THE GRAPE EXPERIENCE
- You are crazy. Both of you. – Rob opened the trunk and got out the suitcases. – Napa is on fire and you are still going.
- Oh, c’mon. It can’t be that bad! - Chloe grabbed the suitcase. - The fires are near Calistoga, not Napa.
- The winery you have been talking about is going to be closed. For sure.
- Actually, I did call the winery a few times this week. They are open – She smiled.
- And your lodging? Where is it?
- In Sebastopol. It is a forty-five-minute drive from Calistoga.
- You really want to go there. You sound… desperate.
- I am. Kind of. – She pulled her hair up in a ponytail. – Anyway, time to go. Give me a hug.
Rob gave her a friendly squeeze.
– I will see you when you are back. If you are back.
He got into his white Prius and silently drove away.
- What a grouch! - Sofi put on her backpack.
- Oh, he is just reasonable. And, he is the best neighbor ever.

 

Four hours later, Chloe was thinking that Rob might have been right, that they were crazy. The flight to San Francisco, the Golden Gate Bridge hidden in the blanket of fog; the drive down 101 and singing along with Madonna’s “Material Girl” was fun. Everything had been so fun and easy until they parked in Napa. The town looked like a horror movie set: empty streets, closed stores, cars covered with grey ash, smoke in the air. Chloe was glad that they were going to spend just a few hours here before heading further north.
I just hope that it is going to be better in Sebastopol, she thought and followed Sofi who already spotted the group of her friends by the hotel entrance. They proceeded to the courtyard.
As everyone got comfortable around the table, the waiter popped the cork of a champagne bottle and poured the glasses.
- For our first Napa trip! - Sofi proclaimed the toast.
- Yes, for the grape experience. – Chloe echoed but not as enthusiastically as she intended.
The women started chatting, catching up on the news, making jokes and checking out the only two guys across the courtyard. But Chloe was silent. Being dumped was the only update in her life and it was not something to brag about. Instead, she was listening and thinking of the upcoming days, of the place the two of them got in Sebastopol, a place which looked so charming in the pictures, but which she now doubted. She was thinking of the only winetasting they were going to have in two days’ time. Tasting, she suggested. Tasting exclusive high-end wines, she had never heard of, she had never tasted until few months back, when she…
- Is this… ash? - Sofi’s voice brought her back to reality and she looked at big pieces of ash landing in her champagne glass.
How on earth can it be the backdrop to the greatest wine tasting experience of my life? Chloe thought.
– So, what should we do? – One of the girls asked with concern.
Sofi turned to the waiter.
- Can we please have the second bottle of that champagne? – She leaned back in her chair, half closed her eyes and smiled. – I think, girls, we should drink up and have some fun.

  

Chloe’s worries were in vain. Overnight, the wind changed, and the smoke was blown away. Fires were mostly contained.
On Sunday morning, she put on a white, fluffy bathrobe and went out to the patio which was overlooking the grapevines. She stretched her shoulders, arched her back and took a deep breath. A deep breath of a crisp morning air. She walked to the car, which was parked outside. It was still wet from the morning mist. No ash. She smiled to herself.
Chloe called to the vineyard to make sure that they were open.
They were.
- Great. We will see you tomorrow. – She hanged up.
Tomorrow. She could barely wait. Going to this winery was special. The wine made there was not just ordinary wine. To her, the wine, the place where she had it and everything which came along with it was a part of a different reality. The reality she could never discover on her own. The reality she never belonged to. For the past few months, she felt like she was an invitee to somebody else’s feast. But now, her invitation got expired.
This trip to Napa was her way of bringing back the reality she got a taste of and making it her own.

  

She and Sofi chatted all the way to the winetasting appointment.
- And where exactly are we going? – Sofi asked looking at the mirror, putting on lipstick.
- The place is called Palmaz. Supposed to be few minutes’ drive from downtown Napa. I think we are almost there.
- Oh, I am just overwhelmed with details. – Her friend sounded beyond sarcastic. - What is this place?
- They got amazing wine. I tried most of what they make. High-end and very exclusive. Club members only and all that stuff. For wine-snob kind of people.
- OK. – Sofi lowered her sunglasses and looked at her friend. – And since when are we in this category?
Chloe squeezed the wheel.
- OK! John liked it. He got me hooked. – She fired up. - But listen, it is really good! It is the best wine I’ve tried. I know, it is totally out of my range. This winery is one of those places where you drive up to in your Aston Martin or Tesla, at least. - She looked at Sofi. – And yes, every time I had this wine, it was at his place and every time I felt like… - She was looking for the right word. – Cinderella! This is it! I felt like Cinderella at the ball. I was enjoying it but waiting for the clock to strike twelve at any moment. And I do not want to feel like that anymore. I am going to this high-end place by myself and I am dragging you along because I can. Finally, I can. - She paused. – Now, feel free to say that I’m an idiot. That this will not change anything.
- Chloe, shut up! You are not an idiot. Chill!
Their rental Camry stopped at the gate and Chloe pressed “concierge” button.
- Hello? We have an appointment for 1 pm.
- Hello, Ms. Clark. Of course. Follow the signs and park at level three.
The friendly voice of the concierge gave Chloe a warm sensation of feeling special.
The gate opened and the car started slowly rolling between grape vines on both sides of the narrow drive. The path ran up and down, turning left and right. It felt like being in a maze; like walking through stage curtains in an old-fashioned theater. Every new turn of the road gave way to yet another beautiful view: blue sky, grape leaves as if freshly brushed with green paint, light brown trunks, and grey earth.
Finally, they came to level three. Chloe got out of the car and froze by the edge of the low parapet. In front of her, for as far as eyes could see, there were grape vines. A whole ocean of grave leaves moving with the breeze. From above, the vineyard looked like a quilt masterfully created by a loving hand.
- Would you like a few more minutes to enjoy the view? – A clam and clear voice questioned.
Both women turned.
- Good afternoon. My name is Mark and I am going to be your host. – in his early forties, he came closer and politely smiled. – And for your information, ladies, I am going to show you even better views. Would you like to start our tour? And may I offer you a glass of Riesling?
- Sure!
Mark poured the wine.
Chloe took her first sip and closed her eyes. A silly thought came into her head. It is like the main ingredients of this wine are sunshine and a cool breeze. It was dry and very refreshing, like a cold shower on a hot day.
As Mark took Chloe and Sofi around the property, he told the story of Palmaz Vineyard. The story started years ago in Argentina. It was the story of a common boy who was pursuing a degree at a medical school while teaching tango.
- Was he a good dancer? – Chloe asked. She used to dance tango herself.
- I’m not sure how good he was, but this is how he met his wife.
Mark kept on unfolding the story. A beautiful girl from a noble family walked into that class to learn to dance and that’s how she met her future husband.
- I bet the tango was just a cover up to meet the girl. – Chloe whispered to Sofi, who giggled in reply.
The host continued. The boy became a renowned doctor, and the family moved to the States. Eventually Mr. Palmaz purchased the vacant lot to grow grapes and to devote himself to his true passion: winemaking.
- Told you. He did not open a tango school.
-  Ladies, I see that your table is ready. Please, follow me. - Mark lead them to the deserted patio.
- Is it always that empty? - Sofi asked.
- The winery is exclusive, so there is never a big crowd here. Nowadays, we hold only a few tastings per day. - He moved the chair. - Please, make yourself comfortable.
The table was set next to the edge of the patio overlooking grapevines to the left and mountains to the right. White cotton napkins were folded to the left of white porcelain plates with masterfully prepared appetizers displayed in a row. Six wine glasses stood in front of it: three for whites and three for reds, like a colonnade of an ancient portico. The glasses were made of such thin glass that they were almost invisible. Terracotta umbrellas and olive trees next to the table created a cool shade. Chloe could hear the gentle, monotonous buzzing of bees and smell the scent of the white and yellow field flowers.
- Let me pour you the Chardonnay and I will bring more wine.
Chloe picked up the menu. It was printed on heavy paper, folded a few times. The background picture on the menu was exactly the views they have been admiring a few minutes ago. The texture of the paper, the colors of the print, a scent of paint made the menu look substantial.
Mark moved on to tell them about the wine they were about to taste, about the reason behind the quilt of the vineyard.
Chloe’s mind wondered off. She was remembering her own path to the States. A long journey from Eastern Europe, away from her family, and away from the magnificent city she grew up in. The last few years in the States seemed like a blur. She was working fifty hours a week. She was saving any way she could. She was saying “no” nine out of ten times to anything she wanted for the sake of a bigger goal. She was settling because it was good enough. It had been a bumpy road of survival since the very start. But here, looking at the beautiful vineyard and sipping the soothing yet intense cabernet, she realized how different everything was now. How she was done with just surviving. After all these years, she finally gave herself a permission to splurge on something she enjoyed and now she knew how it feels to say “yes” to herself.
- Look at you, Chloe!
- What? – She turned to her friend.
- I have never seen you so happy and so content. You are just… glowing!

The women left the vineyard around 4 pm.
On the drive back to their lodging, Chloe was behind the wheel. Speakers were blasting Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody.
- I liked those people. At the winery. – She said looking straight ahead.
- Me too.
- Not what I have expected. Down to earth. Fun. And You know what? I just thought that the motto of my life has always been “never ever give up”. You know, right?
- A-ha.
- I feel like after that experience at Palmaz, I shall add another one. – She slowed down to make a turn into freeway.
- Sofi cocked her head waiting.
- Never settle.
- Right on! – Sofi cranked up the volume even more.
- And I want to ask you to do me a favor.
- Galileo,  Galileo, Galileo Figaro. Sure!
Chloe looked at Sofi and said in a serious voice.
- If I ever begin to whine about settling, about being good enough, just remind me of Palmaz. Deal?
Sofi squeezed her hand.
- Deal.






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The Room
- You are a bit annoying today, Tom.
Olga arched her back, stretched and turned to her side.
- What? What are you talking about, babe? - He gently squeezed and kissed her shoulder. 
- Yeah. I do not want to listen about your past. Not really.
- Oh, are you jealous?
- No. Don’t be silly.
She looked at the door leading to the balcony. The heavy curtains were shut almost all the way; only at the very side the daylight was still getting in into the dark room. Out where, at the horizon, the sun was setting into the ocean.
- No. I am not jealous. I just don’t see the point of talking about it.
She turned to the man next to her but looked past him.
- Do not you like what you have now?
- Sure, I do. But adoration of the past does not yet mean a complaint about the present.
- You think so? - Olga put her chin on Tom’s bare smooth chest.
- Sure. What? You don’t?
She turned to her back. Her eyes stopped at the painting on the wall. It was a generic cheap print like most hotels have.
- No.- She kept looking at the print. -When I talk that way about the past, it means… I miss it.
- I do not. Whatever it was, I can still adore it but I do not miss it. It’s gone. Boom!
- You are lucky.
- And you are silly.
- I am not silly. - She starred at the TV on the opposite wall. - I think, I am rather… weak.
- Oh, I see.- He grinned. - You cannot let it go.
- C’mon, if I adore it, it means I miss it and I still want it.
Tom ran his fingers through her long dark hair.
- So, what is it what you miss, babe? - He asked in a low voice.
Olga pulled away and looked at the alarm clock on the nightstand. 7.30 pm. They have been here for almost three hours.
- Since then do we ask each other this kind of questions?
- I do not know… I just felt like… you know, I know you long enough, and… if you want to … I mean really want to; we can talk about it.
- C’mon, Tom, I am not here to talk to you! Just shut up and give me a kiss.







 

 


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RAIN
It has been raining for three days straight.
There seemed to be no end to water falling from the sky. Endless.
It started on Monday afternoon. The sky got cloudy in the morning; over the hours which followed, it got even darker until the first drops of rain kissed the grapes on the vine outside my window.
It became chilly but at the same time, the rain itself was not cold. I had to put my jacket on to go outside to get firewood but in a matter of minutes, I would get warm and take it off. That first day, I stood in the firewood shed and just breathed in the air. It was so crisp. So moist. It almost felt as if I was drinking it. As if I had been thirsty for years and it is only now when I had a chance to satisfy my thrust.
The sky looked the same the second day. The same dark grey clouds, crisp air, paddles on the ground. I had to put on my rainboots to go to the shed across the courtyard to get more firewood. I glanced across the river at the little wooden bridge connecting main land I was living on and the island with its few remaining houses, everything which was left of a village of more than a dozen dwellings. The bridge was old; wooden planks were broken in some places, a cable on one side was the only thing to hold on to when crossing. The water level in the river below was rising and there was only a few feet left before the river would take over the tiny structure.
I stared at the scenery until I started to shiver and walked back in. It was warm inside. The fire was cracking in the fire place, which was so big it was taking the good part of the room; the dog was sleeping on the rug next to it. I looked outside at the darkness coming from the forest and closed the curtains.
It was the third day of rain and there seem to be no end to it. The earth was so full with water, it could not take any more in.
I walked to the shed and picked up as much firewood as I could. I was opening the door, when I looked at the bridge. It was under water. I dropped the firewood and rushed to the river. The water level got so high that it was flooding the shore. The river, once so peaceful, shallow, and slow that one could see the sandy bottom and fish swimming next to it surface, got muddy and turned somewhat grey color. It was twice as wide and it was roaring. The steps to the flat fishing area which used to look so inviting on a sunny day, disappeared under water. I stared and wondered what was hidden in the depths of this once so familiar river. What kind of beauty or monsters lived there.
Suddenly, with a crush, one of the bridge supports got hit by a trunk of a fallen tree which was taken by the river. The support leaned and when gave in to the rushing stream.
I jumped back.
Just a moment later, the support on the other side of the bridge collapsed.
The tiny wooded bridge was floating on the river, still attached to one shore. It reminded me of a human, reaching out to save his life. How long will it be before he gives in? How long before the waters take him?
I could not take my eyes off this wooden bridge grasping for the shore. It looked tragic and magnificent at the same time.
It got dark.
The rain kept falling.
I turned around and looked at my dark house barely seen behind the grape vines and lilac bushes.
It felt abandoned.
I walked back, picked up the firewood and opened the door. I did not feel like turning on the light. The windows were wide open. The room was filled with the aroma of flowers and the sound of rain.
I took off the simple working clothes I was wearing and got into the bed.
It was cold.
I shivered and pulled the blanket up to my nose, leaving just enough to breath.
I was still thinking of the bridge and the dark waters of the raging river outside.
I felt like diving deep into this river.
I wanted the unknow from within to come over me and take away the known as I knew it.
My eyelids dropped and I drifted away.


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PAY IT BACKWARD
"It’s almost as if you were smoking wine.” – Lorenzo took decanter and poured some more “Mi Sueño” into Olga’s glass. “The same when you aerate it. It brings out all these flavors you could easily miss."

“You are right! But it feels… stronger?”

“Yes, goes straight to your blood stream.”

“I have to agree that it is a different sensation but maybe…” She laughed. “You are just trying to get me drunk!” She felt her lips starting to burn and pressed glass with iced water against it. “But you know, when I drink wine like that it’s like… “A-ha moment” if you know what I am talking about.”

He looked at her from across the table.

“You are the A-ha moment, bella.”

Olga clutched her hand into a fist underneath the table.

“Thank you. You say that because you did not see me doing anything silly yet.”

“Whatever you do, you are beautiful.”

Liar. Flashed in her head.

“And absolutely adorable.”

Liar. Liar.

She looked around. People were leaving. There were only a few couples still sitting at the bar. The music was different too. It became more of a late-night lounge type, its beat got slower.

“I cannot believe that this place was packed just a few hours ago. It seems so quiet now”.

"A few hours?!” He looked at his Rolex. “You are right! You are fun, bella.” He looked at her very attentively. “I really like being with you.”

Liar. Liar. Liar.

“You are a player, Lorenzo.” Olga said after a short pause.

“What did I do to make you think so? Or you think all Italians are players?”

“It’s just… the way you behave. Your level of confidence. You are smooth. Like an… artist. A pick-up artist.”

He laughed.

“I consider it as a complement, but I am not a player. I just say what I think, and I know what I want. Anything wrong with it?”

“No. Still, I think you are a player.”

“So, you do not trust me?”

“Nope.”

“So, you do not believe it when I tell you that I think that you are beautiful and intelligent and that I think it was my lucky day yesterday because I got your number?”

“No, I don’t.” Olga had a sip of wine. She curved her eyebrow and looked at him.

“Why don’t you believe me?” Lorenzo reached out and took her hand.

“Because I don’t. I just don’t.”

“Were you hurt?”

Olga pulled her hand away.

“Weren’t you?” She asked with a smile.

"I was.”

“So, don’t you learn your lessons?”

“I do. But every new person is like a new start. Does a presumption of innocence ring a bell?”

Olga played with the napkin. She knew that he kept looking at her waiting for her reply, but she said nothing.

“Were you hurt bad?”

She looked at her watch. “It’s getting late.”

“You were.” He leaned back against the leather chair. “I am sorry, bella.”

He kept starring at her. She did not break the silence.

“That’s why though you seem to be so open, almost careless, you actually keep everything inside. You do not trust people, don’t you?”

He signed the bill and handed it to the waitress.

“You were hurt. And you were hurt bad.”

"Does not matter.”

“But tell me. Why is it that the new person in your life is to pay the price for the person who came before?”

She reached to her temples with the hands, pressed against it as if she had a splitting headache and starred at the table. “It’s late. I have to go.”

"We will. I will walk you to your car.”

It was chilly outside. The sky was clear. The moon was floating right above, shining its silver light upon the darkness below. It felt like winter. The cold wind was getting right through Olga’s dress and straight to her bones. She shivered and unlocked her car.

“Thank you. I really enjoyed the evening. You are very generous, smart and I like the way you think. You are a straight shooter. I like it.”

“Straight shooter but a player?”

“Yes.”

"When will I see you again?”

“It is a long drive for you.”

“LA is not that far, and I just don’t care. When will I see you again?”

Olga took a deep breath. “Lorenzo, I am damaged. Run away from me. If you like me, I will hurt you. Delete my number. That’s the best thing you can do.”

He came closer and ran his fingers through her hair. “You know I won’t do that. You are a good person, Olga. When will I see you again?”

She looked at him, reached out and held his face in the palms of her hands. She liked his face: hazel eyes with tiny wrinkles from smiling or starring at the sun too much, nose with a classic hill, well outlined lips, dark brown wavy hair.

“You are sweet.”

She gave him a little kiss.

“Next week. On Sunday.”

She got into the car and started the engine.

She squeezed the wheel as she saw him walking toward his car. Her nails pinched her skin as she heard the low roar of the engine. As she saw him driving away, she pressed her body into the seat and closed her eyes. Few minutes later, she reached for the phone.

Lorenzo.
Clear Message History.
Yes.
Edit.
Scroll all the way down.
Block contact.
Yes.
Delete.

"Sorry.”

She turned on the music.

When you were here before
Couldn’t look you in the eye

She turned it up.

You‘re just like an angel
Your skin makes me cry

Anything, anything for could not bear to hear that little quiet voice in her head telling her that maybe, just maybe, she was wrong.

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FORGETTING
He loves me. Of course, he does. He thinks of me all the time. OK, not ALL the time; I do lose him for a few hours at night. I’m the one he thinks of when he wakes up and when he drinks his one daily cup of coffee. I’m the one he thinks of when he gets into his white Lexus and drives to work. There, in his ballroom-size office overlooking its twin building through tinted glass, he is all business. He is friendly when he greets new hires and polite when he lets people go; he is cool-headed as he dominates all others negotiating a deal in his soft and calm voice. Still, I am there.
It is already dark when he’s finally done with work. He gets back into his car- oh, I love this car; not a speck of dust, baby-skin soft leather seats, all controls are at the tip of his fingers. He drives to The Towers and pulls into the underground garage. The elevator takes him to his eighteenth-floor apartment. He opens the door, letting the lights turn on automatically. He throws the keys on the counter and stands in the middle of the room. It smells like linen, clean and modern. There’s not a lot of furniture; what is there is all designer’s, just like everything he has. He loosens his tie and unbuttons his shirt.
He pours himself a drink, turns off the lights and walks to the window. He stands there, starring at the city below. It looks like an alive being. A creature made of people, cars, buildings of glass, fluorescent lights of bars and restaurants. Its veins are the streets, avenues and bridges. Its blood is the endless stream of headlights. Its dark secret is the river which shimmers like an opalescent snake. The sky is black, devoid of stars; a few airplanes with their blinking red lights are like mysterious man-made fireflies, taking off for parts unknown.
And he thinks of me. With his looks, manners, career, and uptown life, he is wanted by many. But he belongs to me and me alone. I’m the only one who knows how fast his heart can beat, how it bursts and tingles in his chest when he wakes up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night. I am next to him when he lays in his empty bed brought back to the reality by the bitter feeling of guilt and the memory of what happened three years ago. The memory of that cold snowless winter night when he abandoned me in Nepal. When he left me behind to survive by my own means. When he just walked away.
He puts the empty glass on the white counter, goes down the elevator and walks to the bar two blocks away. A noisy and slick place. I do not like it.
He orders a drink and then…he tries to forget about me, a memory locked in his chest pocket.

I parked the rental Toyota at the hotel and walked three blocks down the street to the bar on the corner. I felt like collapsing but put one foot in front of the other; the laughter of a brown-haired woman who was crossing the street reminded me of my soon-to-be-ex back in California. Why should she get the dog? Just because she named her? Bling. What a stupid name for a dog it was! Kids. Custody. Visitation. I am a bad example! Not mature enough! I cannot even think of it.
Revolving frosted-glass doors let me in. As my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I walked toward the bar and sat down at a brushed metal and leather stool. “Double scotch.” I looked at my phone. 9 PM. I’ve got an early start tomorrow morning. “Double. On the rocks.”
“Here you go, sir.” The bartender, a tall guy in his forties with short black brilliantined hair, placed my drink in front of me.
“Cheers.” This was exactly what I needed. Bitter cold taste going down my throat followed by the warm wave coming up from my guts to my head. I sipped my drink, looking at the shiny glass and white marble counter with grey inserts. The bar was crowded for Wednesday night. But, then, it was in the middle of the business district.
“So, what is it? Business crowd?” I asked the bartender.
“Yeah. Business. Very few locals. Some oldies.”
“Oldies? Who?”
He smiled. “Business oldies. Long term contracts, you know. Up to a year, maybe even two.”
“You know your customers well?”
The guy looked at the drinks order and started to mix cocktails. “Sure.”
“Those?” I nodded toward the group of guys in the corner.
“Beer drinkers. That one,” he pointed at a guy in his late thirties dressed in designer clothes who seemed to be the loudest of all, “that one is the oldie. He’s got a year-long contact here I was told. Easy customer. Very predictable.”
“Predictable in what way?”
“Same time, same drinks, same game plan.”
“Meaning?”
The bartender moved a tray of clean wet glasses closer . He picked up one, wiped it off and holding it at his eye level examined it. “Comes in alone around 8.30 PM. I can tell he had a drink already; he sits down at the same table, orders his drink.” The bartender recited without taking his eyes off the glass. “Takes a picture out of his chest pocket, looks at it for a few seconds, puts it away, gulps down his drink. Orders another one.”
“The same way? Every night?” I had the last sip of scotch diluted with water. The first sip is always the best one, I thought and crushed the ice cube with my teeth.
“Almost every night. And he gets wasted. Leaves about two in the morning when the bar is closing. He lives in one of those hi-rises nearby. The Towers, I think.”
“Do you ever talk to him?”
“No. What for?" He said while rolling the thin long stem between his fingertips. "I’m just getting him what he wants.” He looked at his own reflection on the side of the glass. “Which is forgetting.”
He noticed that I was done with scotch. He picked up my glass. It left a round colorless print on the counter. He cleaned it. “Another one?”
I looked at the blank marble counter. Seemed like neither scotch or the last half an hour ever happened. It was wiped away by an attending hand whose sole purpose was to give me what I wanted, which was forgetting. It was what I wanted. Right now. 
I noticed a couple in their late twenties walking by on the street. They stopped at the window and looked inside. They saw the white marble counter, the row of bottles against the brightly lit glass wall, the bartender, me, the group of guys in the corner cracking jokes. They exchange indecisive look, squeezed each other’s hand and went on.
“No. Just the check, please.”

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