Uncorking a Lie

by Nadine Nettmann

  “Katie?” Paul raised his eyebrows and I realized I had spoken louder than I intended.

  “I’m sorry, Paul. I have a hint for Cooper.”

  Leanor whispered something to Simon but I ignored it.

  “If I may.” I stood up and approached the head of the table. “The cork is old and might crumble into the wine during opening if you use a standard opener. I don’t want that to happen to your wine.”

  Color flooded Paul’s face as he nodded. “I wouldn’t want that to happen either. Thank you.”

  I examined the cork. It looked like it was in great condition but it still wasn’t worth the risk. “Do you have an ah-so?” I felt the energy of the room shift followed by whispers.

  Paul motioned with his hand to the drawer and I pulled it open. Inside was a variety of wine tools including an ah-so, a device that resembles a PI symbol. The prongs are positioned to slide down both sides of the cork and safely remove it in one piece.

  I handed it to Cooper and stepped back.

  A nervous knot formed in my stomach as I watched him. A slip of the hand could cause the cork to fall or crumble into the bottle. Cork would not be ideal floating in any wine, especially a $19,000 bottle, but older wines sometimes had problems with corks, possibly even mold. I didn’t know how much experience Cooper had with an ah-so and I didn’t want the wine to be ruined.

  Cooper glanced at me with a tepid smile. “I haven’t used one of these before.”

  My concerns were confirmed and that was all I needed. I stepped forward. “May I help?”

  Cooper looked up with relief. He turned to Paul, who seemed deep in thought.

  “Paul, if I may,” I said. “It would be a great honor to open this bottle for you.”

  Paul’s face changed from pensive to elated. “Of course, Katie. I’m sorry,” he said. “I wanted you to be a guest, but I didn’t realize that I might be robbing you of an experience. Please proceed.”

  “Thank you,” whispered Cooper as he stepped to the side and returned to his seat.

  A thrill went through me as I maneuvered the ah-so into the bottle. I was back in my comfort zone. I had only used the tool a handful of times, but the experience paid off. I removed the cork without issue and placed it on the silver tray to the left of Paul. This was it. The wine was ready to share its story.

  The sideboard had a decanter and Paul, being quite the traditionalist, had set out a silver lighter and a candle which would illuminate the neck for sediment.

  Although Bordeaux wines were routinely decanted to avoid the sediment in the glass, Burgundy wines traditionally weren’t, due to their fragile nature and the lack of need for aeration. But Paul had the decanter out for a reason.

  “Paul, would you like me to decant, or shall I pour from the bottle?”

  Paul looked at the decanter and then up at me. “Please decant. I prefer the ceremony of it all. It adds another element to this occasion.”

  “Understood.” I lit the candle and held the bottle over it as I started decanting the wine. After forty-two years, the red liquid was finally released from its captivity.

  When all the wine was in the decanter, I picked it up and looked at Cooper. “Did you want to pour?”

  He smiled. “I will if you want me to, but I have a feeling you might like to do the honors.”

  “As long as Paul doesn’t mind.”

  Paul gestured to the glasses.

  As protocol with the host, I poured a small portion of the wine into Paul’s glass so that he could taste it.

  “Continue on,” said Paul. “We’re equals here tonight, no need for me to have the first sip.”

  There were nine of us at the table so although a bottle of wine normally contains five glasses, I went light on pouring so that all of us would have a share. I did the math and it roughly came out to each of us drinking a little over $2,000 dollars.

  “How much is each glass?” asked Martin. Apparently I wasn’t alone in my thoughts.

  “Two thousand dollars,” I remarked.

  “How do you know that?” Leanor stared at me.

  I wanted to reply that it was simple math, but instead I pretended I didn’t hear the question and took my seat. I didn’t want the focus to be on me. This was the moment for the wine to shine.

  Paul raised his glass for a toast. “To good friends, to good wine, to a good life. To change up an old Irish blessing, may the road rise up to meet you, may the wind be always at your back, and may you forever share a special bottle of wine with treasured friends.” He took a breath as he glanced at each face around the table. “It’s an honor to share this moment with you, my dear friends, some who have come to me through work and some through wine. Each of you played a part in this celebration tonight, and I thank you for it.”

  He shifted his focus back to the glass in his hand. “Back in 1977, my job was delivering sandwiches to law firms in the area. I remember seeing a group of lawyers having lunch in their conference room. They were wearing expensive suits and they were drinking wine in the middle of the day. The bottle on the table? A 1975 Chateau Clair Bleu. I decided right then that one day I would become a lawyer and one day I would drink a 1975 bottle of Chateau Clair Bleu. That would be the moment that I knew I had made it.” He stared at the glass with such pride, as if it were his own son. “It took a long time, but that moment is finally here.” He raised his glass higher. “Let’s not delay it any further. Cheers.”

  The nine glasses clinked together and it was the first chance I had to take a good look at the wine. I had been too busy pouring it to really take note of it. The color was different from what I expected. Darker. Stronger. As everyone drank for the toast, a feeling registered deep in my gut that something wasn’t right with the wine. I pushed the feeling aside and took a sip.

  At that moment, I knew. Whatever this wine was, it wasn’t a 1975 Chateau Clair Bleu.

  three

  pairing suggestion: burgundy—côte d’or, france

  An elegant wine made only from Pinot Noir and greatly

  influenced by the region’s soil, weather, and vineyard location.

  -

  I glanced around the table. The other guests were enjoying the wine, continuing on with their conversations, and proceeding with dinner. But I couldn’t.

  I swirled the wine and took a deep sniff. The bouquet nearly jumped out of the glass. Which wasn’t right. The fruitful scents of wine dim as it ages. If this was a 1975 wine, it wouldn’t be this fruit forward.

  I held up the glass and tilted it so the white tablecloth was behind, leaving a clear view of the wine. Red wine faded from the rim over the years, the sides becoming lighter in color, almost more translucent. A wine that was over forty years old would have fading in the rim and a Pinot Noir wine, such as this one, would have slight tinges of orange and brown to the red. Both the rim of this wine and the color were strong, like a recent vintage.

  I took a sip. There was a characteristic that I loved about older wines, a unique flavor only brought on by the aging process. A marker of the years it had been waiting. This wine’s flavor was not from age and in fact, was something I couldn’t quite place at the moment. Almost like pepper.

  I stared at the glass and swirled it around, hoping that my senses deceived me even though I knew they didn’t. My blind tasting had previously been rocked by anxiety, but I was in full control at the moment. I wasn’t wrong.

  “What do you think of the wine, Katie?” asked Paul from the head of the table.

  I didn’t want to ruin his party and spoil his moment by announcing my suspicions. Not until I was certain, and maybe even not then. “It’s an honor to have it in my glass.”

  “You’re not drinking it.”

  I swirled again. “As with all wines, I’m admiring it.”

  “Of course,” replied Paul, and he visibly relaxed. “I’m glad
you could join us tonight. I knew you would enjoy this.”

  “Thank you.” I smiled. “May I see the bottle?”

  “Absolutely.” He handed the bottle to Simon, who passed it to Leanor, then Cooper, and finally to me.

  The label was reminiscent of a wine from the 1970s; even ones that had been protected over the years often had some yellowing. I held the bottle up to the light and examined the sediment in the bottom. It looked like the amount of sediment a 1975 Burgundy would throw, yet the wine in my glass told a different story.

  “Are you okay, Katherine?” Roberto leaned across the table.

  “Yes, why do you ask?”

  “You’re focused on the wine. Studying it. Is this what the reference meant earlier, that you love to study?”

  “I just love old wines.” I needed something to take everyone’s eyes off of me. “Paul, is this the oldest bottle you’ve tasted?”

  “Oh no, I once had the pleasure of being at a dinner with two bottles from 1911.”

  “I think I was there,” added Martin.

  “Yes, Martin. Remember that?”

  While Paul continued with his story, I held up my glass and stared at it again, the light bouncing through the red liquid.

  “Okay, spill it, Stillwell,” whispered Cooper. “Even people who live and breath wine don’t examine a glass like you’re doing right now.”

  “What do you mean?” I put the glass on the table, not wanting to reveal my doubts.

  “You keep staring at it and although we don’t know each other very well, I can tell from your expression that you don’t like it.” A sideways grin spread on Cooper’s face, highlighting a dimple. “Let me guess, you’ve tasted much better. On a trip to France or something like that.” He nudged me with his elbow. “Don’t spoil it for us, let us think this is fantastic.”

  “It’s fantastic.” I faked a smile.

  “Great,” he said in his continued whisper. “That’s what we’ll tell everyone else. But your real opinion is?”

  “It’s fantastic,” I repeated.

  “Nope, not cutting it. I want the sommelier opinion.”

  I hesitated. “Tell me your thoughts first.”

  Cooper picked up his glass and took a sip. “It’s okay. I don’t think it’s worth what Paul paid for it,” he said as he looked over at a heated conversation between Leanor and Simon about who had tasted the oldest wine.

  “No, it’s not.” I didn’t have the heart to tell Cooper, but I also didn’t have the heart to keep my game face on and I felt it start to slip.

  He leaned closer to me and I met his eyes. They were amber and kind. “Wait,” he said. “There’s something else, isn’t there?” He dropped his voice more. “Is something wrong with the wine?” He glanced around the table where everyone else was fixated on their own conversations. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want, but you can trust me.”

  I took a deep breath as I wavered from the professional attitude I carried while withholding my opinions at Trentino. In particular, when a couple brought a wine into the restaurant, one that they had been saving or was special to them, and paid the corkage fee only to have me open the bottle and immediately know that the wine was flawed. They had no idea, so I kept back the information and the couple enjoyed their special bottle. Sometimes it’s better not to know the truth, but right now I felt the urge to confide in someone, to see if I was correct.

  “Is it just me,” I whispered to Cooper as a conversation about the recent Christmas parade filled the air, “or does this wine not seem as old as it should be?”

  “Old?” Cooper repeated louder than I would have liked. He picked up his glass and looked at it. “How can you tell?”

  I waited for the group conversation to continue before I replied. “The rim of the wine should be light. It fades as the wine ages,” I whispered. “And there’s quite a nose on this wine. It should lessen over the years, but it hasn’t.”

  “But what does that mean? Was the wine not kept well or something?”

  I took a deep breath before replying. “No. It means this wine isn’t from 1975.”

  Cooper’s eyes grew wide and he glanced at Paul. “I should tell him.”

  Heat burned into my cheeks. “You said I could trust you.”

  “You can. I won’t tell him it was you who figured it out.”

  I shifted in my seat as I looked at Paul’s face. He was beaming as he sipped his wine. Would he want to know that he had paid a lot of money for something that wasn’t legitimate? Would he be embarrassed? It wasn’t fair. “If I were you, I would keep quiet. It’s only going to hurt him.”

  “But he needs to know the truth.” Cooper shook his head. “He’s been tricked. He should know. Don’t worry, I won’t involve you.”

  I put my hand on his arm as a sudden thought went through my mind. “Cooper. What if I’m wrong?” I had been studying wine for years now and I knew the signs, but the distrust in myself, the self-doubt, always managed to stake a claim.

  “I believe you,” said Cooper. “Besides, I have a way I can find out.”

  “What is it?”

  “Don’t worry.” Cooper shook his head and leaned over to Leanor next to him. “Do you like the wine?”

  “It’s exquisite,” she remarked.

  I noticed the rest of the conversations had stopped and everyone watched Cooper and Leanor.

  “Agreed,” added Martin.

  “Do you not like it, Cooper?” asked Alicia.

  “I do. I was just wondering about Leanor’s opinion.”

  “Do you know a lot about wine?” inserted Simon.

  “Well, some.” Cooper motioned to Paul. “Working for Paul, I keep learning more.”

  Simon nodded. “What do you think about this bottle?”

  My chest began to tighten. If Cooper continued down this road, I would be brought along. It was not the right time to share my suspicion, not in front of Paul and not in front of his friends.

  “It’s distinct,” he replied.

  Relief swept through me.

  “Do you know, I had a Valpolicella the other day and I would have described it the exact same way,” said Martin.

  “Ah, my home,” said Roberto.

  “I love Italy,” said Leanor. “It’s been too long since I’ve been.”

  “You were there last summer,” said Simon.

  “Exactly. It’s been too long.”

  The conversation had shifted away from the wine, which was a relief, but I stared at the glass as I ate my dinner that had turned cold.

  “Katie, you’re still not drinking.” Paul wasn’t smiling.

  I picked up the glass and smiled at him. “Savoring every drop.”

  “I love the way you really appreciate the wine,” said Roberto.

  “Speaking of wine,” began Cooper. “Roberto, have you ever come across a counterfeit bottle at your shop?”

  I stopped chewing midbite and stared at Cooper. I wanted to nudge him or do a sideways kick under the table, but it would be too obvious.

  “A counterfeit? No, no. Not at all.”

  “But surely one or two must have come into the shop. I hear they can be quite common.”

  Roberto nervously laughed as he looked around the table. “I’ve never had one in my store.”

  “But maybe you didn’t know. If you did come across one, how would you deal with it?”

  Roberto’s face turned a shade of red. “Cooper, if you’re implying that I don’t run an upstanding business, then we need to talk.”

  I debated stepping in, but this entire scene was out of my comfort zone.

  “I don’t think that’s what Cooper is implying, is it?” said Paul.

  “No, not at all. I was just curious,” replied Cooper. “Out of everyone here, you see the most variety of wi
nes.”

  Roberto took a deep breath. “No, I’ve never seen a forgery and I don’t approve of them.”

  “I agree,” added Martin. “Fake wine hurts us all.” He looked at me. “You must work in wine.” He motioned to the ah-so on the sideboard. “I’m sure you agree.”

  I nodded, knowing that a counterfeit bottle of wine was inches away from me. “I think we all hope that what we’re buying is authentic, no matter if it’s wine or paintings or a car.”

  “Excellent point,” said Martin. He smiled, but I couldn’t help but notice the stares that came from Alicia and Leanor.

  After dinner, we moved into the living room, the same place where I had enjoyed a glass of Champagne earlier, but now there was even more tension in the air. Guests flowed in and out of the room but I decided to take a seat on the couch. The wine was still on my mind.

  “You know,” said Alicia as she sat down next to me. “If you’re into wine, you should come to the Roundtable Charity Dinner in two weeks. There’s a special wine tasting as part of the evening.”

  “That sounds lovely,” I replied, unsure if it was an invitation to an already sponsored table or a suggestion. Charity dinners usually came with high price tags.

  “Wonderful. I’ll put you down. It’s six hundred a spot, but you can just write a check.”

  And there was my answer. I couldn’t afford it even if I wanted to. “I’ll have to look at my work schedule first.” I politely smiled.

  “Alicia,” said Paul who stood nearby, “not everyone can afford a six-hundred-dollar dinner.” Although his comment was supposed to be polite, conversations about money always made me cringe.

  Alicia stood up now that I was no longer an interest to her.

  Cooper joined me on the couch a few minutes later. “Your comment earlier,” he said in a hushed tone. “About the wine. There was a second bottle Paul bought at the auction that came from the same dealer. I’m going to go get it and I’ll bring it up here to you.”

  “I’ll come with you.”

  “No. I don’t want him to know.”

  “I’m sure Paul won’t mind.”

  Cooper stood up. “Don’t worry. I’ll be right back.” He touched my chin in a way that was more than just a friend. Perhaps there was more to Cooper than I knew.