Just Like That

by Karin Kallmaker

  Wanting to give him privacy for his painful task, she took her cell phone outside to field calls from the office and paced the patio as she talked. Syrah Ardani appeared from one of the fermenting barns, then later from around the corner of the house carrying a large basket of vegetables from the garden Bennett tended. The morning wore on, with glimpses of Syrah, who did not seem the least bit like a lazy debutante. Watching Syrah deep in conversation with their manager, she revised her earlier thoughts—Syrah was full of youthful vitality, but she wasn’t immature.

  She was still clicking through her calls when she heard Jane’s voice and then the two women were gone.

  Calls concluded a few minutes later, she went back to the office to find Anthony mulling over papers from the printer. “I thought I would wrap up today, but I just spent two hours on other things. If you’re going to settle the matter of the future leases I’d like to come back tomorrow so I can make my report as accurate as possible.”

  It was an excuse, but if Anthony suspected that it didn’t show. “Certainly. That makes sense. Would you like to see how the auction goes this evening?”

  Toni could think of a thousand things that required her attention but heard herself saying, “That would be fascinating. Six-thirty?”

  “Good time,” Anthony agreed. “Thank you, Toni. You’ve been a big help.”

  He still didn’t get it, that she wasn’t here to help him. She realized, then, that part of her hoped he never did. She hoped there was a miracle and she didn’t have to be the harbinger of doom, not for this business. Not for this family.

  She turned away from the public road as she drove away, unwilling to admit that she knew Syrah and Jane had gone this direction. The rental car interior was hot and choked with Caroline’s perfume, and she rolled down the windows as she slowly drove along the tree-lined dirt road. Two hours to the south was one of the largest metropolitan areas in the country, but the buzz of insects and racket of birds made it hard to believe she wasn’t in a time warp.

  She was wasting time, but it seemed more than worth it to coast to a slow stop in a shady wide spot and shut off the engine. The first thing she thought was that the country was noisy, then she was lost in remembering the last summer at the cabin on Lake George. That summer had been painful, but long ago. She simply hadn’t understood that her mother was ill and at eleven had had no way to fathom the concept of “gone forever.”

  Her cell phone rang and she quickly dealt with Valerie’s question. She was grateful for the interruption of what would surely have been maudlin thoughts.

  One of those country quiets fell. The buzzing ceased and then resumed at half its volume, as if some of the insects had decided on a siesta. In the distance she heard voices, then a scream. Alarmed, she got out of the car and walked through the line of trees. The hill sloped sharply away, too sharply to consider climbing down, but through the spreading branches of oaks she could see two figures—Syrah and Jane, had to be—swimming in a pond. There was another scream as Jane pulled Syrah under, then they both waded out of the water and out of her sight.

  It had been enough, that sight of Syrah. No gymnasium waif, she was as curvaceous and sensual as Toni had dreamed she might be.

  Her heart was pounding, and it was silly. She got back in the car, resisting comparisons to Botticelli or Raphael nudes. Syrah was more lean but equally as lush.

  Last night she had been passive to Caroline’s undeniable, forth-right passion. Today, having been aware of Syrah Ardani’s every move for hours, her palms were sweating. She felt like an idiot for having twitted Missy about her infatuation. Syrah Ardani did not even like her. How could she be sitting here imagining that body spread out on her bed, that voice rising to cry out her name, and the laughter that would embrace them both when their bodies were exhausted?

  Rebound. Dementia. Wine poisoning. There had to be some explanation that made sense. She started the car and continued on the road, realizing too late as she dipped down a curve that she was going to go right past the pond where Syrah and Jane were lazing. Lazing naked.

  She reversed as soon as she could, but it took a couple of attempts to turn around. Relieved, she hit the gas and would have made her escape had it not been for a forceful, “Stop that!”

  Toni looked in her rearview mirror and beheld Syrah Ardani marching toward her car. She wore only her T-shirt, and it was wet in places that made Toni’s mouth go dry.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Syrah glared down into the car with such fire in her eyes that Toni was grateful she couldn’t look away. Other parts of Syrah were tantalizing her peripheral vision and she wanted to take a long, long look. She shoved her hands under her thighs.

  “Trying to go back the other way. I thought this would lead to—”

  “You’re kicking up a mile of dust. Ten years from now we’ll be explaining the extra notes of dirt in this year’s Cabernets.”

  “Oh.”

  “Just go slowly, would you?”

  “I will.”

  “Good.” Syrah marched away from the car and Toni watched her go. She would have felt humiliated if it weren’t for the beautiful twin curves of Syrah’s backside peeking below the T-shirt hem. With a slight smile she watched them swagger out of sight, then finally began the journey back to the winery and on to Netherfield.

  “Why is she here?” Syrah tweaked a cookie off the tray Bennett was setting down on the sideboard in the formal dining room that also served as a meeting room.

  Bennett swatted her hand. “I’m sure I don’t know.”

  Syrah watched Toni shaking hands with the grower representative from the largest collective in the Napa-Sonoma counties. It had felt good to have a real reason to yell at Toni this afternoon, even if, when she’d gotten back to the pond, Jane had pointed out the impairment a lack of panties dealt to one’s dignity.

  She munched on the cookie—shortbread, her favorite—as she approached the tasting room, then used a piece of it to lure Hound outside and onto his chain. They were now officially closed and glasses of last year’s table zinfandel were being offered and accepted. She slipped into place next to her father and poured a few more glasses, handing them out as she said hello.

  When Toni stepped up to the bar, Syrah handed her a glass. “There aren’t any notes of dirt in this batch.”

  “Really?” Toni sipped appreciatively. “No city slicker messing up the grapes that year?”

  Syrah was uncomfortably aware that Toni was laughing at her, and she did not want to blush. “Not that year, no.”

  “All I can say is that if rules were enforced by women in such fetching uniforms, we’d all behave ourselves.”

  Syrah blushed. “I was protecting the grapes. That’s one of the fields we’ll be leasing today.”

  “Toni, dear, there’s someone I want you to meet.” Syrah watched her father drag Toni over to meet another grower and heard him say, “Toni is the daughter of an old family friend and is helping us out with business matters. I thought she’d be interested in how we handle something like this.”

  “A pleasure to meet you, Ms. Blanchard. I’ve read so much about you,” the grower enthused.

  Toni said something in reply that made everyone laugh and her father beamed.

  As if she was an invited guest, Syrah thought, and not running from here to a judge to explain how they’d found a way to keep their heads above rising water. She didn’t know why she had to remind herself so forcefully of Toni’s role, but she knew it had nothing whatsoever to do with the way that Toni’s hands moved as she talked, or the warm, low tone of her laughter.

  Syrah plastered a smile on her face and circulated through the room, taking some satisfaction from the turnout. There were at least twenty interests represented here, and that meant they’d get a fair price even at the short notice. Properly advertising and doing a public auction might get them more, but after the costs they would likely net the same amount.

  Bennett appeared from the hallway that led to the
dining room and gave a significant harrumph. Syrah shooed people in that direction, promising warm shortbread and other tasty things.

  Toni remained at the door, and since Syrah didn’t want to take a chair from a bidder, she lingered there as well. Some people had to stand anyway, but no one seemed to mind. The bowl of note cards and envelopes was passed from party to party, and in a few minutes pencils had made their notes and envelopes were tucked shut. Syrah took a second bowl around the table to collect the cards, then set it in front of her father.

  When she rejoined Toni at the door, Toni whispered, “Is it really this easy?”

  “It is for us.” She shrugged. “Public auctions are much more tense, with multiple sales and everyone having contingencies. You know, if they don’t get their first choice they then need to shore up their bids to fill in what they didn’t get. This is one deal and a known quantity. The Bench, Alexander Ridge, Lime Flat—they all know exactly what those plots are.”

  “Gotcha.”

  The growers chatted among themselves while her father opened the envelopes and arranged the bids from high to low. By the time he finished most of the wine and all of the cookies were gone.

  “This is very gratifying. Thank you all for your serious bids.” He quickly named the five top bidders.

  “Oh, well,” one of the losers said genially on his way out. “It was a long shot. I hoped nobody else would have heard. There’s no way I could afford anything off of Ardani Bench.”

  “Me, too. I stayed for the cookies.” A woman Syrah didn’t know paused to hand her a business card. “If there’s another auction of this kind, do let me know. And I love shortbread.”

  “I’ll remember.” Syrah smiled back, vaguely wondering if she was being flirted with.

  Toni said, her lips stiff with an obvious effort not to smile, “I think she likes your vines.”

  “It’s just business.”

  “What would a woman have to do to get you to realize she’s flirting with you?”

  Syrah wondered why Toni wanted to know such a thing. It wasn’t as if…Her heart was suddenly pounding. “It doesn’t happen all that often.”

  “That you notice.”

  Alarmed, and not sure why, Syrah concentrated on the activity in the dining room. The five top bidders were filling out new cards, having been told what the previous high bid was. She already suspected that the lease would go to the collective representative. Her father wouldn’t be all that happy; the collective often then sold their residuals to the big conglomerates. It wasn’t to be helped. She sighed.

  “This isn’t easy for your father.”

  “No.” For me either, Syrah could have added. Things weren’t supposed to change, not like this. Nature could make change but when people forced change it never felt right to Syrah. “How are you enjoying Napa?”

  “I’ll admit it’s beautiful here. We had a delicious dinner last night at French Laundry.”

  Syrah was nonplussed. “Really? How did you pull that off?”

  “It wasn’t me. Caroline can be ingenious when she wants to be.”

  Good for Caroline, Syrah thought. She glanced again at the bruises on Toni’s arm and when she tore her gaze away she realized Toni had caught her looking.

  Syrah couldn’t begin to decipher the expression on Toni’s face. It wasn’t a blush, and it wasn’t shy admission. It was…uncomfortable. She couldn’t pry into it, so she asked, “Do you have other business in the area?”

  “No, not right now. There is a rumor of a client working out an acquisition in Los Angeles, but I’m well aware that’s not really the same state.”

  Syrah snickered. “You understand Northern California attitudes too well, perhaps.”

  “That or I’m too cozy with Southern California business interests. Since the Silicon Valley crash there hasn’t been the same kind of activity up here to give me balance.”

  They stopped talking as her father began opening the next round of envelopes. “We have a clear leader this time.” He stated the top bid and two of the growers put up their hands in resignation. “One more round?” He glanced at the remaining three.

  “I think I’m done, too, much as I hate to be,” another man said.

  Syrah walked them out, thanking them along the way for their efforts. By the time she returned to the dining room, everyone was shaking hands and her father had a mixed look of pleasure and regret on his face. As Syrah had expected, the collective had won the bid.

  “It was fifteen percent more than I thought it would be,” Toni said in a low voice. “Excellent.”

  “That’s good news.”

  “It is. I’m going to see what happens if I project forward five more years of lease—”

  “I don’t think Dad will agree, I really don’t. He’s dying inside.” Syrah hadn’t meant to say so much but at least Toni was nodding with understanding.

  “I know. At least we can see how it pencils.”

  Papers were being signed and then her father walked the two other men to the door. Syrah found herself abruptly alone with Toni and could think about nothing but the fact that Toni had seen her with no panties on this afternoon and what Toni might have been doing to Caroline to get those kinds of bruises on her arm.

  “Have dinner with me,” Toni said suddenly.

  Syrah blinked. “Why?”

  Toni’s mouth tightened but Syrah didn’t know if it was laughter or annoyance. She supposed her blunt question had been a little rude. “Because a girl’s gotta eat and I don’t know where is good.”

  “I don’t think I can get us into French Laundry.”

  “Good. It was delicious but far too rich to do every night. Bennett’s food is also starting to show on my waistline.”

  Syrah couldn’t help but look. She had no control over her eyes as she studied the flat stomach, lean hips and long, long legs. She brushed her hand over her own stomach. “Oh, you’ve a ways to go to catch me. I need to stick to a diet.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  Toni’s low tone caught Syrah off-guard. Was Toni flirting with her? No, it was just polite conversation, she thought. She didn’t want Toni Blanchard to flirt with her, not at all. “Let me clean up a little, then sure.”

  In her room, Syrah discarded the T-shirt that had been treacherously too short, and pulled on a red short-sleeved sweater. She brushed her hair, pulling it back into a ponytail. Recalling Caroline Bingley’s perfect brows she quickly plucked a few stray hairs, then decided she did not have time for an all-day makeover.

  She frowned at herself in the mirror. “This will have to do.”

  “Have fun,” her father called.

  It was surreal, sitting in Toni Blanchard’s rental car, her father’s words ringing in her ears. She had no expectation of having “fun” but her heart was pounding nonetheless. Exactly what was she doing, then?

  Chapter 8

  “To tell you the truth, I’d like a drink. From a bar where it’s dark, the music is low and the French fries are served with ketchup.” Toni gripped the steering wheel with both hands to keep her palms from sliding on it. A drink was probably not the best idea, but she could think of nothing else to say now that Syrah’s thigh was a mere six inches from her own.

  This feeling inside was ridiculous. She was not fifteen and dying over her first girl.

  Syrah was gazing out her window, but Toni thought she heard a hint of a smile in her tone. “I think I know just the place. Go north on the highway to Trancas and head east.”

  “Gotcha.” What’s wrong with me, what’s wrong with me—the refrain wouldn’t stop. “I’m glad the auction went well, I really am.”

  “Obviously, I am, too.” Syrah shifted her position so she was now looking at Toni. “I don’t mean this as rudely as it sounds, but what’s in this for you?”

  “In what?”

  “What you do. I understand money of course, and I don’t think that’s a bad thing, mostly.”

  “A girl’s got a right to make a livi
ng, doesn’t she?” Toni gave Syrah an arch look.

  “Yes, of course. But why this living?”

  “Good question. I intended to go into business law, but I was just about finished with grad school before I grew up and realized my interest was mostly about following in my father’s footsteps. He’s a judge.”

  “I think my father mentioned that. I understand the compulsion to want to follow on well-trod ground. I certainly have.”

  “You have grape DNA, right?”

  “You’re quoting my father.” Syrah looked down at her hands. “I enjoy spreading manure sometimes. Other times it’s the chemistry of it.”

  Toni had to force her gaze back to the road. Syrah’s fingers were as shapely as the rest of her. “I finished the law degree, and it has certainly come in handy. But my first job out of college was with a crook who treated everyone and everything, including me, like a slot machine. Fiddle with it just so, and it pays off for you.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I quit and found another company and the story was much the same. Eventually I freelanced and got to pick and choose. I was lucky in the form of a patron, a friend of my father’s. He brought me a chunk of business as a test and when that worked, we went on to bigger and better things. I got flat-out lucky, made a bundle in something I had put my own money into and life, generally, has been good.”

  “Lots of travel? Adventure?”

  Toni grinned. “Lots of hotels and bad food. That’s been a delightful change about this trip.”

  “Netherfield is a lovely old home. I don’t know if it’s true, but there was a story about its being located on the spot where the first Spanish land grant for the valley was signed.”

  “I like it. At first I thought Missy was crazy, but it has many charms.”

  “More than one, yes.”

  Wondering what that cryptic comment meant, Toni was about to ask when she realized the exit she wanted was coming up. Syrah pointed out the way and they left the main highway behind in favor of a more suburban setting. Stores with matching facades and familiar names gave way to older buildings and a farmer’s market. They arrived at an aging strip mall and headed toward a heavy door under a sign with a blinking martini glass.