by J. T. Lundy
“She’s happily remarried and everything,” I said.
Laura coughed. “Yes, happily.”
“Then what is she doing here?” Sister Claudette said.
“Good question,” Jacqueline huffed.
“I don’t like it,” Sister Claudette said.
“I don’t either,” Jacqueline said. “What did you do with your hair?”
I ran my hand over my head. “It feels more spiritual.”
“I don’t like your hair, or what is happening in this house,” Sister Claudette said. “This kind of debauchery cannot go on here.”
“Debauchery? Sister, this is almost my own house.”
She motioned to Melanie and Betsy. “Winos and prostitutes!”
Betsy put her hands on her hips. “I beg your pardon?”
Sister Claudette looked up and down condescendingly at Betsy. “Is that a real uniform or did they make you dress up?”
“I should ask you the same,” said Betsy.
Sister Claudette looked like she might explode. I jumped between her and Betsy.
“Come on, Sister. It’s just a little party.”
Sister Lucia tried to help. “Remember the time we had after your high school graduation, Claudette?”
Sister Claudette stared Sister Lucia down and won. “I have the interests of eighty-two nuns to look after. We cannot have this type of sinful activity going on in our vicinity. Jason, if we are to be partners in producing wine, that includes being partners in behavior as far as I’m concerned.”
“Well join the party then, Sister,” Melanie shouted.
I was in no position to argue. I lowered my head. “Of course, Sister.”
“It’s late,” Sister Claudette said. “You women should leave.”
“But I was going to stay here,” Laura said.
Jacqueline glared at me. “I bet.”
“I was staying, too,” Betsy said.
Sister Claudette looked at Betsy and took a moment to rein in her anger. “There’s room in the abbey. You are all welcome to stay.”
“Christ almighty,” Melanie said. “I’m going back to the penguin pen.”
“Pack your bags, ladies, and follow me,” Sister Claudette said.
I hopped around like a porter and helped the women with their bags. All the while, I felt Sister Claudette’s soul-searching gaze. I finally stopped and looked at her. “What?”
“Eustace is looking more attractive by the day.” She turned and walked out the door with Sister Lucia, followed by Laura, Betsy, and Melanie.
I ran outside and called to Jacqueline. She had just entered her car. I leaned down by her window, which she had lowered halfway.
“What do you want?”
“Room service breakfast?”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Yes, I’m joking.”
“Of course you are! Everything with you is a joke! You do what you want. Sleep with a gullible French girl one night and back with your wife the next.”
“She’s not my wife.”
I thought Jacqueline was pretty angry, but she got even angrier. “You are a bullshitter. I know what it means now. You bullshit old ladies. You bullshit your friends. You bullshit me! I want no more part of your games and jokes.”
“Jacqueline, please. Let me talk.”
“Leave me alone, you Paris playboy asshole. I never want to see you again.” She slammed on the gas, the car lurched, and she sped off.
I walked back into the house.
Stumpy was cleaning up the broken bottle and spilled wine.
“Just our party now,” I said.
“Like old times.”
Empty wine bottles and partially filled glasses littered the room. Pillows and cushions were scattered everywhere.
“Dude, you had two women eyeing you up for keeps,” I said. “Damn, you’re the man.”
“I was scared.”
“You should be.” I uncorked a new bottle. “Women are nothing but misery, and now you’ve got double.”
I poured us each more wine. “Jacqueline and I are done.” As I said it, I felt it. She was gone. I ruined it by being me. She was right. I was a bullshitter. I was a no-good scoundrel who thought only of himself.
“You’ll make it right.”
“I don’t think so. Not this time.”
Jacqueline hated me. Sister Claudette was leaning in the same direction, even hinting she’d rather Eustace inherit the vineyard—just like Aunt Clara. Well fuck them all! If they really thought I was a no-good selfish bastard, then I’d be a no-good selfish bastard. I grabbed a bottle of wine. “I’m going for a walk.”
CHAPTER 18
I took the wine bottle onto the patio. A bat swooped and circled, devouring bugs swarming in the dim light. I stepped off the concrete and walked down the hill into the vines and grass and dirt. Clouds descended ominously toward me, screening the stars and darkening the sky. I drank from the bottle, letting the wine flow fast down the back of my throat. Acid burned in my stomach. The heavy clouds lowered into fog, and when I breathed I inhaled a damp mist that tasted like cold copper. I drank more and felt a euphoric madness, an overpowering feeling that I had been terribly wronged. I deserved this land.
I rounded the ridge. The vine leaves sagged, heavy and wet, as I passed. The fog grew thick and the final hill seemed formidable, but still I climbed. I climbed and stumbled over rocks, holding myself up with my free hand while protecting the wine with the other. I stopped and drank deep. The fermented grapes’ history swirled in my mind. I stopped at the cemetery and sat on the family vault and drank again. I became one with the wine and I felt its power, the power its ancestors must have held over my own. I drank from the bottle, holding it upright until the last drop fell on my eager tongue. I stood up and threw the bottle high into the air down the hill.
I knew what I had to do; knew the evil mission that would save me. I climbed to the top of the hill and stumbled through the chapel door. I sat in a pew and faked a prayer. I opened my eyes slightly and looked at the relic case. The relics were the answer. Jacqueline, Sister Claudette, Aunt Clara, they had driven me to them. I looked at the cups and then back at the altar. I lay down on the pew and looked up to the arched ceiling. I rolled over and fell to the ground and crawled. I crawled to the cabinet, thirsty for one of the cups.
The glass case door had a small rusty lock. I pulled on it and it easily opened. I reached down to the bottom row and grabbed a gold chalice that was at one end. I pulled it out quickly, and then carefully shut the door. The deed was done.
I held the cup tight against my chest and stood up. I stared at the ground, my eyes avoiding the altar and the cross. I muscled through the door and fell outside into a puddle of mud. I pushed myself up and ran. I ran recklessly down the hill and through the vineyard, clutching the cup, feeling its coolness against my fingers. I thought I heard a dog bark. The fog covered my skin in a heavy film and coalesced into water droplets that fell from my brow and nose and chin. I ran on, fueled by the wine and the cup and the imagined mad bats diving at me in the dark.
I reached the house, entered the back door, and turned on the kitchen light—basking in its safety. Stumpy must have gone to sleep already. I grabbed an old towel from the cupboard and dried myself off. I rubbed down the cup, and it shined a golden hue. Four red ruby-like gems were situated around the perimeter, dividing the cup into quarters. Underneath each jewel a crusade-like battle scene was etched. I was certain it would fetch my price. I wrapped the cup with the towel, stealthily snuck into my room, and hid it in the closet. I breathed a guilty sigh of relief.
CHAPTER 19
The next day, the hot morning sun assuaged my anger. I thought of Jacqueline and missed her. I thought of Sister Claudette—and what I had done—and felt a little guilt, but not enough to turn back.
Stumpy and I breakfasted in the abbey dining hall with eighty-two nuns and our guests. We sat in different-colored plastic chairs at long, white folding tables
. I had a bowl of oatmeal and some yogurt. Stumpy had a plastic tray stacked with scrambled eggs and bacon. Laura and Betsy were in high spirits, clearly enjoying their convent stay. The nuns ate in silence, but for our friends, it was impossible.
“I feel like I’m at camp,” Laura said.
“I so love not having to decide what to do,” Betsy said.
Sister Claudette had given them jobs, and, unbelievably, they looked forward to working in the vineyard.
Sister Claudette wasn’t speaking to me, and it made me uneasy. “You know, Sister Claudette, this might be a good gig,” I said.
Silence.
“What gig?” she finally said.
“You could rent rooms like a hotel and charge to work the vineyard. People love stuff like that. We could cut down on the number of visiting nuns and make some money as well.”
Sister Claudette smiled a begrudging smile.
“Thanks for making—I mean letting—our friends stay here. Probably better that way.”
She nodded.
“I understand your thought wagon. This place has a reputation—the abbey, the vineyard. It’s all intertwined. If anything scandalous happens it could hurt business.”
Sister Claudette nodded again, longer this time. “A small hotel inside the abbey isn’t a bad idea.”
I smiled. I could do this. I could work with Sister Claudette. I could be an honest businessman. I just had to make one underhanded little transaction to make it all happen. That’s the way the world works. I’d make it up to the Sisters, anyway, I promised.
Since I wasn’t officially in France, Stumpy opened a French bank account to deposit the harvest profits.
We had twenty-nine thousand five hundred euros in the account. I needed thirteen thousand one hundred more. I had to pay the court by tomorrow. Every second counted.
I had to sell the golden cup. “Stumpy, let me use your eBay account.”
“Why?”
“Just trust me.”
“Definitely no, then.”
“I’m going to sell some assets and I need an eBay account.”
“Like what assets?”
“Like, I don’t know, maybe some double-haulers. What’s it matter?”
“Double-haulers are going to save the vineyard?”
“No, you’re right, they’re not. Just let me use your account.”
“No way.”
I marched up to my room and brought the cup out from its hiding place. I carried it to the balcony and held it over my head like in a victory celebration. “This is what I’m going to sell.”
Stumpy’s eyes went wide. “The Holy Grail.”
“Do you think it’ll fetch thirteen thousand one hundred euros?” I came downstairs. Stumpy tried to touch the cup, but I kept pulling it away from him.
“You want to use my account or not?”
I handed him the cup and he ran his fingers over it greedily. “It’s beautiful.”
“What do you think?”
“Ten grand tops.”
I had almost won him over. “Okay, cool. Let’s put it on eBay and find out.”
“Where’d you get it?”
“Oh my God,” I said. “You’re nothing but a henpecker.”
“It’s my account. I want to know.”
I figured if Stumpy was in on the truth then maybe my sin would be cut in half. “I borrowed it, okay. After I inherit the vineyard and the grapes are popping, I’ll buy it back or replace it with a better one.”
“Where’d you borrow it?”
“Jesus, Joseph, and Mary. You could be Aunt Clara.”
He just looked at me as if to say, Well?
“The chapel on the hill. Okay? I took it out of the relics cabinet.”
“My God. You stole from a church.”
“I told you I’d replace it.”
“I don’t know, Jason.”
“Are you going to give me your eBay account info?”
“I don’t want to be a part of this.” We looked at each other and assessed our positions. Stumpy became nervous. “Don’t talk to me anymore.”
“Not a chance.” I breathed in deep. “Look. This land is my land.” I put my hand on his shoulder. “This land is your land.”
Stumpy waved his hands like a choir conductor. He bounced and then sang. “From California to the New York island.”
I laughed politely. “Come on. Serious. The chapel sits on our land. We’re not stealing. We’re using what’s ours to save what is rightfully ours. What could be wrong with that?”
“I don’t know. It sort of makes sense when you explain it like that, but it still—it just feels wrong.”
“Feels wrong?” I handed him the cup. “That feels real. Feels wrong? People do things that feel wrong all the time. That’s how people survive. They cut corners sometimes. How about that English paper I let you use at the end of senior year? Did that feel wrong? I bet it did, but you graduated, didn’t you? And it all worked out for the best.”
“I haven’t been so happy after high school.”
I’d forgotten about the Zoloft. “But you’re happy here, right? You said yourself you felt like you belonged here.” Stumpy gave a slight nod in agreement. “Well, if we don’t sell the cup we’re out of here on Saturday and you’re going to be delivering pizzas and crying over beers at Lucky Mike’s alone, because I’ll be in the clink. And, trust me, I’m not going to let you forget what could have been.”
He started biting his nails. “I don’t want to leave here.”
“That’s smart. What’s your log-in?”
“Stumpmaster.”
“Password?”
“Jasonbud.”
“Jasonbud!”
I reacted too strongly. Stumpy couldn’t handle the stress. He started to cry. “Jesus, Jason. I’m sorry. You’re my only friend.”
I felt hollow. When you got right down to it, Stumpy’s friendship was all I had in the world. I relaxed and quieted my tone. “You’re my best and only friend, Stumpy. You know that.”
He nodded, wiped a tear, and smiled.
“We’ve done some crazy shit together.”
He laughed.
“And this trip has been the craziest.”
We both laughed. “That is for sure,” he said.
“So are we going to save this place?”
“Yeah. Let’s do it.”
After weighing the cup, I figured it was worth at least twenty thousand euros in gold, but we needed to cash in quick. We put it on eBay for a “Buy it Now” price of thirteen thousand one hundred euros. All I could do now was hope.
“I’m going to town to see if I can bring Jacqueline back over to the good side.”
“Not like that, you aren’t.”
“Not like what?”
“Eustace is probably staying at the hotel, too. You need your disguise.”
I put my monk costume on: robe, sandals, sunglasses, and goatee. “You coming?”
“Naw. I want to watch this auction.”
I walked into the hotel lobby, sat down, and sank deep into the burgundy sofa’s old cushions. I picked up a paper to read. A wooden display stand stood next to the wall. It held glossy flyers for Dordogne river canoe trips and cave tours. An older couple speaking German walked out of the lobby, holding hands.
A waiter wheeled a room-service cart into the elevator. A cream-colored cloth with gold fringe brushing the floor was draped over the cart. The waiter propped open the elevator door and returned for a second cart. The second cart looked the same as the first. It had a glass of orange juice, coffee, and a stainless steel room service plate cover on top. A slip of paper hung loosely over the end. “23,” it said. Jacqueline’s room!
The elevator doors closed. I walked calmly to the stairs and quickly climbed. I stopped at the second floor and reconnoitered the scene through the square window in the stairwell door. The waiter had both carts in the hall. Green carpeting covered the floor. The waiter knocked on a door, “Bonjour,” he said a
nd wheeled a cart into the room directly across from Jacqueline’s. When the door shut behind him I tip-toed to Jacqueline’s cart, pulled the long tablecloth up, and climbed in underneath—compacting myself on the stainless steel bottom. I pulled the tablecloth down and remained motionless.
I hadn’t really thought about what I was doing. The opportunity laid itself open, and I jumped. I guess I thought my popping out of the breakfast cart like white bread out of a toaster would bring such a laugh out of Jacqueline that she would be ready to forgive me.
A door shut, and the cart began to move. The waiter exclaimed something in French. It must have been about the added weight, but he kept going until stopping at Jacqueline’s door. I heard him knock. I started to panic. What if it wasn’t Jacqueline’s room? She always reserved room 23. But what if last night was different? What if she decided to return home? What if 23 were already booked?
“Bonjour, Madame.”
“Bonjour.” I couldn’t tell if the voice was Jacqueline’s or not.
The cart moved and bumped over the threshold. Sweat dripped down my nervous face. What was I doing? I was going to freak her out. “Bonne journée.” I heard the waiter’s footsteps leave and the door close behind him.
I rolled out from underneath the cloth and jumped up. “Bon appétit!”
A woman with short gray hair, a flower-patterned blouse, and tan dress slacks stood by the window. She screamed in terror. Her hands shook uncontrollably in front of her face.
I had the wrong room. I was going to be arrested. After all we had been through, Stumpy was going to kill me.
Jacqueline came running out of the bathroom. “Ahh!”
“Wait, Jacqueline, it’s me!”
She stopped and looked closely. She put her hand to her temple and dropped her head.
“Tu connais ce … ce … moine?” You know this, this, monk?
Jacqueline stood up straight. “Yes. I know this, this, idiot. What the hell are you doing? What the hell are you supposed to be?”
A knock sounded from the door. “Are you all right? Hello? Is everything okay in there?”
It was Eustace.
Jacqueline walked toward the door.
