John arrived early, as he usually did, a bottle of barbera under his arm.
“I’ll open this, and then I want you to stop fooling around in the kitchen and join me on the front porch,” he said, taking two glasses out of her cupboard.
“Okay.” Paige checked the oven temperature, then handed him the corkscrew, leading the way out the front door and seating herself in the porch swing.
John joined her and handed her a glass of the dark red liquid, swirling his glass as he sat down to inhale deeply of the bouquet before tasting.
“Damn, this is good, if I do say so myself,” he said.
“I take it this is yours?”
“It is. And I did a fine job, even if it is a little young.”
Paige smiled and sat back to enjoy the view. It was a warm evening. Mosquitoes, a usual complaint, seemed to be elsewhere. Were there mosquitoes in New York? She’d ask Jake when he came back.
“Okay, so what’s up? It must be important if you waited until now to tell me.”
“Jake Madison.”
Paige almost groaned. She’d been right. “What about him?”
“I know why he’s here.”
“So does everyone else. What have you heard?”
“He has to boost his cash flow or else lose a company that is apparently very important to him. He’s been evaluating his various properties to see which one might be worth the most. This one was an unknown. So he came here to see for himself, and has decided that selling this one is the quickest way to get financially healthy.”
Paige put her glass down carefully and considered what she’d just heard. Was Jake leading her on? Was the “opportunity to convince him” just a sham?
Jake had told her he was here to sell the property—he was honest about that—but she had assumed he wanted to make a profit on his investment, not save a company. That’s why she thought she could persuade him to keep it. Even when he’d told her about not wanting to lay off people, she thought he was talking about a future possibility, not something so immediate. If John were right, he needed the money now, rather than in the long term.
“Did you know Jake in Chicago?”
John sipped his wine and raised an eyebrow.
“Jake? Not Mr. Madison? You work fast.”
“We’ve spent a lot of time together, and he asked me to call him Jake. What’s so unusual about that?” She set down her glass and crossed her arms in front of her, daring him to be critical.
“Most of the absentee owners around here are a bit formal with their staff,” said John, shifting to face her. “That’s all I meant. Frankly, Paige, I don’t know where that leaves you. I don’t think he has any options left. He’s got to sell.”
“Then he can sell to me.”
John’s eyes widened. “You’re not talking about the loan, are you?”
Paige studied her hands, knowing she couldn’t go through with this. “Well, I…”
John frowned. “It’s too late. I no longer have the extra cash to loan you. I’m investing in a business deal with a guy from the East Coast. I wish I could give you the details, but I’m bound to secrecy right now.”
His words slammed into her. He’d saved her the embarrassment of pleading with him to provide the funds without the expectation of more than friendship. But now there was no hope. If she couldn’t persuade Jake to sell some other property, she’d lost.
“I hope it all works out for you.”
Paige got up, having lost her appetite. It was beginning to sound like Jake hadn’t been completely honest with her. Her shoulders sagged, weighed down by doubt and disappointment.
They served themselves from the kitchen counter and carried their plates to the small dining table in a corner of the living room. She fought hard to keep her hands steady. She didn’t want John to know how badly shaken she was.
She wondered what Jake was doing right now. The thought of him made her treacherous body warm. She would have to get herself under firm control before he returned.
“You’ve got a dreamy expression on your face, and I’ll bet it isn’t because you’re thinking of me.” John turned back and cocked his head to one side. “It isn’t him, is it? You haven’t fallen for him, have you?”
“Maybe a little bit.”
“Oh my God, I can’t believe this.”
Paige was annoyed, but she couldn’t deny his accusations.
“I guess it’s time to say good night.” John frowned, kissing her on the cheek. As he left, he promised to let her know if he found out anything else.
Paige washed and dried the dishes and put the lasagna pan in the sink to soak. Filling her glass, she went back out to the porch and sat down.
She wished she could have formed an attachment to John. He had been there for her so often. He’d even jokingly offered marriage once, but she was sure he hadn’t been serious. She considered him the stereotypical bored player, but still treasured his friendship. It had been way beyond reason to expect he would loan her the money.
John could have made his vineyard as profitable as Garnet Hill, but he chose to travel and flit about the club scene. Sometimes she wondered if he was hiding something.
A breeze stirred the vines in front of her cottage. She sat back in the swing and closed her eyes. A hawk screeched in the distance. The warm summer night enveloped her in comfort. This was her home, her life, her salvation. Generations of her family had been born here. And now she might lose it.
Her grapes were like jewels, hanging on green strings. Plucking one at the height of the season and plopping it into her mouth, slowly rolling it on her tongue before biting down and feeling the soft, sweet juice slide down her throat was her first sensual experience. She had never wanted to be anything but what her father was—the best vineyard manager in the valley.
I am the best, and I can keep this vineyard in my hands. I can do it. I will do it.
Tomorrow she would get up and go on with her business and think of her immediate problem, getting through the upcoming harvest. Worrying about events that hadn’t yet occurred was pointless. If the ax fell, she’d land on her feet. She always had.
And maybe she’d find some time to swallow her pride and revisit her bank and find out exactly what she needed to do to borrow enough money to buy the estate. If the rumors were credible, she had to investigate all avenues, even if they were all dead ends.
She had promised her sister Mariel that she would help in the Vineyard Worker Services booth at the local Harvest Fair on Saturday. Then she’d sit in the stands at the Little League field to see their nephew play. Maybe she’d stick around for dinner at her parents’ house instead of finding a way to back out at the last minute as she usually did. She’d make it a real family day. Her mother would appreciate it.
“That’s a plan,” she said as she drained her glass, strode into the house, and firmly closed the door for the night.
If only it would be that simple.
Chapter Eleven
“White zinfandel introduced wine to the American cocktail party. Light, with a berry infusion, serve it with sweet and sour pork or drink it to sweeten a sour day.”
—from Paige Reynoso’s tasting notes
The gleaming, two-story glass and chrome structure was out of place in downtown Napa. Paige eased her pickup into a space between a Mercedes and a BMW and stood in front of her bank. She’d checked out all the banks when she first started saving for an eventual purchase. They told her it was useless to even consider a loan. She had no collateral, she owned no property, and while her salary was good, she had only a fraction of the down payment that would be required. Since then she’d been able to save a bit more. Maybe…
She nodded at a teller she knew and gave her name to the receptionist, who waved her into the cubicle at the far end of the building. A woman sat there. She was typing at a keyboard when Paige approached.
“How can I help you?” she said without looking up.
Paige sat in the chair opposite the desk
and pulled out a notepad. “I was hoping to discuss a loan.”
“What kind of loan are you interested in? Auto? House?”
“Property.”
“I see.” The woman, whose name badge proclaimed her to be Anne Swenson, opened a drawer and brought out a legal-sized full color packet holding several brochures and forms.
“I already have that. When I was here before, I was given a loan to income ratio, which I couldn’t meet. I wondered if that percentage was still in place and if a slightly higher down payment would make any difference.”
The woman sat back in her chair and shook her head. “Since the downturn, banks are more regulated than they’ve ever been. You’d need twenty percent of the purchase price as down payment and interest rates on jumbo loans are still pretty high.”
“So nothing has changed.”
“May I give you some advice?”
“Of course, that’s why I’m here.”
“Unless you have assets greater than the amount borrowed, you should try to get a partner who does. Or negotiate directly with the seller. Private arrangements are made all the time.”
Paige trudged out of the bank back to her truck. Her “partner” was no longer available, and her extra savings were not going to make a difference. She’d known this, but she had to try again. Would Jake consider selling directly to her? Not if he needed cash.
She dawdled in front of the nearest store window, collecting her thoughts. Mannequins in summer T-shirts and shorts were posed around an outdoor table, displaying several picnic baskets. It reminded her of the picnic she and Jake shared—was it just last Sunday? It seemed so long ago.
This was such a stupid idea. Where would she get the money to make payments, even if she could get a partner? She could try negotiating directly with Jake, but if he needed cash, that wouldn’t work. She didn’t have it.
Hanging her head, she plodded on, not paying attention to where she was going. When she raised her head, she saw the Napa City Hall a block away. Maybe Sarah could take a break.
She found her friend behind her desk, a stack of books on environmental review on one side and a bulging file folder on the other. Sarah smiled when Paige came in and put down her pen.
“Hey, this is a private area. Who let you in?” She stood up and came around to give Paige a quick hug.
“Do you have time for a cup of coffee?”
“Sure,” said Sarah. “Follow me.”
They left through a side exit and went to a coffeehouse two doors down. They took their drinks to an outdoor table where they could people watch.
“What brings you into town?” said Sarah, sipping her latte.
“One of my weaker-than-a-rain-bloated-grape ideas.”
“That’s quite an analogy. So what is it?”
“I went to a bank to see if by chance they were feeling super generous about loaning money to impoverished vineyard managers.”
Sarah sputtered into her coffee, laughing so hard she had to mop up the table with her napkin. “You didn’t.”
“I did.”
Paige’s lips twitched, and she hurriedly took a sip of her cappuccino.
“What bank were you headed for? Your bank? Did you speak to Anne?”
“Yes, Anne. I talked to someone else before. But I had to try again.”
“Anne is nice…and professional. She’d never laugh at a customer. She doesn’t even laugh at your grandmother when she strolls into the bank to deposit her social security check…in her gold lamé jumpsuit.”
“I’ve seen that outfit. It has a matching purse.”
They both laughed, and she took another sip. Everyone needed a practical friend who wasn’t afraid to help her face the dark at the back of the closet.
Paige licked the foam from the rim of her cup and breathed in the rich smell of coffee. Tourists were starting to gather on the sidewalk and would soon be filling the tasting rooms of the various wineries. Cars lined the streets, and a horn honked in the distance. She really should get home and start pulling leaves from the clusters that were not getting enough sun in this final phase of the grape cycle. But it was good to sit here with her friend and giggle about one’s shortcomings. Harvest would be upon them soon, and there would be no time for frivolity.
They took their empty mugs back inside and placed them on a counter.
“I have to get back,” said Sarah. “There’s a new law under review in the county areas that would prohibit conversion of vineyard lands to large commercial projects. It wouldn’t affect property in the city limits, but I have to report on it.”
They hugged again, and Paige watched her friend walk away. She hadn’t told her about the night Jake left. She hadn’t sorted out her feelings yet. If she had, Sarah would know she’d already waded into deep waters and nearly drowned in the process.
Dejected, she drove back home, stopping to buy food for Bay and a large chocolate bar for herself. She would have to rely on her ability to persuade Jake to keep his investment. And she would have to believe that he had been straight with her—that he could keep Garnet Hill if he chose to and was not backed into a financial corner.
And did not have a buyer, as her father suggested.
The challenges she faced made her restless. She didn’t want to go home yet. She needed a distraction.
On a whim, she turned her truck toward the west. She’d pull leaves later. She hadn’t seen Nana Reynoso since the day she stopped by with enchiladas. Maybe some lizard climbed up her window and she’d have some insight into Jake’s plans.
Nana lived in a “mature adults” condominium complex at the edge of town. The single-story units were clustered around an open lawn with shade trees and cement benches. Meandering walkways led to a row of carports behind.
As Paige approached her grandmother’s unit, her ears were assailed by Michael Jackson belting out “Thriller” at more decibels than were legal. Rushing forward, she opened the door without knocking and turned down the volume.
“Hey, I’m dancing.”
“Can’t you dance to a little less volume? Your neighbors have probably called the cops.”
“What did you say?”
Paige raised her own voice. “It’s too loud. Your neighbors will complain.”
“Those old biddies? They like Michael. Except for Harold, the guy next door. He doesn’t like music. He doesn’t like anything.”
“Except you, Nana,” teased Paige. “Isn’t he the one who sent you flowers on Valentine’s Day?”
“He’s too old for me. I like younger men…at most sixty.”
Paige grinned and sat down on the red-flowered sofa, sinking into the cushions. Nana was good for her. Her grandmother, clad in tight black vintage toreador pants and a loose leopard-skin-print top, went over to her CD player and played the song again. Gyrating to the music, she stopped and smoothly executed a moonwalk.
“Where’d you learn to do that?”
“Honey, you’d be amazed at what I can do.” She continued to wiggle and pump her arms in time to the music. “Dance with me.”
“Me?”
“There’s nobody else in the room.”
Paige got up and tentatively followed her grandmother’s steps, giggling wildly, until she slapped her hands on her knees and doubled over. The song ended, and Nana skipped over to turn off the machine before “Billie Jean” came on.
“There. Doesn’t that rev up the old engine?”
“If you say so, but frankly, I don’t know how you do it.” Paige spewed out the words between breaths, noting that her grandmother wasn’t even breathing hard. “I thought I was in pretty good shape, too.”
“Let’s get a cold one.”
“Not for me. I just had a coffee with Sarah.”
“How is she?”
“Overworked.”
“She needs a man.”
“Is that your solution to every problem?”
“Damn right, honey.”
She led the way to the kitchen and pulled out
a beer, leaning against the counter. “What I really need is a cigarette, but I’m out. And you don’t smoke.”
“Absolutely not and neither should you.”
“Tut…we’re not having that argument here… It’s my house. Show respect.” The jeweled index finger bobbed up and down. “So what brings you here? Need advice about that new man in your life?”
“What new man?”
“Remember, honey, I see all, hear all, and know all.” She took a deep swallow, tipping the bottle up high. The golden liquid, the same color as the half-dozen bracelets dangling from her wrist, slid down her throat. “I was at your mother’s house yesterday.”
“What did she say?”
“Your mama didn’t say anything, but Mariel did. She thinks you can’t handle men, that if someone like Mr. Madison wiggles his finger at you, you’ll jump into his bed. I told her he’d have to wiggle something else before that would happen.”
“Nana. You didn’t say that. Not in front of Mama.”
“Hell yes, I did. Your mama’s a sweet lady, but she’s a prude. And your father… Sometimes I wonder if he’s really my son.”
Paige burst into a fit of giggles again, stifling them behind her palm.
“So what about it? Any wiggling going on?”
“You are impossible, Nana. Mr. Madison and I are colleagues—nothing else.”
“Uh-huh, and I’m Madonna.” She puffed out her chest for emphasis. Her expression softened, and she came over and put her hand on Paige’s shoulder. “You’re ready for another relationship. This Mr. Madison might be the one, or might not. You’re a smart girl, and you can make good decisions. But don’t get so deep into the hole that you can’t climb out on your own, without scratches on your body or your heart. Got it?”
“Got it.”
Paige checked her watch. She’d been there an hour. Time to go home. She gave her grandmother a kiss on the cheek. She decided against telling her about her afternoon or the challenge Jake had given her. She’d probably see it in a dream anyway.
As she opened the front door, her grandmother put a hand on her arm.
A Kiss of Cabernet Page 11
