Catharine Bramkamp - Real Estate Diva 04 - Trash Out (10 page)

Ben
had
hired a group of students from the local college wine business and marketing program to give tours to the guests.
Cassandra
mentioned they would get school credit,
which
translated,
meant
they would not be paid.  All is fair in love and wine.

All afternoon the
students
snaked guests through
the stacked
barrels and squat stainless tanks
and around
randomly tumbled
pallets and tubing, all the while
admonishing
the tour members to watch their
step so
as not to stumble over hoses and coiled ropes.  Cassandra was one of those brilliant women who couldn’t find anything once she set it down. But, as she pointed out
herself while giving the finale big
VIP t
our, that didn’t matter, what mattered was the perfect wine.

I
dragged myself away from the delectable raw oysters and
trailed behind the VIP
tour, just to be a good sport
, just in case Ben asked
. 
The t
our
began
with a video
of the history of Prophesy Estates. We all gathered in the tasting room and watched the video on a huge flat panel screen
recently installed over the tasting counter
.  The video production was top quality. I knew how much those videos cost, Raul
,
a
former long-term guest
of my grandmother,
produced
videos and web
-
cam montages. He is very good at what he does and I’ve inadvertently picked up some information just from his endless lectures on his favorite subject. Raul is so devoted to his art
that
I’ve taken to sweeping my Grandmother’s house for hidden web
-
cams on a regular basis

This
production
was less about the newly refurbished
winery and more about it’s founder and CEO, Cassandra.  For seven minutes we watched
Cassandra squint in the sun
,
We
watched
Cassandra
expertly crush tiny grapes between her slender fingers
,
We watched
Cassandra
direct
 
a crush in the Hunter Valley (many clips were gathered from various times, I was surprised that she didn’t include baby’s first day at the beach and baby’s first wine glass as well). 
We watched
Cassandra
stand
in
a
lab pour
ing
bright liquid from beaker to beaker.

I thought
the video
was a little much, but the
guests
seemed enthralled.
Cassandra
probably figured that if Coppola could make wine, then she could make a movie. 

“Clips
of this and other videos were posted on the Prophecy Estates web site,
”
Cassandra announced.  “We like to keep all our
guests and future shareholders
in the loop,
we all l
ove the romance of the
vine
, how we make it, what it takes to be an artist.
”
She trailed off and looked as dreamy as her image in the video.  The men shuffled restlessly. 
A couple of women whispered to each other.

Cassandra raised her hand and one of the young people scuttled out with glasses of Sauvignon
B
lanc.

“We didn’t bottle this here of course.”  She explained.  “But
this year’s zinfandel looks promising, it should be a great year.  Come in March for our barrel tasting.” 

Had
Ben approve
d
of expenditures like the video?  He hadn’t said.
Clutching our full glasses, we trailed behind the wine maker herself.  We all obligingly oohed and ahh
hed
at the
huge stainless steel tanks,
ready for next season’s whites
. We admired the
stacked
French oak barrels
, teetering at five barrels high
, all filled and aging perfectly, Cassandra assured us.
Thirty barrels surrounded a long table, set as if for dinner. But I knew there were no plans
or permits
to serve in here just yet, it was just for show.   To my left, cases of the white wine were towered to the ceiling almost touching the beams and steel poles that crisscrossed just under the roof.
A few
lower
sections had been wrapped in plastic, but it looked like the wrap had run out and no one had bothered to continue with the project.  Was that Fred’s job?
I couldn’t even see the very top of the cases. Was that safe?
I glanced around for the forklift but didn’t see one. It could be parked outside.

  I even listened to Cassandra rattle off a complicated formula on how she could tell when the
brix
levels were just perfect before she picked her grapes.  The
guests
were appropriately impressed. I knew figuring the brix
levels weren’t
all that difficult.

I bugged out during her technical explanation of brix and yeast, it sounded suspiciously like cooking, something I have no interest in
or aptitude for
.  I retreated back to the oyster station, crouched in the cool shadows of the building, and happily
began to
slurp
away.

Fred stalked out of the tasting room, clearly abandoning his post.

“Oyster?”  I offered, grinning at the lovely Hog Island oyster shucker.

Fred grimaced and shook his head.  “I better not, I’m the staff here. “

“They aren’t alcoholic.”  I slurped down another one.

“What she’s saying in there.”  He shook his head and reached for an oyster.
His color was high and not flattering to his unfortunate complexion.
“Sometimes I wonder if she really knows what she’s talking about.”

“Of course she does, it’s her winery.” I said.  Besides, Ben believed in her, and Ben was a pretty good judge of character and potential.  He
wanted to marry
me after all.

Fred
ignored me and
focused on something just past the olive trees. 

“
What is she doing here?  E
xcuse me.”

He dashed off with no more explanation than that. Not that I deserved a lengthy explanation
;
I was just a guest.  I sighed and considered
taking the oyster shucker home, but before I could ask, Cassandra
emerged from the tasting room, her tour duties apparently finished. 
She was certainly
resplendent in
that
long tuxedo jacket and matching
rose
colored silk slacks. 
She wore no
jewelry, well, she
did
just opened a winery, I was sure
it was just a matter of time before she found a new man who would be thrilled to invest in the winery and drape her with the appropriate weight of jewelry, she was that kind of woman.

Peter Klaussen O’
R
eilly the
T
hird
, dressed in a well
-
cut suit and red tie,
strolled from the tented parking area down the path to the patio just as Cassandra stepped into a patch of sunlight.
 

When
Ben
and I first met, he
told me O’Reilly had broke Cassandra’s heart
so
thoroughly
that Ben had to charge in on his metaphorical white horse and save her. I had watched O’Reilly freeze at the mention of her name.  I had watched Ben rear up like a
grizzly in Cassandra’s defense.
And yet, here
O’Reilly
was, all innocence and light
.
Cassandra must
have forgiven him enough to accept his
invest
ment
in the winery
.
And Peter must
be
reconsidering their relationship enough to
,
at the very least, throw money at her.

As he approached Cassandra, a young woman
appeared at the tent entrance. She was distracting by merit of her completely inappropriate ensemble.
Most of the guests were draped in silk slacks and flowing hand painted jackets. Precious stones glinted in the sunlight. Most of the women cleverly eschewed high heels and stood on the cement patio and between the vines shod in elegant flats or sandals.

This girl had some youth on her side,
her
flowing light brown hair
contrasted against skin that seemed too pale for the end of summer.
She wore an ill-fitting cocktail dress that looked like something she bought this afternoon in a hurry
, it was too short and her closed toed pumps were too formal. 

None of this apparently, bothered Peter. She paused at the tent entrance, spotted Peter and rushed as decorously as possible to catch up and attached herself to his side.

“This is my new assistant.”
  He
stopped before
Cassandra,
I was a little more to the right.

“
I read all up on wineries, I know I can help,” the young lady glanced at her escort, then back to Cassandra.  “
Y
ou.” She finished
,
albeit lamely. 

“There isn’t that much to do.” O’Reilly cast her a warning glance but the girl was too happy with herself and her surroundings. 
If he wanted Cassandra back, this was not the way to do it.  Was the man completely tone deaf to women?

“This is amazing
,” she continued, “d
id you see who was here? 
Martha Anderson,
Henry Trione, Henry Hansel, why are they all named Henry?
That Mrs. Anderson is
a
serious heavy
-
weight in the community.”

I smiled at the description.
Martha
Anderson
certainly was
a heavy weight,
she was an enthusiastic donor in the community:
sometimes she donated money
,
more often she
donated her own good opinion.
I avoided her when ever possible.  She doesn’t like to
be reminded of
our last encounter.
She also out-weighs me by a good forty pounds.

Cassandra
frowned
at the girl
, the she scowled at Peter
.  “
I assume you
can do
accounting
, paper work
,
all that?”

“Anything Peter wants, I can do.” She gazed up at Peter, who, to his credit, reddened.

“Fine,”
Cassandra
waved the girl away but the girl did not leave Peter’s side.  “I’ll see you Monday morning.
”
  Cassandra
hesitated, but the girl did not move.  So Cassandra was forced to
stalk away.

Ben
had obviously waited for Cassandra to head to the tent. He appeared by my side and
eyed Peter and the girl.
“
W
e haven’t sampled the chestnuts wrapped
in bacon.”

He nodded to Peter, and Peter nodded back.  But they forgot to speak.  Ben led me away to the pergola where there were, indeed, two plates of chestnuts wrapped in bacon.

“Fabulous.”  I was about to reach for another when Ben paused
,
his
chestnut
suspended in mid air.
“Why would she come here?”

“Who?”
I was having pronoun difficulties,
first Fred, now Ben. Ben didn’t elaborate either. 

“I have to go, sorry.”  He kissed me, careful of my lipstick, and hustled off. 

I popped
another oyster
into my mouth and
waved him
on.  As
long as he was
n’t
mistaken
as
Cassandra’s date, I was good.  I
entertained myself by counting the guests. A
bout two hundred people were scattered around the facility,
and
their numbers did
not
come close to
filling up the front patio or the large tent covering the parking area.  I could see that five hundred guests would be easily accommodated
for the wedding
. This was
my real reason for being here, to make sure this site would work for Carrie’s wedding.
The oysters were just a bonus.  I noticed that
Patrick was here
but, lucky me,
his sisters were not.
I
entertained myself by snapping a couple
of photos with my phone should I need to defend my position with the Furies.