Dressed in Pink

by Diana Stone

  23

  Texting Problems

  Jack has been away for 2 weeks! I’ve been glued to my phone waiting for messages and photos. At first, he sent selfies, with backdrops of vineyards and lovely old castles. He had nice things to say and told me he missed me. Then his communication tapered off to every couple of days, then finally I get this short and stiff text, three days ago… “Been busy. Heading to Portugal to develop contacts for making Port. Actually, it would be called fortified wine in California. LOL.”

  That was three days ago. Hello. Nothing since then. No personal words, not even a photo?

  He told me he would be away ten days, now it’s been fourteen days… yes, I’m counting. The way I feel about men is if they aren’t interested I’ll let them go and I’ll move on. The soul-mate thing with the vortex was great, but it doesn’t seem to be happening. He over-rode it with his willpower.

  I understand that he’s engulfed in a European adventure. He’s building his business and learning how to make the best Port. Excuse me, it's fortified wine. What do I know, there may even be a lovely lady on the trip who is distracting him. Is he even thinking of me? I made sure I replied to this texts with interesting remarks and questions. He must think I’m just being friendly because he isn’t answering my questions. I sent updates letting him know that all is quiet here. I’m not writing mushy poetry, just happy and offhand things. I know not to chase a man, they panic and run.

  Here in my little corner of the wine region I’ve been leading rides. I’ve been killing time, waiting for my man to return. I’m getting pissed me off. I haven’t been living. I’ve been waiting. Just waiting. Now he goes to Portugal. So, I’m not that important. Or he’s running from his feelings, or, or what?

  Time for me to get back to living.

  Before I crucify him, I’ll call his office. He said to call if I need anything. I’ll speak with his assistant and see what I can find out, without appearing needy.

  It’s an informative conversation. She tells me Jack asked her to help me in any way she can. That sounds great, but then what happened? He made plans to go to Portugal at the end of the first week, but he didn’t tell me until the end of the second week. She says she doesn’t know how long he’ll be gone, or where he is going. He will be touring wineries and vineyards. She sometimes books his travel, or he goes with friends on their private jet. He calls her daily to get his business problems resolved.

  “He’s such a busy man and he’s such a wonderful boss, I can’t say enough about him. Do you know, last Christmas he gave all of his employees a bonus and a raise because the winery was doing so well…” she continues gushing on in a sweet voice, telling me his attributes, while I listen, feeling irked.

  I ask about the police investigation and she says there is nothing new, it’s all quiet. I’d already called the detective, but I thought I’d ask her anyhow—just in case they left me out of the loop.

  And so it’s been three days since he last texted. He isn’t in the hospital nor did he tumble off a cliff. I understand that he has to call his assistant for work. But doesn’t he have enough time or interest to text me? He has either put me in a place to be dealt with later, or he isn’t that interested now I’m out of sight.

  For another week I go about my self-healing. I’ve been sleeping in Veronica’s guest room for safety. She said they wouldn’t have it any other way. The bed is plush, I sink in and don’t want to get out. I’ve been reading books about strong, independent and happy women. Women choosing their own paths in life. I’ve also been reading adventure books, but I have NOT been reading romance novels.

  I’ve emerged stronger. Prince Charming doesn’t exist. When you find a man, you have to deal with his wants and needs, his fears, his stress, his problems, his children, his ex-wife, his baggage, his pain, his dilemmas, his poor business decisions, his bankruptcy, his Visa bills, his drinking, his clothes on the floor—that if you pick up becomes your chore, his dishes and dinner, his dreams that aren’t yours and you see holes in a mile wide, his parents and sisters and brothers who may not approve of you, or you of them, and a hundred other things I can’t think of at the moment.

  Hey woman, I will get myself back on track. I am wonderful, I am fabulous, I make my own decisions and am no man’s servant. I earn my own income and have my own life. I have friends who care about me. I don’t actually need a man.

  For many years, I read romance novels where the man was gorgeous and wealthy. He finds the cute little heroine and they live happily ever after. They come in a series of three books, with brothers and sisters who are all fabulous. I recently read a book set in a small, perfect town. The woman is beautiful, and sweet, and finds love down the street with the handsome small animal veterinarian.

  I’m in a small, wonderful town, with wonderful horses and wonderful people. Where is my wonderful man? That part is fiction. There isn’t a wonderful man. He looks wonderful from a distance until I land him. Then it will be clear, I should have stood on my own two feet.

  I feel better now after my strong woman speech.

  24

  Eric and Calypso

  Since we have different schedules, Veronica and I rarely see each other in the house, and Marc is often away on business. This morning she pops down to the barn to say hello.

  “Do you remember a guy at Jacks party, his mother was visiting?”

  I think for a moment, trying to remember. “I think so, he’s nice looking and has a horse?”

  “Right, that’s probably the one. He’ll be trailering his horse in. His mother wants to go on a trail ride before flying back home. He wants to show her the vineyards on horseback.”

  “Fine with me, everything’s good. I’m strong, I am a woman,” I exclaim.

  She gives me a strange look and a smile. “They’re the 3:00 ride,” she gives a wave and leaves me.

  We have a full contingent of riders today. There are people milling everywhere, asking questions and watching me saddle up. I’m having fun answering them and introducing them to the horses. I’m finding out about their riding skills. Their riding histories vary: Many haven’t ridden since they were children. One sat on a horse once. One is a former Equestrian Trails queen contest winner of ‘Miss Trail Ride 1980.’

  There’s energy coming from this group, every group has it. Some are silent and some are a little quarrelsome. These people meld well and fit with each other. They’re in an upbeat mood. The day is neither too hot nor too cold. It would be perfect for Goldilocks.

  Everyone is mounted and waiting on their horses. Where the guy who’s trailering in? “Who is with the guy bringing his own horse?” I raise my voice above the clamor.

  The cute older lady on Garth speaks up. “Eric is on his way. I’m sorry, I think he’s running late.”

  Five minutes later, an expensive truck and horse trailer literally skid off the hard-packed driveway. Good heavens, what kind of idiot is driving? His poor horse!

  The rig barely comes to a stop when the driver springs from the truck, taking long, fast strides to the back of the trailer. Opening the rear doors, he backs out his perfectly calm, pre-saddled horse. Who trailers a horse already saddled? He leads the horse a few strides away, then swings into the saddle like an Indian. Huh, he seems to be an athlete. I don’t know of anyone over the age of 16 who can spring like that.

  They trot up to the group and he smiles a light-up-the-sky smile. “Sorry I’m late, there was a traffic jam. Hi Mom,” he nudges his rather nice looking gray Thoroughbred next to her, leans over and gives her a peck on the cheek.

  The man is nuts. It’s like he hasn’t a care in the world. Thankfully ‘Mom’ is riding Garth who doesn’t mind having a strange horse squashed up against him. Otherwise, Mom might have ended up in the dirt.

  “Hi you must be Eric, I’m Jess, the trail boss. We were just heading out,” I advise him in a peeved voice.

  “I recognize you, we met at the Spanish Hills party,” he recalls.

  I give him
a look over. His sun tinted blond hair is covered with a baseball cap and he has sunglasses on. “Oh yes, with your mother. Now I remember.”

  “I think I wronged you and I feel deep remorse for skidding on your driveway,” he laughs.

  Amid my foray into his wrongs, he breaks into my concentration. I accidentally give him a nasty look before I remember he’s a paying rider. Oops.

  He gives me a pesky little brother smile. Then he squeezes his gray next to me on Bunny who, good girl, gives his horse a nasty look, flips her ears back, and threatens to bite.

  I give her a little stroke with my hand, which he could interpret as either ‘Good girl for showing your opinion, or it’s alright, settle down.’

  He laughs at me, “You’re allowing her to make nasty faces at my fine steed?”

  “Your fine steed found himself in her space,” I dryly remark.

  He laughs, “You’re a tough woman. Are you willing to overlook my minor sins? By the way, I really am sorry for skidding in, my trailer brakes need adjusting.”

  “Okay, fine, I’m overlooking,” I give him a small smile. I can’t hold a grudge over something like this.

  I have to admit that over the next few minutes, he gets me over my grudge. He asks questions without making me feel like it’s an inquisition. I tell him about my riding experience. He doesn’t ask personal questions, and of course, I’m happy to talk about the horses.

  I respond in kind, with questions about his horse. I’m amazed that he is so calm after that trailer ride.

  He laughs, “Calypso is a once in a lifetime horse. He’s cool under pressure and likes his job. I never ask for too much, because he gives his all,” he reaches down to stroke the sleek dapple-gray neck. “We’re good partners, aren’t we boy?”

  Hmm, so he’s aware of his horse and cares for him. That says something even if the guy is over the top.

  “Enough making friends and mending bridges, I need to get back to mom. She’s only in town for a few more days, and I wanted to get her back in the saddle on a safe horse. She used to love riding. Talk-at-you-later,” he stops and carefully backs the gelding out of the way of the other riders. It looks easy and well timed. He has an impressive technique and handles a horse darned well. I can tell, even at a walk.

  “Hi everyone,” he waves to the group then rides up to each person. He gets their names and chats as we head up into the hills. I roll my eyes. Jeez, what can I say?

  The ride settles down to a nice pace, and I’m pointing out scenic points of interest. All the women are laughing and joking while riding in a cluster around Eric, Mr. Friendly. It puts me in something of a snit. Why? Well, he’s just so outlandish, friendly and happy. Everyone seems attracted to his buoyant attitude. I overhear him telling stories about his horse and their exploits while training for long distance trail races. His horse seems pretty nice. He looks well fed. Not the skinny-long-distance-runner type of horse. The guy has a nice truck and trailer, but still, he acts like a chick magnet. Yuck.

  It ends up being a fun ride. Everyone is alive with good cheer and it isn’t even the holidays. It’s as if they drank from a special flask of Fun Elixir. The horses are perfect, the riders are happy, the weather is lovely. The vibe is invigorating. Eric seems to be the cause. I’m secretly watching him easily move from one little group of gals to the next. It’s seemingly effortless.

  Many of the women are tittering about him, making little suggestions of taking him home. Oh brother. I guess he’s interesting if you’re into good looking, outgoing, friendly… superficial types? Let’s see how he is after the ride at the wine tasting.

  A little over 90 minutes later, the sun is lower in the sky, and we’ve returned from the ride. The horses are tied up, patiently waiting to be unsaddled and turned out to pasture for their dinner. I’m scurrying around getting additional chairs that have gone missing. Soon everyone is sitting and chatting companionably.

  I break into my sommelier routine, explaining about the wines I’m pouring today. I bring out three bottles of Grenache from local wineries. I think it’s interesting to compare them this way. Some riders like the lighter one while the others prefer the bottles with more mouthfeel. It seems that Mr. Friendly likes the one I prefer, the thicker one.

  The group stays quite a while longer than usual, owing to him, no doubt. Come on dude, I need to get this wrapped up!

  Two gals finally say their goodbyes, exchange Instagram and phone numbers and then leave. Good, that starts the trickle to the exit. Two particularly greedy women have been eyeing Eric. It seems that he deliberately turns his attention to his mother. The two are soon laughing about old times. One woman saunters up and hands him her phone number while making an inviting suggestion. He takes the offered paper with grace, gives her a nice smile, and says that tonight he’s his mother’s date. The woman looks a bit put out but, in my opinion, figures he may call her later. The two women sashay out to their cars. That leaves just him and his mother.

  Mom turns her attention to me begins to engage me in conversation. She’s the type who gets information out of you in a sweet grandmotherly way. I don’t feel like she’s digging, it’s just a pleasant chat. She tells me about her home in Ashland, Oregon where she went to retire. She loves the touristy vibe with lots to do and great places to eat. She asks me about the trail ride business and my history in town. About half an hour later she admits she’s getting tired, takes my hand, and tells me I’m a lovely girl.

  That leaves him. “Oh joy,” my mind screams with sarcasm.

  “It’s getting late, let me help you with the horses,” he walks toward the crew tied to the stall doors.

  “Oh, uh, well thank you!” I begin to tell him no, then I change my mind and realize it’s actually a good idea. It will cut my work in half.

  “Do you have a procedure you like to follow, or does any old way work?”

  “The cinches are already loose, so if you begin next to me we can work our way down the row. Follow me to the racks with each saddle,” I lift mine off Bunny and he removes the saddle from the horse next to her.

  We work like this with all the horses. Then comes the brushing, checking feet for stones, and giving everyone a once over. They all look happy and healthy. Carrots for all, then we lead them by twos to the communal pasture. I put the final horse away, and toss flakes of hay into the steel feeders. The sound of happy munching fills my ears as ten contented horses begin their dinner.

  “Thank you very much. You saved me a ton of work,” I’m impressed. He’s efficient and easily takes direction.

  “You’re welcome, I couldn’t let you do all the work. It was a big group,” he looks a little embarrassed then continues. “I know I caused a couple women to stay later than they should.”

  “You seem to collect them, I noticed phone numbers going your way,” I comment, without noticeable judgment.

  “I’m not interested in that type of woman. Someone who’s desperate enough to chase a guy she just met. What does that say about her choice in men if she’ll settle for me?” he jokes.

  “Well, you’re fun, good with horses, nice looking, I guess it’s not her fault,” I’m being reasonable.

  He shrugs, “Thanks, but I’m not interested in them.”

  That’s unusual, I thought men were interested in any woman who acts available.

  He changes the subject. “I’m getting Calypso ready for a ride next month. Would be possible to trailer in and train here. I need to vary his conditioning terrain.”

  “I’ll speak with Veronica, I don’t see why not. Give me your number and I’ll let you know.”

  He laughs, “See the difference, I’m giving you my number.”

  I smile, watching as he saunters away to load up his horse.

  As I’m tidying up the empty glasses and plates, I find folded $20 bills tucked beneath both his and his mother’s plates. “Tipping is optional and appreciated.” So says the chalkboard nailed to the tasting room wall. It tells me something about a person�
� something nice.

  Veronica says it won’t be a problem for Eric to trailer in with Calypso. He must sign a release, not that it does any good in California.

  In the afternoon of the third day, I see his rig carefully drive off the driveway. Ha-ha, the guy learns.

  It’s time for our 3 p.m. riders to mount up, so I stop looking at his rig. I pull my attention back to prepping riders and getting them settled on their horses. A few kids are with us and they’re already yelling at each other. “Mom, Tommy called me a bad name!” Followed by, “I did not, she’s lying.” I have issues with bratty, loud kids. Our horses are very well broke, but it’s stressful for everyone. Their mothers aren’t doing anything to stop it. They must be immune. I have to say something or it will ruin a very nice ride for the rest of us. How should I approach this?

  Careful to place a benign look on my face, I nudge Bunny over to their mother. I’ll use my ‘blame the horse’ technique. It’s like the ‘blame the husband’ technique. That’s how I get out of something onerous by saying, ‘My husband has already made plans for the weekend, and we can’t make it, so sorry.’ I tell the mothers in a syrupy voice that the horses could get upset and may buck if their children keep screaming.

  It works, the mothers yell at their kids. That’s where the yelling comes from… mommy. It’s interesting how some families have to yell to get obedience. Others only need to give a certain look. I came from the ‘look’ family.

  The rest of the ride goes well, I give my usual tour guide routine. Pointing out special sights, wild animals, and ancient oaks. I include the kids, so they can gain knowledge and hopefully, respect for nature. They aren’t bad kids, just rambunctious. At the end of the ride, they’re petting their horses and feeding carrots. The moms are relaxing with a glass of wine and I’m pouring soda for the kids. Later, as they’re leaving, one of the new nature lovers squeals and points in the air. A Red-Tailed Hawk is struggling to take off with a snake dangling from its talons. We get up-close with nature on our rides.