Saving Grapes

by J. T. Lundy

  “Don’t open that door,” I begged.

  I jumped behind the older woman and held her in front of me to hide.

  “Oh mon dieu!”

  Jacqueline looked at me hard, like she was seeing me for the first time.

  “Please, Jacqueline! I can explain.”

  She began to open the door. I dove behind the bed. She opened the door a crack. “Everything is fine. Thank you, sir. My mother sometimes behaves hysterically.”

  Mother?

  “Are you sure?”

  “Quite.”

  “Strange,” Eustace said. “I thought I heard a voice I recognized.”

  “Thank you, sir.” She closed the door.

  I stood up and straightened my robe. “Thank you.”

  Jacqueline pointed at the door. “Out.”

  “Just listen for a moment. I—”

  “Out! I don’t want an explanation, Jason. I want you out of this room and out of my life.”

  “This person is Jason? The love of your life, Jason?”

  “Love of your life! Is that true? Did she say that?”

  Jacqueline buried her face in her hands. “Oh ma mère.”

  I looked at Jacqueline’s mother. “Je m’appelle Jason Barnes.” We shook hands.

  “Marjette.”

  “Enchanté.”

  “Don’t believe him.” Jacqueline sat on the edge of the bed. “You have a wife! You never said anything about a wife.”

  “I don’t have a wife. We’re divorced. She’s my ex-wife.”

  “Once a wife, always a wife.”

  “That’s not true. Who says that?”

  “I do. Because that’s what it feels like to me.”

  “Look. I don’t know anything about your past either.”

  Her eyes looked to the ceiling for a brief second. I had scored a point. “Okay, Jason. I will tell you about my past. I was in love with a man for three years—”

  Marjette waved her hand in front of her face disapprovingly. “Psh.”

  “That’s okay,” I said. “I don’t need to know.”

  Jacqueline looked at me cross. “Yes you do. I was in love with a man whom I thought was in love with me. After two years of dating I thought we were getting serious, but then I found out he had a wife, and in the end the wife won. I’m not going through that again.”

  “It’s not like that,” I said. “I’ve been divorced for five years. And Laura just showed up unannounced.”

  “Why is life so crazy with you? How do you have an answer for everything? Why are you hiding from that man in the hall?”

  I pointed at the door. “That man is a bad man. That man is after me. He is trying to steal the vineyard.” I motioned for Jacqueline’s mother to sit at the table by the window. “Please, Madame. It’s a long story. Let me explain.” I served a plate of the food to Jacqueline and set the bulk of the goodies on the table in front of her mother. I sat down across from her and looked straight into her eyes. “Marjette. About a month ago my dear aunt who raised me passed away.”

  She put her hand to her heart. “Je suis désolée.”

  “You are unstoppable.” Jacqueline shook her head.

  I proceeded to tell my story to Jacqueline’s mother, knowing full well I had to convince her in any case. I put my version all out on the room-service table except for some bad-tasting morsels like possible jail time, illegally entering the country, and hawking some nuns’ religious artifacts. But otherwise, it was all good quiche, and by the end of my spiel Marjette was full-up on breakfast and ready to call me a stand-up guy.

  Jacqueline was putting on an earring. “So you say a few nice words to Mother and everything is okay? You think I’m supposed to fall into your arms now?”

  I jumped up and grabbed her hand. “No. Of course not. Jacqueline, I think, I hope, that we have something special. Please, let me prove my words.”

  She stared at me a moment, and then squeezed my hand and nodded. I felt immediate relief. I think Jacqueline was still hurt, but at least I had a chance.

  Jacqueline’s mother wanted a vineyard tour, and we agreed to meet up later. I said goodbye and kept an eye out for Eustace as I left.

  CHAPTER 20

  I raced back to St. Sebastian. I could see Stumpy pacing on the patio from a quarter mile down the road. He ran into the drive to greet me. I blared the horn at him and yelled out the window. “I could have hit you.”

  His hands fluttered excitedly around my face and shoulders as I got out of the car. “It sold. It sold!”

  “The cup?”

  “Thirteen thousand one hundred euros. Someone ‘bought it now.’”

  I grabbed his shirt at the chest and shook him. “We did it.”

  He pushed me, and we punched and jabbed each other and laughed with joy.

  “Are they going to send us the cash through PayPal?”

  “Someone in France bought it. They want to meet in person to make sure of everything.”

  I did a hop, spread my hands out, and looked at Stumpy questioningly.

  “This afternoon in Bordeaux,” he said.

  “Let’s do it.”

  “Let’s go.”

  We ran into the house to get ready. I took off the monk disguise and put on my regular jeans and shirt and turned back into Jason Barnes. I went downstairs and pulled out a map of Bordeaux from the old bookshelf. I examined the spot we were supposed to meet the buyer. All we had to do was exchange the cup for cash, return to the bank, and wire the money to the court in Kankakee. If all went well it could be done this afternoon, but we needed to leave right away.

  Stumpy put the cup into a backpack and we walked out the door. There stood Laura, Melanie, and Betsy.

  “We’re ready for our vineyard tour,” Betsy said, chipper. “Will you be our pilot, Neil?”

  Melanie scowled. I don’t think she thought Stumpy could seriously like Betsy, but still, she wasn’t going to let Betsy out of her sight.

  Stumpy started fidgeting, and I thought he might say something he would regret. “Sorry, but we have to go,” I said.

  “Big business,” Stumpy said.

  “Can we see you later?” Betsy asked, hopeful.

  “Yes. We’ll be back in a couple of hours.” Stumpy smiled.

  Betsy smiled.

  Melanie looked pleadingly at Stumpy.

  “But we wanted a tour,” Laura said.

  “Sister Claudette will give you a tour,” I said.

  Laura groaned. “She’ll give us jobs.”

  “Ask Sister Lucia for a tour.” I slapped Stumpy on the shoulder and pushed him toward the car. “Or give yourselves a tour. Just ask the nuns questions as you go.”

  I remembered Jacqueline and her mom. “Laura, could I have a word?”

  Laura and I walked down the drive. “That woman with the sisters last night, Jacqueline …”

  “You love her.”

  “Well, I, er, maybe. But listen. I sort of patched things up with her this morning, but she’s obviously not thrilled that you’re here.”

  “Is she going to be around?”

  “Well, yes. I hope. That’s the thing. She and her mother are coming out for a vineyard tour, too. I was wondering if—”

  “I’ll be nice.”

  “And—”

  “And I’ll talk you up without seeming like I want you back.” She smiled at me flirtingly. “Like I’d want that.”

  I ignored her nonsense. “And don’t mention anything about you divorcing Tom.”

  She raised her head defiantly. “I love my Tom.”

  “Okay, good, good. Thank you, Laura. I really like this girl. It’s been a long time, you know?”

  She looked sad. “I know.”

  I smiled. “We had some good times, huh?”

  She laughed. “Oh, yes. And now you’ve got a sophisticated French woman.” She waved her fingers in the air. “Oh la la, très chic! I should have never doubted you.”

  A taxi came up the road. “This must be Jacquel
ine and her mom now.”

  Laura and I were about three hundred yards from the house. The taxi slowly passed. I locked eyes for a second with the lone passenger. It was Eustace.

  Eustace turned forward like nothing was amiss, and I hoped he didn’t recognize me, but then his brain figured my face out despite my new baldness. The taxi stopped and the back door flew open. Eustace stepped out. “Jason!”

  I bolted past him and gave him a quick shove in the process. I sprinted up the driveway. “Stumpy! Start the car. Stumpy!”

  Eustace jumped back in the taxi and it followed, sniffing at my heels.

  Stumpy had the car started and I jumped in the passenger seat. “It’s Eustace. Go!”

  The taxi stopped and Eustace walked toward our car.

  Stumpy lurched the Toyota forward. Eustace waved his arms in panic and dodged the front bumper.

  “Jason!”

  Stumpy turned sharply to avoid Eustace and headed straight for the ladies. The car was in first gear and Stumpy pressed the gas, clutch, and brake repeatedly in no particular order. The ladies screamed and ran for cover. I grabbed the wheel and pointed us down the drive. Stumpy hit the gas hard, and we lurched our way to the main road. We stopped.

  My mouth was dry, and I felt like vomiting. “Switch.”

  We each got out and ran around the car and met at the front. We tried to dodge each other left then right, but we were synchronized and collided. We pushed each other aside and got back in the car. I smoothly popped in the clutch and we raced down the road—destination Bordeaux.

  “Do you think Eustace will tell on us?”

  “Yeah, I would think so.” I shook my head in frustration. “Hopefully the police will have better things to do than research an American complaining about another American entering France illegally.”

  “What if he tries to see Aceau again?”

  “What of it now? He already knows I’m here.”

  “Eustace might go to Aceau for advice before he tells the police or anyone else.”

  Stumpy was rockin’ the noggin for a change. “You’re right, there.”

  “Coming into France the wrong way might cancel you from the will, too.”

  “Damn. You’re probably right again, Stumpy. Since when did your genius Big Bang, Stephen Hawking?”

  Stumpy slapped the front dash. “I think well under pressure. And my real name is Neil Hammond, Jason. Don’t you know that?”

  I sighed. “Look. All I know right now is we gotta sell this cup and deposit the cash and wire it to the court by tomorrow before Eustace or anybody else tries to arrest us.”

  “Us?”

  “You aided and abetted, remember?”

  Bordeaux was ninety kilometers away. We passed vineyards and farms, rolls of hay and grazing cows. The road curved through small towns until we caught expressway A62 in Langon. I sped up. Trucks and dodging cars roared by, immersing us into a more frenetic pace than we had been experiencing in vineyard life. It took us a good hour before we reached Bordeaux.

  We parked on the street in the heart of Bordeaux’s city government buildings. Giant columns rose from the street’s edge, forming a sidewalk arcade that shaded our walk. We made our way to the water. A swift breeze came from the Atlantic, creating scattered ripples on the Gironde Estuary’s surface. The air was cool and smelled faintly of fish. Industrial barges passed each other along the wide waterway.

  We stood and looked at each other. We paced and looked at each other again. Stumpy shrugged. I shrugged. We did this for a few minutes and then a short, skinny man approached us. He was young. He wore a low V-neck shirt that exposed a hairy chest, and his hair was slicked back into a ponytail. “Bonjour.”

  “Bonjour.”

  He spoke French and talked on and on but it meant nothing to us. Finally he made some hand gestures that resembled a box and stopped talking. He looked at us expectantly.

  “He wants to see the cup, I think.”

  Stumpy unzipped the backpack.

  “Careful.”

  He set the backpack down and slowly unwrapped the cup.

  The man’s eyes lit up. “Oui.”

  He reached out and touched the cup. Stumpy held on and wouldn’t let him take it.

  “Euros.” I rubbed my thumb and fingers to signal money.

  A car’s horn honked. I didn’t think anything of it at first, but then it sounded again, repeatedly. A black Mercedes limousine was parked twenty yards from us.

  I put my hands on the cup. Stumpy, I, and the unknown man all had a hold of it. “This isn’t the guy.”

  We pushed and pulled until the man let go. Stumpy and I fell to the ground both holding onto the cup. The man ran away.

  We stood up and brushed ourselves off. Stumpy held the cup like a football. I nodded to the Mercedes limo. “That must be our real buyer.”

  The limousine’s windows were tinted. The back window opened slightly and a hand reached out. Stumpy and I approached carefully.

  I held out my hand and motioned for money. “Euros.”

  A small cardboard box was handed out to us.

  I opened the box and counted thirteen bound stacks of one hundred euros, plus one hundred euros more. Perfect. “Ça va.” I nudged Stumpy and he handed over the cup.

  The back window rolled up, and the limousine sped off.

  “Just like that.”

  “Easy as stomping grapes.”

  I shook Stumpy by the shoulders. “We did it.” I almost dropped the box.

  “Careful, the money.”

  We stuffed the box of cash into Stumpy’s backpack, saddled him up, looked around for threats, and walked back the way we had come.

  “Only two hours until the bank closes.” I picked up the pace. Our footsteps clicked on the cement sidewalk. We turned the corner to the street our car was parked and ran smack into a swarm of kids. They came from nowhere and surrounded us. They begged for money as a pretense, but patted and pulled, searching for the good stuff.

  Across the street I saw the man from our previous encounter. He leaned against a building and smiled as he watched us. The kids were after the cup, or possibly the cash. The man had probably watched the whole transaction take place.

  Stumpy smiled at the kids and thought it all funny. “No, no.”

  “Stumpy. They’re after the cash.”

  I grabbed Stumpy’s backpack and pushed it up high on his back. Ruddy fingers pawed it, but they could only manage to open a couple zipper pockets. Stumpy and I swung around as I pulled the backpack over his head. The kids jumped at us and their combined weight began to pull us down. I wrapped both hands around the backpack and held it into my stomach. Stumpy bent over. I pushed him in the butt. “Go! Stumpy! Go! Like Pee Wee football.”

  Stumpy bulldogged forward, sending kids flying. I stayed close behind my blocker and broke free. We ran fast, and the kids chased us. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the mystery man running across the street to join the chase. I don’t know if it was my imagination or not, but I thought I saw some other men appear around corners and run at us, too, but it was all a blur and I tried to focus straight ahead and just run.

  Stumpy slowed down by our car.

  They’d be on us before we could jump into the car. “Keep going,” I shouted. We rounded the corner and headed for a busy street.

  I saw the Mercedes limousine parked at a stoplight.

  “Come on.” I ran for the limousine, figuring the recent transaction had made us friends. I pulled on the back door and it opened. I dove in. Stumpy jumped in behind me and closed the door. The light turned green. “Go! Those kids are chasing us.” The kids pounded on the side windows, but the limousine moved through the intersection and down the road.

  We were safe from the kids, but I then wondered if it was all a sinister plan. Maybe the buyer in the limousine, the kids, and the mystery man were all working together.

  “A deal’s a deal,” a man said in accented English. “No trade-backs. What are you fools doing?�
��

  I recognized that voice, and since I was now more familiar with the language and accents, his English had become easier to understand. I pushed myself up into a seat and saw Aceau sitting primly with the cup in his lap.

  “Aceau!”

  Stumpy bumped his head on the limo’s ceiling, spun his behind around and sat in a seat. “This is the asshole?”

  “You bought the cup?”

  Aceau wore his same suit. “Not me. I have an important client in Bordeaux who purchased the chalice. God knows why the transaction included you, but the deal is done. Now you must get out, my client will not like this at all.”

  “The deal is still good. Those kids were trying to rob us.”

  “You are bald.” Aceau looked at me intently, like he knew me from somewhere else. But I don’t think he put the synopsis together to place me as the monk.

  I rubbed my head. “My girlfriend likes it this way.”

  Aceau did not respond, but nodded to the driver. After a few turns the limousine came to a stop.

  Stumpy snickered. “See you later, asshole.”

  “Not a word of this to anyone,” Aceau said.

  “Not a word,” I said.

  CHAPTER 21

  An hour later, we drove around Duras’s town square, turned down Rue Chavassier, and parked in front of BNP Paribas bank. I had to stop myself from running in.

  We walked into the deserted lobby. “Bonjour.” A sullen teller glanced at us, wary of our eagerness. Stumpy still held on to the backpack like a football. We approached the teller. Stumpy slid the box of euros across the counter to deposit. We received a balance slip that indicated we had forty-two thousand six hundred euros. It was done.

  We asked to wire some money and waited outside the office of a personal banker. After a few moments a young woman came out and introduced herself. “Bonjour. Je m’appelle Isabelle.”

  “Jason Barnes.”

  “Neil Hammond.”

  Isabelle had a black business skirt and an ivory blouse. She had red hair and wore black high-heel shoes. Without the shoes I think she would have ignited Stumpy’s love-fire, but as it was now, she had an inch on him. Stumpy remained unaware and unimpressed and I was silently thankful.

  “The wire room is closed,” Isabelle explained. “You may return between ten and three tomorrow.”