by Dave Daren
“No, they’re not,” Vicki said.
He laughed again. “Well, then, I guess I won’t show you the pigs. Real pigs are not pink, cute, or cuddly.”
“I’ll take your word on that,” I laughed.
“Come on,” Perry laughed. “I’ll take you to the campus.”
We followed the pathway down toward the building cluster, and suddenly Vicki squealed. A goat nibbled at her skirt. She jumped back in horror and the goat kindly followed her.
Perry laughed. “Yeah. That’s Vinny. Vincent van Goat. He’s our lawnmower.”
“Oh,” Vicki tried. “He’s a nice fellow.”
Perry shooed the goat away, and Vicki looked like she would throw up. She looked at me, and I just shook my head. Perry looked a little embarrassed by the goat’s antics and the smells, but he recovered by the time we reached the building cluster he called campus.
“We have eleven buildings,” he said. “We built all of these ourselves. We have three family cabins, a single men’s unit that houses up to five, a single women’s unit that houses up to five, and three couples units. We also have a communal dining area and communal laundry building, and a lounge room. Of course, now we have the brewery.”
He brought us to a center courtyard between the buildings. There was an open area where about half a dozen men in their twenties tossed around a frisbee.
He took us into one of the buildings through an open set of double French doors. Inside, were mismatched second hand couches, where a handful of trendy young adults lounged. Now they were on their iPhones and the going discussion was a road trip to see a band.
“But,” one of the girls was saying, “the show’s not until Saturday night. If we leave Friday morning, we would get there by the night, and then hang out all Saturday.”
“Yeah,” one of the guys said. “But then we’d have to pay for another night in the hotel.”
“Hey guys,” Perry greeted them. “This is Vicki and Henry. They’re going to help us with the Earth Market deal.”
“Cool man,” one of the guys said. “I’m Robbie.”
He stood and greeted us. He had spiky blond hair and striking blue eyes and wore brown corduroy pants and an untucked red and white plaid flannel shirt.
“Robbie is our assistant manager,” Perry told us. “My wife Kristen and I run the brewery, but Kristen is carrying our first child.”
Perry smiled, and the group applauded and cheered at the mention.
“So, Kristen’s been on light duty lately,” Perry said. “In the meantime, Robbie’s really stepped in and been a big help. The rest of the group here works shifts in the brewery.”
Robbie nodded. “We’re so super stoked about the Earth Market deal.”
Robbie had the dead on iconic accent of the California surfer, and he wasn’t even trying.
“Well, you guys have done excellent work in getting yourselves out there,” I said. “We’re going to help you guys go over the contracts make sure everything is on the up and up.”
Robbie grinned from ear to ear and tousled his hair. “Dude, this is so happening. Like, this is epic, man.”
A chorus rose of, “dude,” rose from the lounging group. I took it this was their chosen slang word of convenience.
Perry laughed and shook his head. “Dude, yeah. This is happening.”
Everyone in the room cheered, and Robbie did a once over of Vicki and me. I was wearing black slacks, and a slim fitting blue button down, and Vicki wore a pencil line purple skirt, white button down, and purple heels.
“You guys look like you know your shit, man,” he nodded vehemently in approval. Then he looked down at his own clothing, and then his colleagues and shrugged.
“We don’t know what we’re doin’, man,” he laughed. “But we make a mean kombucha.”
The lounging group all laughed in agreement, and even Perry cocked his head and smiled ruefully.
“Yes, we do know our shit,” I laughed. “I worked as an entertainment lawyer for an L.A. law firm and did a lot of contracts. You’re safe with me, I’ll make sure you guys get the best deal.”
“So,” Perry said. “I’m going to take them over to the brewery and show them around a bit. Rob, are you coming?”
Robbie couldn’t stop smiling. “Def,” he said.
Perry and Robbie led us back through the courtyard and Robbie talked the whole time about kombucha. “It’s super awesome, it’s full of probiotics that boosts your immune system and helps your digestion. But, there are different flavors. I like a raspberry lime flavor we make, but you can try out the different ones we have. Right now, we’ve got like four official flavors--raspberry lime, strawberry basil, lemonade, and blueberry ginger.”
The frisbee game had ended, and the courtyard was mainly empty now.
Robbie smiled and tousled his hair again as he continued, “Most of us though, we like to make our own brew.”
Perry laughed. “Oh, God, Robbie, we just met them.”
Robbie shrugged. “It’s not bad. It’s just extra sugar. All kombucha is, is a fermented tea.”
Perry shot Robbie a look. “Rob, stop telling them all our stuff.”
Robbie didn’t hear him and continued. “So normally, you make tea, and then you put in the Scoby, which is, this sugar crazy mushroom, and when you feed it what it wants, it ferments the tea. Which the fermentation does a lot of things, but for one, it produces trace amounts of alcohol. But, if you put shitloads of sugar and ferment it a second time, you can make some pretty bad ass hooch.”
“Is that right?” I asked. “You guys are making hooch out here?”
Perry and Robbie glanced at each other uncomfortably and shrugged. Perry made a face and turned as professional as I had ever seen him. “It’s for personal use, not for sale, and federal law allows provision for people produce a certain amount of beer at home to share with their household. And we stay within the federal limits.”
Since clearly Perry was concerned about the legality of his operation, I surmised that they probably did not stay within federal limits for their household use.
“Well,” I said. “So long as you pay your taxes on time I doubt you’ll run into any issues.”
“Well, we might be a bit rustic, but we’re prompt taxpayers,” Perry said.
“Yeah,” Vicki said. “That’s how they got Al Capone, right?”
“Something like that,” I said. “Maybe you should be worried after all.”
We all laughed and then we reached the brewery. It was the only professional looking building on the property, with a glass door and a sign, reading Coconino Brewery.
Inside, the lobby was cramped and small, about the size of a closet. The sheetrock was bare and dirty, and there was an old metal desk with papers hastily thrown about. A pregnant woman that I assumed to be Kristen stood at the desk, stroking her ample baby bump.
She was a tall brunette, looked to be late twenties or early thirties. Her hair hung just past her shoulders, straight, but with the frizzy unkempt look of a woman whose pregnancy had taken a tremendous toll. She looked relieved when she saw Perry and smiled slightly. He greeted her with the silent shared glances of people that knew each other so intimately that entire conversations could be exchanged with an expression.
He turned to Vicki and me. “This is my wife, Kristen, and our little Koa Loki.”
He rubbed her abdomen, and Kristen laughed. “Well, we haven’t completely decided on the name yet.”
Perry winked at us. “I’m pushing for Koa Loki. She wants something more traditional.”
“It sounds like it’s from an anime game or something,” she said. “How about something normal, like Joshua or Alexander?”
“Normal?” Perry stared at her. “What about this kid’s life could be normal?”
She cocked her head in agreement. “But, that’s going to be his name for his whole life. What if he grows up and wants to be normal?”
“Then we will have utterly failed as parents,” Perry shook
his head.
“But seriously, who’s going to vote for a president named Koa Loki?” she said.
We all laughed, but this conversation was ringing a little too personal for me, given my own family dynamic.
“Nice to meet you, Kristen,” I said. “I’m Henry Irving and this is Vicki Park.”
“Oh you’re Saffron and Moondust’s son!” she exclaimed. “They are wonderful.”
“Oh you know them?” I asked.
“Of course, your mom put me in touch with my midwife,” she said.
“That sounds about right,” I concurred.
Perry apologized for not making the introductions, and we all shook hands and exchanged pleasantries.
“We’ll take you guys back into the magic room,” Perry winked.
Kristen looked tired but wobbled along with us. Perry took us through a hallway and down a flight of stairs into a basement.
“So you know it’s a boy?” Vicki asked Kristen.
“Yeah,” she said. “We did an ultrasound at the birthing center.”
“The birthing center?” Vicki asked.
“Yeah,” she said. “Serenity, near the vortexes?”
“I was born there,” I said.
“Really?” Vicki said.
I nodded. “Yeah, they do natural childbirth.”
Kristen’s eyes widened. “Oh, totally. That’s the only way to go, an at-home water birth with a midwife.”
“Yep. The same midwife delivered both my sister and me. I think she tried an at home birth, but she had complications, so they took her to the birthing center to keep an eye on her. With my younger brother, the used a different midwife, and they did it at home.”
There are some moments that life hands you a check in card, and you take stock of your current position in the world. This was one of those moments for me.
Six months ago, I was at an elite LA watering hole called Skyliner. The building had a breathtaking view of the city, with its lights flickering as far the eye could see and the mountains, a gentle fog in the distance.
Urban myth had it that Britney Spears used Skyliner as a basis for the restaurant in her music video for Womanizer, in the scenes where she played a cocktail waitress. That rumor has neither been confirmed nor denied, but patrons that viewed the video deemed it quite likely. I was at Skyliner with a client that had just landed a supporting role in a project with Jason Bateman. My client, and the handful of industry people that had a stake in the deal, were all celebrating “our”win.
Now, here I was, discussing natural childbirth with a kombucha brewer that lived in a commune. Then I realized, I was well versed enough in these strange topics to participate in the conversation with crazy people. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.
“See,” Kristen said. “I was born at home, and it’s just such a beautiful moment. We’re going to have the baby in our bathtub, and Perry is going to pull him out of the water and cut the cord.”
Perry grinned from ear to ear at his role in the story, but something about the fulfillment in his face changed my mind. Did I…envy this man for his impending fatherhood? It was definitely something to ponder.
Kristen continued shaking her head. “I just can’t believe the women that don’t do natural childbirth. I guess it’s one of those things, ‘you do you,’ but still, they are drugging their babies!”
Vicki cleared her throat and shot me a look. I knew that look. It was a look that meant, “Keep your mouth shut, and don’t stick your nose into women’s issues.”
I guessed Vicki was one that would do a hospital childbirth. I had no strong opinion on it either way, since I had always assumed I’d never have children.
Then I suddenly felt very awkward. Vicki and I had only been together six months. We were so busy building a law firm and chasing down murderers, we had never talked about our future together, marriage, kids, and the like. Now, in this odd moment with Kristen and Perry and their blossoming little one in utero, the questions seemed to be looming in the air between us.
I cleared my throat and turned to Perry. “So what are we going to find at the bottom of these stairs?”
He smiled and opened a wooden door. Inside, the brewery was an industrial kitchen, with linoleum floors in muted orange tile. A stainless steel food preparation counter took up most of the main area. It was well stocked with disposable glove boxes, and utensils in metal drawers underneath.
On the other end, was a commercial double sink with a coil spring spray faucet, and a high capacity upright metal refrigerator. Against the other wall, was a sixty inch gas range stove, with a twenty-four inch griddle side, and a double oven underneath.
Then Robbie turned our attention to the metal high rising shelves, where there were large pails about the size of paint buckets.
“These are the teas,” he pulled one down and showed us the inside. Vicki and I looked. It was full of dried tea leaves. Robbie shook it, sniffed it, and then we did the same.
“I love it,” Vicki gushed. “It’s like an orange blossom.”
Robbie smiled and nodded. “Exactly. This is our orange blossom blend. This is a new line we haven’t put out yet. But, we are working on it.”
He shook the pail and nodded. “Just look at that. The leaves are just so perfect.”
He shook his head of his overly artistic assessment and took the pail to another shelf where there was a large metal jug with a spigot. He pushed the spigot to release steaming water into the pail.
“So, this is how we steep the tea,” he said. “Once we fill it up, then we’ll let it sit for about an hour, and then we start the fermentation process. That part takes about a week.”
The leaves were all covered in water now, so he set the pail on another shelf and motioned for us to follow.
“Back here,” he said. “Is our fermentation area.”
He took us through a clear strip curtain into a walk in cooler. There were wooden shelves where close to a hundred tea jugs sat. They were all filled with liquid in various shades of brown and covered with a cloth and a rubber band. Floating at the top of every one of them, was a disgusting mass that resembled a soaked piece of rotting foam.
Robbie must have noticed my expression, because he laughed. “That’s the scoby,” he said. “It eats the yeast and sugar and creates the fermentation. It’s also what gives the drink its health benefits.”
I lost him somewhere after that as he rambled on and on about sugar and yeast and fermentation. His eyes were bright, and he smiled as he tutored on his favorite subject. As he gestured with hands, I noticed a lotus tattoo flashing about his forearm. I tried to snap myself back into the conversation, and Perry caught on.
“Rob, stop boring our guests,” he said. “Let’s get to the fun part. The tasting.”
Perry brought us plastic cups, and he smiled expectantly as he handed them to Vicki and me. We took them, and I swirled my glass for effect.
“This is our signature flavor, raspberry lime,” Perry smiled proudly. Kristen had been tailing around at the back of the crowd, and she made it into the room at this point, and Robbie grinned, and his eyes were wide.
Bottoms up. God, I hate Kombucha.
“That’s good stuff,” I said.
“So amazing,” Vicki said. “You guys really did a good job with this. Earth Market is going to be lucky to have you.”
Vicki’s ability to lie so convincingly did concern me a bit. The Cococino Brew team nodded with satisfied smiles. I set the plastic cup down on the counter.
“So, let’s talk about the contract,” I said.
Chapter 3
“But we have to know what’s in it, like right now,” she said.
It was the next morning in my office, and Shannon O’Brien stood in front of my desk. Shannon was a tall, young, leggy blonde in her mid-twenties.
Her pale ivory skin contrasted with the red on her pouty lips. She had her ginger hair arranged flawlessly into a beehive of sorts, with tiny silver butterflies scattered libera
lly. She wore a knee-length turquoise dress, and scandalously high matching heels that announced her every move against our wood floors.
Younger than her sister, raven haired Daphne sat in my guest chair. She had a vacant look that seemed to suggest she expected to walk in my office and get me to write an eight figured check for her inheritance in time for her spa appointment. She appeared genuinely confused as to why I wasn’t printing it off for her, or so I thought. She might have just been wondering about lunch. Hard telling with the nobody’s home look on her face.
Daphne O’Brien looked like a superhero, and not in a metaphoric, inner power sort of way. No, she looked like she had wandered off a movie set and forgot to change into street clothes.
Her straight dark hair was teased and frizzed out to her elbows, with short bangs that ran a meticulously straight line across her forehead. She wore black lipstick, and it made her already pale, young face look like a ceramic doll. Her red vinyl trench coat reached her ankles and flared out at the bottom with neon green pleats and was cinched at the waist by a five inch leather sash that could have come off a set of Pirates of the Caribbean.
Underneath the coat, there was some sort of black pleated silk blouse, topped at the neck with a glittery silver collar that she wore top buttoned so severely I wondered if she could breathe. Maybe that was her problem. She wore shiny black vinyl leggings, and green lace up combat boots that reached her knees. The best part of the entire ensemble were the sleek black vinyl gloves.
I cleared my throat. “Well Shannon, it doesn’t really work the way.”
She chortled. “Then what way does it work?”
“We have the will,” I said. “We received it from the court yesterday.”
“Finally,” she whined. “Daddy never kept it in the safe.”
“Well, it seemed he wanted it private, very private,” I said. “The will was in the form of a letter and videotape, but there were very specific instructions.”
“Instructions?” Shannon demanded. “What do you mean instructions?”
