Saving Grapes

by J. T. Lundy

  Tomorrow was Friday, the due date. That would be cutting it way too close. I hadn’t heard from the runaway Hammersmith, and I didn’t know if wiring cash to the Kankakee County Court was even possible. “The transfer has to take place today. We’re here now. We have the money. You don’t understand the calamities that may befall us between today and tomorrow.”

  Isabelle looked at me strangely, like she hadn’t comprehended.

  “Bad things happen to us sometimes,” Stumpy explained.

  I felt desperate. “Please fire up the old wire and zap over the cash for us.” I took a step closer to Isabelle and pleaded with my hands clutched together. “The future of St. Sebastian wine may be at stake.”

  Isabelle took a step backward, I think feeling a bit threatened.

  “Do you like St. Sebastian wine?” Stumpy asked.

  “I do,” she said pertly. “But that is not the issue. I cannot ‘zap’ the wire. Nobody can now. The main office in Paris controls all the wire transfer times.”

  I felt defeated.

  “First thing in the morning is the best we can do. I suggest you arrive at ten.”

  “But that will be three in the morning in the states. Everyone will be asleep.”

  “Have all the pertinent information available.” Isabelle blinked rapidly. “If you have the correct numbers and wire instructions it will not matter if your institution is open or not.”

  “I, er, I don’t know anything about our numbers.” Damn, Hammersmith. “Could I make some calls to the United States and corral these financial doo-daddies?”

  “Pardon?”

  I explained the request in my best English. Word had meandered around Duras that Stumpy and I were the new St. Sebastian owners. Isabelle brightened. She wanted to show us good service, and a telephone call was something she could help us with. Stumpy and I followed her into a glass-walled office. She sat behind her pristine desk. We sat in chairs before her. Isabelle turned her desk phone around and placed it in front of me. “Do you need privacy?”

  “No. Just show me how to call the US.”

  I knuckle-punched the number and made a dozen calls, spending five minutes in computer voice hell until finally reaching the Kankakee County Court’s collection department. An efficient-sounding man gave me the instructions to wire money. He also promised to notify Judge Crawford when the payment was received. All seemed in order, but then he asked me to name the bank and account owner on the bank account I would be wiring money from.

  Questions were not good. “Um. It’s a BNP Paribas bank in France. It’s not my bank account. Is that a problem?”

  “No. It should not be. As long as the damages are paid we are happy. Are you in France now?”

  Was this guy chitchatting or was he trying to bust me? I couldn’t admit I was in France. “I don’t know where I am.”

  “You don’t know where you are?”

  I looked around the office at Isabelle’s plaques and family photographs searching for help. “No. Not at the moment. I could be anywhere.”

  “You’re calling from an international number.”

  “I must be somewhere, then.”

  There was silence.

  “Goodbye, then.” There was no need to continue. I could only endanger myself more. “I’ll call tomorrow to check the transfer.”

  “Goodbye.”

  I looked at Stumpy, worried about the man’s questions. Eustace knew I was here and now some court payment-processing employee knew. I bit my nails, something I had not done since my divorce. As I got closer to inheriting the vineyard, the increased worry of being caught for my transgressions weighed on my psyche.

  Stumpy hadn’t heard the gist of my phone conversation. He and Isabelle had ignored me and were talking pleasantly together. “The ’07 St. Sebastian was a spectacular year. The full-bodied, velvety texture and deep, earthy aromas could stand up to the finest Bordeaux wines.”

  Isabelle listened to Stumpy with interest, clearly intrigued. “I’ve heard it’s excellent.”

  I listened, amazed. An improbability a month ago, Stumpy had now become somewhat of a wine expert.

  “We have a large vineyard, but our own wine production is small and we are relatively unknown outside of Duras.” Stumpy smiled and nodded at me. “Jason is going to change all that.”

  I put my hands on the desk. “But we need your wire, Ms. Isabelle.”

  Isabelle smiled and stood up, ready to end our meeting. “Tomorrow at ten. I will be here waiting to help you.”

  We shook hands and said goodbye.

  Stumpy and I walked out of BNP Paribas satisfied with the successful completion of our cup-selling mission. We had the cash! All we had to do was wire it, which seemed easy enough, yet I worried.

  We walked to our car and I was about to press the key to unlock the doors when I stopped. Aceau’s office was around the corner off the square. I just had to give it a quick check.

  I led Stumpy down the block. I peered around the corner to the town square. My intuition had reason. “There, look.”

  “At the woman in the Chanel dress?”

  I looked at Stumpy, dumbfounded. “Wine and now fashion. How did you become such a cultural connoisseur?”

  “What?” He shrugged his shoulders. “I’ve been reading French fashion magazines.”

  I pointed past the woman in the Chanel dress down to the next street. “Do you see the man pacing in front of Aceau’s building?”

  “Eustace.”

  “Exactly. He must be waiting for Aceau. Let’s head him off.”

  “How?”

  I started walking back to the car. “He’s waiting for Aceau and we are going to give him Aceau.”

  “I’m tired of being the asshole.”

  “You can get used to it, trust me.” We reached the car and I opened the trunk. “I brought our costumes just in case.”

  “In case what?”

  “Jesus, Stumpy. Don’t be so dense.” I opened the back door and shepherded Stumpy inside and tossed the costume to him.

  “Don’t be so mean, Jason. What am I supposed to do?”

  I tended to get impatient with Stumpy when I got nervous. I tried to relax. Stumpy needed to be in the right frame of mind to play Aceau. “I’m sorry, Stumpy. I’m worried. You know that. Can you change into the costume?”

  “In the back seat? People will see.”

  “No one’s going to see. And we’re in France. Being naked is no big deal.”

  Stumpy rolled around in the back seat like a cold walrus trying to squirm his way into the middle of the warm herd. He stepped out and put on his hat. I straightened him up and fixed his beard.

  I slapped Stumpy’s cheek ever so lightly. “Look at me. You are Aceau. You are irritable. You have no time for this American’s paltry complaints. Got it?”

  Stumpy furled his eyebrows and looked intense. “Oui.”

  I pushed Stumpy around the corner and proudly watched him walk through the square on his own. I felt like a father looking after his child marching off to school for the first time.

  Stumpy walked calmly and confidently. Eustace continued to pace and when he saw Stumpy he approached him excitedly, his hands animated.

  Stumpy recounted the conversation to me later and it went something like this:

  Eustace runs up to Stumpy. “Monsieur Aceau, I’ve been waiting to see you.”

  Stumpy frowns condescendingly. “Our appointment is not until tomorrow afternoon. I am still on holiday.” (I had forgotten about that. I had to hand it to Stumpy, he was in prime Aceau form.)

  “I know, I’m sorry, but someone said they saw you working today. And this can’t wait. I’ve information that Jason Barnes is in the country.”

  “But of course he is. I have seen him myself.”

  “You know, then?”

  “Know what?”

  “He is in the country illegally.”

  “That is a wild accusation, Monsieur Puny.”

  “My name is Small. Eu
stace Small.”

  Stumpy tries to walk up the building steps, but Eustace keeps getting in his way.

  Stumpy says, “Can this not wait until tomorrow? I am a very busy man.”

  “You must help me contact the authorities.”

  “Monsieur Tiny, I understand your concern with upholding French laws, especially against the likes of Jason Barnes …”

  “So you think he’s a rascal, too. Will you help me?”

  “Good sir. The French Customs Service is extremely capable. If Monsieur Barnes is good enough to pass their rigorous examination, then he must be legal. It is not up to me to administer justice.” (Stumpy claims to have seen every episode of Law and Order and for once his television-watching had come in handy.)

  Eustace becomes even more excited. “He must have snuck into the country. I can get proof.”

  “Then bring your proof to our meeting tomorrow. Until then I can take no action.”

  “But you agree that if Jason Barnes has committed a serious crime like this that it will be a Good Character Clause violation and the Barnes’ estate shall pass to me?”

  “I will have to research the caveats of the will again, Monsieur Youass Small, and I will have to investigate this proof you have. Until tomorrow, then.”

  “It’s Eustace Small. And I’ll have that proof tomorrow. By then that slacker will be considered a criminal in both the United States and France.”

  Stumpy walked into Aceau’s building like the man in charge. After Eustace disappeared toward the hotel, Stumpy emerged and strutted back to me.

  “Good job, Stumpy. That gives us a day, anyway.”

  We drove back to St. Sebastian.

  “I’m hungry,” Stumpy said.

  “It’s been a long day. Should we make spaghetti?”

  We parked at the house. I could hear voices. “Change back to Stumpy, Stumpy.”

  “I’m Aceau.”

  “Yes, yes. I know. Just change back.”

  Stumpy rolled around in the back seat again and changed back into himself.

  We walked around to the back and stopped. A long table had been set, overflowing with food and wine. I could see duck salad, roasted chicken, and buttered potatoes.

  Sister Claudette, Sister Lucia, Laura, Betsy, Melanie, Jacqueline and her mom, Marjette, all sat at the table, talking, eating, and passing platters around. The sun glowed from behind horizon-hugging clouds. Dark would be upon us soon. A brisk breeze ruffled the tablecloth. The scent of roasted chicken made my mouth water. Neither of us had eaten since breakfast.

  Two seats remained empty, one between the sisters and one between Jacqueline and Laura.

  Stumpy and I walked onto the patio and the conversation stopped.

  I waved. “Hello, ladies.”

  Stumpy rubbed his belly. “Looks better than spaghetti.”

  Disgruntled looks rotated our way. We were late, and they were not happy.

  Sister Claudette, Laura, and Jacqueline all spoke at once. “Where have you been?”

  “Well, I, er, I—”

  “Please, have a seat,” Sister Lucia said, “And we can talk civilized.”

  Stumpy and I sat down. I sat between the good Sisters while Stumpy sat between Laura and Jacqueline.

  “We had some serious business to take care of.”

  Silence.

  “We had to go to Bordeaux,” Stumpy said. My stomach sank. What was the idiot doing? He was going to divulge our cup-selling caper. “Jason had to fill out paperwork for his replacement passport.”

  I exhaled and relaxed. Stumpy’s brainpower had increased over the past few weeks. Perhaps it was the wine. Anyway, the ladies nodded, satisfied with Stumpy’s explanation.

  “How was the vineyard tour?” I asked.

  “Lonely without the vintners,” Laura said.

  Jacqueline shot her an angry look. My hopes that they would get along looked futile.

  “It was lovely,” Marjette said. She gave a warm smile, and I smiled back. “But we didn’t get to see the chapel on the hill.”

  I gulped. I wanted to stay far away from the scene of my crime.

  “And we didn’t get to see your family cemetery,” Jacqueline said. She addressed me rather crossly, I thought, like women do the longer they know me. “Do you have a big family, Jason?” Her head turned toward Laura. “I’ve been learning many things about you today.”

  Great. Just great. Laura could really talk, especially after sucking down the fermented stuff. God knows what she told Jacqueline. “Well, no. My Aunt Clara just died and that leaves me the last Barnes a-kicking. Is that right, Sisters? Are there any other Barneses still walking on top of the soil?”

  Sister Claudette and Sister Lucia looked deadpan at me, and then at each other. “Barneses? Yes. I think there are still some in the area,” Sister Claudette said. “I know there is a very distant cousin of yours in the Marseille prison.”

  Stumpy smacked his lips as he chewed. “Sounds about right.”

  I tried to kick him under the table and mistakenly kicked Jacqueline.

  “Ow!” Jacqueline’s eyes widened and she gave a look that made me feel like I did when a teacher would write “see me” on my homework.

  “Sorry, so sorry! Leg cramp. It was an involuntary muscle reflex.”

  Jacqueline raised an eyebrow. “Like your heart?”

  I stared at her. “Yes. Exactly. Like my heart.”

  “Pass the wine, please.” Melanie cleared her throat. “How’s your heart, Stumpy?”

  “My heart?” Stumpy looked around. “My heart’s good. I have a big heart.”

  “Big enough to lead two women on?” Melanie said.

  Everyone stopped what they were doing and the table became quiet.

  “I, I, I’m not sure how, what?” Stumpy looked at me for help. I raised my glass to him and smiled.

  Betsy threw down her napkin. “Melanie is right. Make a decision, Neil. Tell her we are meant to be.”

  Stumpy looked back and forth between Melanie and Betsy, and then settled on Betsy. “Well, you see. I really don’t know you as well.”

  “But we’re a perfect match. The online form is never wrong.”

  “It’s just that. Melanie and I met here, and we share the vineyard, and—”

  “I love you, Stumpy,” Melanie said.

  Betsy stood up. “Fine. I wish you all the best. I believe I can catch the red-eye out of Bordeaux.” She shook her head and rolled her eyes at Stumpy and then walked off toward the abbey.

  I raised a glass. “To Stumpy and Melanie.” Nobody joined me. I guess it was too early to celebrate, as everyone seemed to be feeling Betsy’s sorrow. I drank a big gulp of wine. “So where were we?”

  “I’d still love to see the cemetery and chapel,” Marjette said. “I leave tomorrow evening. Could you show us in the afternoon?”

  Traipsing through the cemetery and chapel was the last thing I wanted to do. Tomorrow was the big due date. I thought about all I had to do, but I didn’t want to disappoint Jacqueline’s mother. “Yeah, sure, no problem. Tomorrow afternoon. I look forward to it.”

  “Many tourists and pilgrims like to see our relics in the chapel,” Sister Lucia said. “Jason can show you those, too.”

  I was swallowing a potato as Sister Lucia said this and I gasped. The sudden inhalation/exhalation whipped the round little spud snug into the old blowpipe. I tried to breathe and ask for help, but I could do neither. Everything became bright and the pressure behind my eyeballs threatened to expel them from my head. I hit myself in the stomach to no avail and then stood up and gave the old “I’m choking” signal with my hand around my neck.

  Panic ensued.

  A few of the ladies screamed.

  “He’s choking,” Laura barked.

  Stumpy flew around the table, nimble as a pro wrestler. He wrapped his meaty paws around me and squeezed me vise-like as if I were an evil foe, and thudded me with the trusty Heimlich. Pain shot into my ribs and the air in my lungs blew thr
ough my windpipe and dislodged the wedged potato like an exploding champagne cork. The potato piece, soaked with red wine, flew through the air and landed in Jacqueline’s cleavage, which I had oddly been staring at as I struggled for life. Maybe I thought her breasts could save me.

  Laura laughed.

  “Oh, mon Dieu,” Marjette said.

  I tried to talk, but Stumpy didn’t know he had saved me. He repeated the Heimlich, thrusting his fists into my solar plexus and lifting me off the ground. The jerking/lifting motion caused him to thrust his hips into my backside. He was frantic and did this over and over.

  “Get a room,” Laura said.

  Stumpy gave up on the Heimlich and slapped me hard in the back. I slumped over and ran around the table gasping, trying to get away from him. Matthew and Mark appeared and jumped at my legs, trying to help Stumpy. Despite the protests of the others, Stumpy continued to chase me, like a man with a crazy-focused mind.

  Eventually the Stumpy-gorilla and Jason-chimp chase ended. Stumpy looked confused and hurt as everyone laughed. He shooed the dogs away.

  I breathed deep. I tried to console Stumpy and show my appreciation. “Hallelujah, brother. You saved me. A murderous save, but a save nonetheless.”

  Jacqueline looked at me as one would a broken horse that had to be put down. I suppose it would be rude to dislike someone because they were choking, but Jacqueline was appalled and unable to hide it—she had had enough of me.

  Her mother blotted Jacqueline’s blouse with a napkin as they began to leave. “Goodbye, everyone. It’s been quite a day.” She walked down the drive toward their car, her mother attentively hovering around her.

  I ran down the drive after them. “Jacqueline, please. I’m sorry. I’m a fool—an idiot—a total idiot. I’ll never spit a potato on you again.”

  “Your wife told me how devastated you were after she left you.”

  It was true. I moped and cried like an abandoned puppy and I don’t think I truly ever got over it until I met Jacqueline. “That’s nothing unusual. I was upset, I admit.”

  “And she told me how you begged her to return to you. How you told her she was your one and only soul mate.”

  This was all true, too, but time changes things. What the hell was Laura doing telling Jacqueline all this old bottom-of-the-lake crud? “That was a long time ago.”