by Rene Fomby
The vineyards on either side of her were already sprouting a nice crop of grapes, grapes that would be harvested starting in mid-September. Sam had never known much about wines and vineyards growing up in Fort Worth, Texas, and even after she was married to Luke, she left much of the arcane art of wine selection to her husband. She was mostly a white wine drinker, anyway, and while she had gradually drifted away from Chardonnays and more toward the local Pinot Grigios since her move to Italy, grapes like the Sangiovese and wines like the Brunellos that were increasingly popular in Tuscany were still very much a mystery to her. She had a large staff of enologists to fuss over all of that for the time being. Worrying about the thousands of hectares of vineyards surrounding the Ricciardelli estate would just have to wait while she dealt with far more pressing issues. She laughed to herself at the unintended pun as she finally slowed down and turned into the private road leading up to the castellated hilltop estate, kicking up a small trail of dust behind her. She was home. For now. Sam thought about Maddie, probably just sitting down to dinner, and gave the car a little extra gas.
19
Siena
After his own economists had sifted through the analysis put together by Sam’s staff, Minister Rossi had come through on his promise to give her four more months to start turning things around at the bank. And now one of his assistants had identified a potential suitor for the tractor division of her agricultural equipment company.
But now the buyer’s male secretary was apparently having problems understanding the word no. “I am sorry, Madame Tulley, but you are going to have to cancel your trip. Monsieur Desrosier insists on meeting you this weekend.”
There was no way Sam was going to be a no-show for Hailey’s wedding, even if it meant losing out on a possible sale. Besides, she had a good feeling that the full-court pressure the French business mogul was putting on her right now was just a test to see how desperate she was to close the sale. And dealing with suitors in business was no different than dealing with suitors in romance—the best strategy was to always keep them chasing you for a while. Makes them appreciate you better when they finally get in close enough for a kiss.
“Tell Mr. Desrosier that I am so sorry, but this weekend just won’t work for me. I am already scheduled to meet with another buyer from Germany this weekend. Someone from Frankfurt. But I would be happy to accommodate the monsieur late next week if that’s okay with him.” Sam could tell from the hesitation on the other end that she had played her cards right. And one little white lie wouldn’t hurt the eventual negotiations one little bit.
“I—I will have to check with Monsieur Desrosier’s schedule. But I—I am certain we can work something out—”
“Fine,” Sam said curtly, cutting him off. “Just get back to my assistant when you know something and she can put it on my calendar,”
“Oui, yes, I will do that.”
“Au revoir, then,” Sam said, pulling the phone away from her face to close the conversation.
“Oui, au revoir,” said the voice on the other end just before she ended the call.
Sam checked her watch. Just enough time left for a long walk with Maddie and Barley in the garden before she had to board her private jet to Las Vegas. With thousands of hectares of farmland to roam freely in, Barley was in dog heaven, even more so than when he had the large back yard to romp around in back in Texas. He had already made quick friends of everyone who worked at the vineyard, from the master enologists all the way down to the field hands who tended the vines and eventually gathered the grapes. And for fifty pounds of boundless energy, Barley was particularly gentle and careful not to disturb the grape clusters hanging from the vines, soon to be pregnant with juice. But even with the almost unlimited space to explore and hundreds of hands to rub his ears and pat his back, there was nothing Barley loved more than hanging around little Maddie. Especially now that she no longer treated him like one of her dolls, dressing him up in little outfits and pretending he was her Prince Charming.
Maddie herself had grown by leaps and bounds since she and her mother had moved to Siena. And not just in terms of size—she really seemed to be blossoming under the warm Tuscan sun and all of the stimulation she was receiving, particularly all the travel around Italy and much of Europe with her mother, mostly on business trips for the trust. For her trust, to be exact, but Maddie was a long way from worrying about the billions in euros her mother was frantically trying to protect from bankruptcy. About the only real concern she had right now was the fact that her longtime beloved nanny, Stella, had returned home to Texas to be closer to her own grandbabies. She still got to talk to Stella on occasion on the computer, but it really wasn’t the same as seeing her in person. You just couldn’t hug a computer.
Maddie’s mommy had promised that she could come along on the weekend trip to America for the wedding, and then make a side trip over to Dallas to look in on Stella, and Maddie had been bursting at the seams with excitement for several weeks, constantly asking her mommy how long it would be before they left. But now she had come down with a nasty sinus infection, and her doctor vetoed the idea of a plane trip, where the changes in air pressure could make the infection worse, and possibly even injure her sensitive eardrums. When she heard the news that she would have to stay behind in Siena while her mommy went to America without her, Maddie had burst into tears and cried alone for hours in her room. Not even Barley and a promise of ice cream could console her, until her mommy had pinky swear promised that she would take Maddie on a special trip to Texas to see Stella just as soon as her ears were better.
Now that she was walking in the garden, holding her mommy’s hand—with Barley the Australian Shepherd racing around in circles around them, showing little sign of his bullet wound from the previous summer—Maddie was feeling sad again, thinking about all the time she and Stella had spent in Stella’s garden back in Texas, planting and harvesting vegetables. “Mommy,” she said, looking up at Sam. “Do you think Stella has a garden in Dallas?” Maddie had no idea where Dallas was, just that it was a place very far away.
“I’m not sure, sweetie,” Sam answered. “But as much as Stella likes flowers, I can’t imagine she wouldn’t have some place to garden in. Maybe some flower pots, if nothing else. We’ll have to ask her when we see her next.”
Maddie looked up at her mother like Sam had grown two heads. “That’s so silly, Mommy. When we see her next, we’ll be at her house in Dallas, so we’ll be able to see for ourselves. We don’t need to ask her.”
Sam laughed. “I guess you’re right. What was I thinking? You’re always two steps ahead of me, pumpkin.”
Maddie grew thoughtful as they neared the end of the garden and turned to walk back along a different trail. “You know, if she doesn’t have a garden, then we should buy her one. Okay, Mommy? Can we buy her a garden? She definitely needs a garden.”
Sam smiled down at her precocious little girl. “My sweet little Madeleine. Always thinking about everyone else. Their needs and feelings. You get that from your father, you know.”
“What was Daddy like, Mommy? I don’t remember him so well anymore.”
“Yes, well, that’s a problem at your age,” Sam said. “And you were very young when he left us.” She squatted down to get closer to eye level with her daughter, and brushed a wispy strand of Maddie’s hair back into place behind her ear.
“Your father Luke was a kind man, a gentle soul. When he wasn’t with us, playing with Barley or making us dinner in the kitchen, he was at the hospital, fighting to save the lives of children very much like you. And I’m just very sorry he didn’t live long enough to see what a wonderful little girl his daughter has become. You are growing up to be just like your father.”
“I don’t want to be like Daddy,” Maddie told her, squeezing Sam’s hand tightly. “I want to grow up to be just like you. The bestest Mommy in the whole world.”
Sam smiled back at her, suddenly at a loss for words. She wished she
could bottle up moments like these and keep them forever. But like fireflies in a jar, they faded away all too soon in the harsh light of day, the endless fight to save Maddie’s future. And the nagging uncertainty of whether the future she was fighting so hard to preserve was even worth it. Did she really want her precious little girl to grow up, only to have to face all those lions and tigers and bears herself? What was the old saying? Money is the root of all evil? Most days right now, it certainly felt like it.
Maddie had released her hand and turned to race after Barley, headed back up the path toward the house. And the promise of a big bowl of ice cream. Sam stood for a few moments and watched them run, enjoying the warmth of the sun at her back and the cool air washing off the vineyards. Out here, the world had barely changed in thousands of years, since man had first begun to cultivate the grapes and crush them into wine. A simple life, full of joy.
The crenellated walls of the castle soared into the sky at the end of the path, both a protection and a barrier, depending upon which side you were standing on. Sam took one last look around her, then slowly began her long walk back up the hill.
20
Las Vegas, Nevada
The flight from her private airfield in Siena into Las Vegas McCarran International Airport had been uneventful, and Sam managed to sleep almost the entire way. With a top speed of 700 miles per hour and a range of 3,700 miles, the Citation X had made one fuel stop before completing the six thousand mile, ten-hour trip. But Sam had stayed on board during the stop—the plane was so comfortable and luxurious, she had zero interest in checking out the comparatively Spartan-looking ground facilities.
On final approach into McCarran, she woke up and watched through a side window as the jet flew over the Stratosphere tower, Caesars Palace, and most of the other major Vegas resorts. As soon as they touched down, the jet braked sharply and turned hard right into the parking area for McCarran’s major fixed base operator. Within minutes she was off the plane and riding in the back seat of a limo toward the Bellagio, her final stop for the evening.
As a VIP, her check-in at the Bellagio was a nonevent, the staff recognizing her immediately and whisking her and her bags directly up to a room on the penthouse floor. The room was as large as most urban apartments, nearly two thousand square feet, surrounded almost entirely by a wall of glass and featuring a sixteen person hot tub front and center with eighty inch flat screen televisions mounted on either side. The perfect setup for throwing an orgy in the middle of a major WWE smackdown. The overblown opulence disgusted Sam, a massive waste of money at a time when she was digging and scratching for every dollar she could find. But her staff had a thousand years or so of history behind them catering to the Ricciardelli nobility, and she knew it was going to take a while to change their habits. To get them used to the sensibilities of a simple little Jewish girl from Fort Worth.
One luxury she did appreciate, though. Sam checked out the well-stocked maxi bar—an apartment-sized refrigerator fully stocked with a wide variety of wines, beers and champagnes—and pulled out a split of Chardonnay from a label she’d never heard about. She glanced briefly at the price sheet lying on the counter beside the refrigerator, and the price listed for the half bottle startled her. Until she realized that the days of a heavily subsidized Vegas were now ancient history. Resorts like the Bellagio no longer relied on cheap drinks and buffets to lure the masses into gambling away their home equity and life savings in an alcohol-fueled frenzy at the craps tables and the original wheels of fortune. She silently promised herself that no such gamble was going to happen on this trip. This was about Hailey’s wedding. And about reconnecting with Harry. A relationship that, through no fault of their own, had suddenly taken on a whole new, unpredictable direction.
The wine was surprisingly tasty, better than she was used to, even though she had long been convinced that white wine was simply white wine. She went back to the maxi bar and found a companion bottle, which she quickly opened. Pouring a generous-sized glass, she slipped off her clothes and slid slowly into the steaming hot tub, holding her glass of wine in her right hand and the bottle in her left.
21
Las Vegas
Sam woke up completely confused. Light was pouring into the room, making it hard to focus. She slowly became aware of the fact that she was completely naked, lying in a hot tub, looking out over the bustling concourse of the Las Vegas resorts. Water was splashing at her chin line, and somewhere in the bubbling waters around her were a wine bottle and an empty glass. Well, a bottle and glass that were now filled with water from the hot tub.
Gradually awareness started to drift in, and she vaguely remembered opening a second bottle of wine the night before. Or maybe a third. Then crawling into the hot tub to relax and hopefully begin to fall asleep. At some point that must have happened. She glanced quickly at the analog clock hanging on the wall far off to her right. It was just after eight. Shit. She had slept almost ten hours. When did she need to show up for the wedding? The fog slowly cleared as she drug herself out of the hot tub and found a clean set of white cotton towels to dry off.
Okay, the first event is lunch, then the wedding in the late afternoon. She could do this. She stumbled into the bathroom, still a bit unsteady, and turned the shower on to heat up the water as she squatted on the toilet to pee. As she finished up and wiped off enough to keep from dripping on the bathroom floor, she grabbed a bar of soap and what she thought was shampoo from the bathroom counter and staggered into the shower. Minutes later she was washing the last traces of shampoo from her hair and soap from her body, then, turning off the shower, she grabbed a towel from the rack over the toilet and quickly dried off.
“Shit! This is so messed up,” she complained to the walls as she threw the towel over the shower rod, grabbed a terrycloth robe and stumbled back into the bedroom. She found the in-room Keurig machine and managed to start a cup of what promised to be Columbian Mountain coffee brewing, hoping that her still blurry vision hadn’t chosen decaf. She waited patiently in front of the machine, her hands pressed to the counter for support and her body bent forward in supplication for the hot reward she was urging forward, drop by precious drop. Eventually the Keurig gurgled that it was finished, and she eagerly grasped the Styrofoam cup like a lifeline and guzzled half of it down before finally pausing to add sugar and some powdered creamer.
The coffee worked wonders to settle her down. She inserted the second, last Keurig cartridge into the machine and pressed the brew button, wondering not for the first time why hotels like the Bellagio fleeced their guests for basics like in-room coffee and wifi while still charging them over a thousand dollars a night for a room.
By the time the Keurig signaled that the second cup was ready, Sam was finally becoming awake and alert. She had an outfit already picked out for the wedding, which made that task pretty easy. She managed to grab the phone on the dresser and call downstairs for room service—more coffee and a simple yogurt and fruit parfait—then plugged in her laptop and checked her messages. She had flown toward Vegas during the mostly European night, but wound up sleeping—albeit an alcohol-assisted sleep—through most of the work day in Italy, and as a result she had dozens of matters left in her inbox that her assistants felt they just couldn’t handle on their own. Sam put a hand to her hair and realized that the shampoo hadn’t been shampoo after all, but conditioner, so she’d have to shower all over again. She decided she’d get cleaned up after room service arrived, answer all of her emails, then get dressed and head for the wedding chapel. After that, she realized, she didn’t really have any firm plans. Guess I’ll just have to go with the flow, she decided.
22
Las Vegas
Sam arrived at the Little White Wedding Chapel thirty minutes early, dressed in a modest navy-blue knee-length skirt with matching jacket and a sea-mist-green button-down blouse. Although Hailey kept insisting that she serve as a bridesmaid, Sam had demurred, given the fact that she had next to no time at all in
her schedule to participate in any of the pre-wedding girlfriend activities, plus the reality that a great deal of water had already passed under the bridge since she and Hailey had spent any quality time together. And, to be fair, it was really just a reciprocal offer, anyway. Hailey had been a bridesmaid at her own wedding with Luke, an event that now felt like ages in the past.
Hailey hadn’t arrived quite yet, but the rest of the wedding party and the bride and groom’s families were gathered out front, waiting for their turn in the chapel. An older couple were still inside, renewing their vows. Suddenly the doors burst open and the newly remarried couple emerged, the bride weeping with joy and the unmistakable sounds of an Elvis impersonator crooning “Viva Las Vegas” blaring in the background. As the couple jumped into the back of a white stretch limousine, a cleanup crew rushed back into the chapel to prepare it for the next wedding service.
Sam spied Harry standing off to one side with a very pretty young blonde, talking to two people she assumed were the groom’s parents, so she walked over to say hello. And, reluctantly, meet Harry’s date for the wedding. “Hey, Hare,” she said as he turned around slowly, breaking into a big grin as he finally noticed her. “You clean up pretty good.”
“Sam!” Harry immediately grabbed her up in a bear hug and planted a big kiss on her right cheek. “I’m so glad you finally made it! We missed you last night …” He looked down, then leaned over slightly to peer behind her. “Where’s Maddie?”
