’d just let herself succumb to delusions of happiness. She’d grown relaxed and happy, Redwood Cove-style, doing yoga and sleeping through the night. She’d become soft and started expecting things to work out instead of treating life like a constant fight, armor up and guard firmly in place at all times. And so life had come in with a giant cartoon boxing glove, found her soft, Pillsbury dough boy center and given her a sound wallop. She should have seen it coming.

  Instead, she’d been shocked and then shocked some more, right up through Jake’s return call less than an hour after she’d left the shaky and nearly incoherent message from Annie’s. She’d been having a crying pity party in the shower so she hadn’t heard the phone ring. Listening to his message later on, she’d held her breath, standing dripping in her towel, hoping that he’d have no idea what she was talking about. “What? Someone bought your store????” she’d hear him, indignant and ready to champion her cause. Maybe he’d even express some righteous outrage—“How could this happen???” Instead, there was some lame, “hope you’re not too upset about this,” with some “it’s just business” and “my father was set on it” finished up with an infuriating “call me back so we can talk about it.”

  She’d tossed the phone right into the trash. She’d fished it out later, of course, but the hard thock of plastic against metal had felt satisfying in the moment.

  He’d called a few more times in the last two days but Lila had let it go straight to voicemail. How was she supposed to answer the phone when it required getting off the couch? She had a cold, first of all. A stuffed up nose and a scratchy throat. Plus insomnia had rushed back in the front door like a loud, unwelcome houseguest. At 3am she could almost hear it cackling, “So, you thought you were rid of me, little Miss Zen?”

  The Yankees hit a home run. With heavy eyelids, Lila watched their rookie showpony jog around the bases, blowing kisses to the sky. After the next gu
y hit a pop fly and a Sox outfielder remembered how to catch, the second inning wrapped up and they went to commercial. A fast food restaurant. Maybe she could get a job working there, serving up fries.

  Technically, she hadn’t lost her job at Cover to Cover. Yet. Marion couldn’t be too happy about her calling in sick the past two days, but that axe had yet to fall. Maybe it was time to quit, though. Move back to Hyannis. Curl up on her old twin bed. Maybe they’d hire her back at the Snack Shack if they didn’t find her over-qualified. She’d have to wear a paper hat. “Would you like sprinkles on that, sir?” Her mother would probably call Colgate and ask if they could revoke her diploma due to lack of use.

  With a groan, she realized tomorrow was Sunday. She’d have to tell Gram all about it. Gram was sure to expect an entirely different call, celebratory, anticipatory, full of laughter and details about launching the bookstore café. Instead, Lila had a few choice words about Betrayal. By best friends. By handsome would-be suitors. By her dad—she could always throw him into the mix when feeling particularly low. The worst of all, though, was how she’d betrayed herself, falling like a house of cards for that slick, top Bay Area bachelor.

  Closing her eyes only made things worse. She could see a vivid replay of stupid moments when she’d been utterly charmed and swept away. Like an infant or the hunchback village idiot, she’d been distracted and entranced by little more than a shiny apple and a key chain. Give the girl a glass of wine, a few crooked smiles and that was that.

  Annie had apparently been right all along. It didn’t make Lila feel any better about having been yelled at. Yes, she sucked at picking guys, but it could be worse, she thought defensively. She could be one of those women who fell for prison inmates, starting as a pen pal, drawn in by the bad boy, winding up getting married to a serial killer in a state penitentiary.

  The next commercial showed a luxury car whipping around a curvy coastal road, sweeping panoramas of a dramatic, rocky shoreline. It almost looked as if it could have been filmed in Redwood Cove. Scowling, Lila recalled the views from Jake’s cottage. Yeah, well, he could keep his panoramic vistas. If Lila scrunched up good and close in the far corner of her kitchen, craning her neck at just the right angle, she could catch a glimpse of surf, too.

  Jake was probably there with another girl right now. He was probably twirling that girl’s hair, telling her about how he saves bluebirds and cares for the planet.

  The Yankees’ lead-off hitter knocked one out of the park. The Red Sox went down 3-1.

  Time for some ice cream. Standing at the fridge, spoon in hand, Lila opted out of the whole dish formality. A scoop of ice cream, a spoonful of hot fudge and a spritz of whipped cream made a sundae right in her mouth. Tipping her head back, tilting the whipped cream canister and letting it rip, she realized that this was exactly the type of embarrassing scene custom-made for Jake to walk in on. Picturing him finding her in her leopard-print scrunchie and pajama bottoms, guiltily clasping a carton of ice cream and a jar of hot fudge with her mouth full of whipped cream, she spurted out a laugh. Like the spout of a whale, whipped cream launched out of her mouth in an arc. It landed all over the refrigerator door with a splat. Looking at the mess, Lila’s laugh turned into a whimper. Jake wasn’t going to walk in. Because Jake didn’t like her. Nobody did.

  “Get a grip,” she told herself out loud. Because talking to yourself was what winners did.

  Putting the goodies away, she gave herself a pep talk. So, she didn’t get the dream guy. Nor did she get to own and operate her own business. And her best friend had yelled at her. Somewhere, there was a tiny violin playing for her in deep sympathy. But, honestly, she needed to quit moping and get some perspective on how good she really had it.

  Oh God, she’d been such an idiot! Cursing, she covered her face with her hands. She’d made out in a car! Again! And she’d been swept away in the romance of it!

  Climbing back onto the couch covered in snotty tissues, she added another thing to feel bad about: how bad she was at not moping. That’s why she’d earned a D in that college seminar on Buddhism. Detached perspective? Not so much. Betrayal. Pain. Anger. Jealousy. Now these were concepts she could sink her teeth into. That’s why she’d done so well in her mythology class. Hubris, now that was a concept. There she’d been, sitting on that bench overlooking the ocean, feeling everything was going so well. She’d been wearing wax wings, baby.

  Life had been so much easier back in school. The goal had been clear: As. The path to it just as clear: work really hard. That she could do. She’d always done well in those rat-seeking-cheese environments. Even at the advertising firm, she’d felt a certain security in being able to see the next step, the promotion she was working toward. Not that that had worked out at all, she thought, giving a loud snort of derision before covering her nose, wondering if she was going to have to add ‘frequent inadvertent snorting’ to her list of woes.

  The same clip promoting the same new TV show she must have seen 17 times by now came on yet again and Lila hit mute. Did they think it helped to see the same thing over and over again? Actually, yes, it did, she remembered AdSales’ survey research. All she knew was the girl in the show had great hair, thick, glossy, straight and honey-colored and she tossed it around like she hadn’t a care in the world. Bitch. Lila decided she hated her, too. She hated Martin and Jake and Annie and that girl from the TV show. Maybe she should start keeping a list.

  As the evening wore on, the Red Sox wore out, reaching a final score of 8-1. By the ninth inning they pretty much looked like they’d never played ball before in their lives. Her Gram could do better out there. Folded like a house of cards, she said to herself, only it came out more like ‘folded like-a house-a caads.’

  Her favorite relief pitcher, usually so fierce and tough and certifiably insane, hung his head in defeat. Yup, thought Lila. That about summed it up.

  CHAPTER 11: 99 Luftballons

  Awoken from a deep sleep, Lila had a moment of wondering if she was in the midst of a medieval siege. Stumbling and finally reaching the door, she discovered that this particular version of battering ram wore boiled wool, carried a large black leather satchel and answered to the name of Marion. And she’d had just about enough of Lila’s stuff and nonsense.

  Marion, apparently, had only allowed Lila the weekend to mope. Monday arrived and Marion decided that enough was enough. Bustling around the apartment with a garbage bag which Lila was amazed to see her pull out of her voluminous purse in a tidy black plastic square—did she fold her trash bags?—Marion busily began the work of dispensing with all this fuss about a cold.

  “Nothing a little fresh air won’t cure,” she declared, whisking away discarded tissues and cough drop wrappers and whacking the pillows on the futon back into shape with vehemence. “Now change into something more sensible. We’re going for a walk.”

  Open-mouthed in confusion, still half-asleep, Lila managed, “Sensible?” Looking down, she realized she was wearing an oversized t-shirt dating back to college featuring a large yellow duck dancing with a pink pig. Something to do with a fraternity party she hadn’t gone to. She wasn’t exactly sure how she’d ended up with the shirt, she just knew when she was depressed it was hideous enough to seem appropriate.

  Within 15 minutes, Marion had her out for a walk cum march along the waterfront and within the next 30, Lila was pumped full of good, strong sentiment regarding life and her place in it.

  “What are you, 26?” Marion asked.

  “28,” Lila corrected forlornly.

  “Exactly my point.” Marion didn’t seem to note the huge gap between mid-twenties and cleaving close to 30. What followed was a stern mix of needing to know your priorities and the importance of keeping perspective, patched together with some old-fashioned life must go on. Main take away: Pull Yourself Together. When a broad-shouldered, no-nonsense Brit in boiled wool came to your apartment at 7am, knocked so loudly on your front door that you were convinced it was the Visigoths, marched in and de
manded it, you were pretty much compelled.

  Later that morning, Lila found herself tidying up the store’s local fiction section, broadly interpreted to mean anyone who ever was born in or visited California or any author who chose a small coastal town as a setting for all or part of a story. She decided that at the very least she could make sure it was tidy. In order. That much she could do.

  “Do you have all your teeth?” Godfrey, silent and all in black, slunk by her side, as usual, without a sound.

  “My teeth?” Lila asked, beginning as so many interactions with Godfrey did, with wondering whether she’d understood him correctly.

  “You look like the sort who still has all her teeth.” Godfrey shot a penetrating look toward her mouth and Lila wasn’t sure if he wanted her to open up. “It’s not just a myth about George Washington, you know. Full set of wooden chompers.” He bared his teeth, using his index finger to gesture from side to side. “Also Attila the Hun and Simon Cowell, formerly of American Idol. And think how much they all accomplished.”

  Wondering if this was the first moment in history when all three greats had been listed together, Lila wasn’t sure how to respond. Deciding it would be an interesting point of trivia if it were true, she asked, “Are Simon Cowell’s wooden?”

  “Lila.” Godfrey shook his head, at once disappointed and infinitely patient with his pupil.

  “Yes, Godfrey?” Lila asked, not wanting to offend his earnest attempt to communicate.

  Hand up to her shoulder, he said with meaning, “You have all of your teeth.”

  Watching his slender form retreat toward the register, Lila realized she’d just been the recipient of what could only be described as a pep talk, Godfrey-style. And he was right, wasn’t he? She had all her teeth. And a tidy local fiction section of books, she mentally added as she surveyed her work, thereby doubling the short list of positives in her life.