Lost and Found (9 page)

"Oh my goodness. I'm"—she giggles again—"I'm sorry. I just . . . I've never told anyone like that. Just blurted it out. Most people don't know. I mean, people don't just ask. They look away. They pretend it's not there. They pretend I'm not there." She takes a deep breath and looks around like she's seeing the place for the first time. "It feels so good to just say it out loud. And to laugh. I don't remember the last time I laughed like that." She wipes her eyes again. "In answer to your question"—she chuckles again—"it didn't work out too well, obviously! Although, in a way, it's a gift. Vanity is no longer an issue—or an option, for that matter."

I'm not sure I agree with her, she's still a stunner. "Do you blame God?"

"Oh, no, not at all."

She seems surprised by the question. Like she's never considered it.

"I made a choice—a choice I knew was accompanied by risk. I made the choice for all the wrong reasons, but I believe plastic surgery is a valid choice for some people. So, I'm suffering the consequences of my choice. That's all." She shrugs.

"What happened? I mean, since I've already stuck my foot in my mouth, I might as well get the whole story."

She smiles. "You didn't stick your foot in your mouth, you offered me the freedom to talk—to speak truth. I appreciate that." She glances back toward the ground and then she looks back at me. "After the surgery—it's called a mentoplasty—I developed an infection. The infection eventually went to the bone. I've had subsequent surgeries to clean out the infected bone, but . . ."

"So is that what the pack is about?" I reach over and pull back the bottom edge of her jacket and point to the thing I noticed on her side at her waist.

She looks down. "You weren't supposed to see that. But yes, as of this morning, I have a new line to administer antibiotics."

"What about the person who suggested the surgery? I mean, why'd you let them influence you?"

She looks across the plaza to the cathedral. "I don't know. I'm still trying to figure that out."

I nod. "Well, bummer, dude. Sorry you're going through this."

She looks at me, one eyebrow raised. "Dude?"

"Yeah, well . . ." I shrug.

"Spiritual director? Really?" She shakes her head and her long dark hair falls forward. She brushes it back behind her ears. "I guess I would have expected someone more . . . well . . . something."

"Serious. Staunch. Holy?"

She laughs. "Maybe."

I close one eye and channel my best Popeye. "I yam what I yam." Then, more serious, I say, "Sorry to disappoint."

"I'm not disappointed." She tilts her head to one side. "I'm intrigued."

"For the record, if we work together, I don't usually call my directees Dude." I nod. "But"—I cock my head and look at her—"it seems like I already know you. Like an old friend or something. You know?"

She nods.

"Maybe Skye's right. Maybe there is a Divine connection here."

"I'd like to find out."

"Yeah, me too." I reach into my shirt pocket and pull out one of my business cards. "Give me a call if you decide you want a spiritual director."

I watch as she opens her purse and puts the card into her wallet.

Intrigued? Heck yeah. My sense was right. She was the something, or someone, I was supposed to pay attention to today.

When you are living out of your own life, you act as though you are the central reference point.

JEANNE GUYON

I REACH INTO
my wallet, extract a couple of bills, and pay the cabbie for the fare. I tip him well under the standard fifteen percent. He did nothing special to earn the standard. A waiting valet opens the cab door and I walk the few steps to the entrance of Postrio. I glance at my watch. Noon. On the dot.

I glance at the hostess. "Bouvier party."

I'm led through the bar, the only part of the restaurant that serves lunch these days, and down the grand staircase to the main dining room, reserved for private parties. There, in the far corner of the dining room, Brigitte sits at a table alone. What does it cost to reserve the entire dining room for a party of three? In the past, we've met in the city offices of Domaine de la Bouvier with Brigitte, Gerard, and their CFO.

"Brigitte, hello." I sit in the seat the hostess pulls out for me, across from Brigitte. "What's the occasion?" I gesture to the empty dining room.

"It's good to indulge occasionally,
non
? I like the chef here, I like the ambiance, and now, I'll also enjoy the company."

As she's talked a waiter has filled my glass with sparkling wine. Brigitte lifts her glass and I follow.

"La fortune soutir aux audacieux."

"I'll drink to that, I think."

Brigitte laughs. "Fortune smiles upon the audacious."

"Ah . . . I
will
drink to that." I feign a sip of the wine and then set the glass back on the table. I don't drink, which proves problematic when working for vintners. "Is Gerard joining us?"

"He is. But first, I thought we'd chat privately—one businesswoman to another. I value your thoughts and I'd like to apprise you of a delicate matter. Oui?"

I nod. Schmoozing. That's the occasion. The private dining room, expensive wine, and gourmet lunch. I'm here to be schmoozed.
Go for it, lady.
While I admire Brigitte, I don't trust her. "Of course. I'm accustomed to delicate matters. I'm happy to offer whatever insights I can."

She assesses me from across the table. I watch her eyes as she takes in what I'm wearing, a designer knit suit and white silk blouse, the diamond studs at my ears, and the understated Cartier watch on my wrist. She's running a tally of some sort in her head, I'd guess. Not financial, but rather, she's sizing me up, wondering if I can be trusted to receive whatever she's going to dole out.

"I have been CEO of Domaine de la Bouvier for more than thirty years. I took over after my husband's death. In that time, I moved the operation of the company from France to the United States, I've purchased land, bored caves, restructured—"

I stifle a yawn. I've done my homework. I know what she's done. As she drones on about her accomplishments, I jump one step ahead of her and try to anticipate where this is headed.

"—and, as you know, our holdings in Eperny and now the Napa Valley are, shall we just say, vast."

I reach for my water glass. "Your accomplishments are admirable." Is she tooting her own horn?

"Yes. The point being, they are
my
accomplishments."

Ah, now we're getting to it.
I nod. "Meaning?"

"Meaning, like the empire you're building, I built this company on my own and I have no intention of turning it over to anyone else. Not anytime soon, anyway." She lifts her wine glass again and tilts it toward me in a mock toast. She takes a sip and sets it back on the table.

I measure my words. "There is no place in business for familial sentimentality." She looks at me and I know I've gained another point.

"My philosophy exactly. However—"

"—Gerard doesn't agree."

She smiles, but there is no warmth in her steel eyes. "No, he doesn't. But I expected you would. Do we have an understanding?"

"We do. I'm also clear on who hired me. I work for you, Mrs. Bouvier."

"Please, it's Brigitte."

This time, I pick up my wine glass and toast her. "To Domaine de la Bouvier, may it continue to prosper under your leadership." I lift the glass to my lips and pretend to take another sip. The smell of the wine makes my stomach roil as pictures of my father flash in my mind. I set the glass back down and reach for the plate of warm rolls. I peel back the white linen napkin covering the bread and offer a roll to Brigitte.

When she shakes her head, I take a roll and reach for the small crock of salted butter. Focused on buttering the roll, I take the moment to let my stomach settle and to process the information she's shared and how it will fit with the recommendations I'm here to make.

"Ah, darling, here you are." I look up and see Brigitte looking beyond me. I turn to see Gerard approaching. I reach for the napkin on my lap, wipe my hands, and then offer my hand to Gerard, who first shakes it, then bends to kiss it."

"You Frenchmen are quite the charmers," I say.

"We try. Good afternoon, Andee, Mother. May I join you?"

"Of course, darling, we've been waiting for you."

I notice him glance at his watch and see a flash of confusion cross his face.

"We were early," I say.

Gerard seats himself and the waiter, right behind him, fills his glass with wine. "One of ours, I assume?"

"Of course, Mr. Bouvier."

Gerard lifts his glass. "To business and the pleasure of lunching with beautiful women."

You've got to be kidding me.
I lift my glass, but this time I don't even pretend to sip. Gerard, on the other hand, makes a show of twirling his glass, and sniffing the bouquet of the wine before tasting it. "Perfect." He takes another swallow of the wine before he speaks.

"So Andee, Mother tells me you have some additional recommendations for us. I look forward to hearing them." He takes another drink of his wine before setting the glass back down.

I lean forward and jump in. "With the current economic slump, many of the smaller wineries are struggling, as you know. Now's the time to add to your holdings and further diversify." I reach into my briefcase and pull out a file folder. I open the file and hand both Brigitte and Gerard copies of my recommendations.

"Azul?" Brigitte takes off her glasses and looks at me. "Bill and Jason have never entertained our offers. Do you know something we don't? Are they in trouble?"

"Maybe you haven't made the right offer." She watches me, searching my face for information, but I give nothing away.

Gerard jumps in. "Andee, you're aware of my friendship with Jason, not to mention our family ties. I think I'd know if they were ready to sell."

I shrug. "It's about timing and the right offer."

Brigitte purses her lips. "What do you have in mind?"

"I've worked the figures. Though, as I'm sure you know, it's about more than money. Azul holds deep sentimental value for the family. Keeping the name, the label, would be paramount."

"Of course." Gerard studies me. "That's never been an issue with us."

I reach into the file and hand each of them another packet of papers. The initial suggested proposals for each winery.

They look through the proposals. After a few minutes, Brigitte sets the packet down. "Andee, you realize, of course, that to acquire these companies will spread Domaine de la Bouvier thin. We aren't immune to the downturn in the economy."

My adrenaline surges as I propose my plan. "I realize that. But now, I believe, is the time for Domaine de la Bouvier to go public. Doing so will increase your capital reserves and make the acquisitions possible."

Brigitte leans back in her chair. She wears a smug smile. "I like it. Though there will be added expenses in the process."

I nod. "Of course."

Gerard reaches for his glass and drains it. He turns, pulls the bottle out of the ice bucket, and tops off Brigitte's glass. "Andee?"

"No, thank you. I'm working."

He fills his glass and places the bottle back in the bucket. "Let's put this aside for a moment. There's other business I want to discuss before we launch into these types of decisions. Andee, as you know, I will be taking over Domaine de la Bouvier at some point. It seems we should begin that shift sooner rather than later. Especially if we're considering going public and acquiring additional assets. Before that happens, we need to establish new leadership, alert the press, etc. This type of restructuring would be the natural outflow of new leadership."

I look at Brigitte. Her silence tells me all I need to know. I'm to take the fall here.

"I disagree." I see Gerard's chin lift as he braces for a battle. "Investors want stability. A shift in leadership before going public wouldn't be wise. The strength of Domaine de la Bouvier, beyond its holdings, is that it's a known entity. Both you and Brigitte are known in the community, here and in France. Your roles are established. Your product has proven itself. And with new leadership comes new possibilities. While a business needs to grow and flex with the times, during an economic crunch, your best bet is to remain steady."

Before Gerard has a chance to respond, Brigitte speaks up. "I'd like a meeting with Bill and Jason. If they're ready to sell, it's time to talk details."

I expect Gerard to interrupt. To reclaim the conversation. Instead, he signals for the waiter. "We're ready for lunch." His tone is tight. He picks up his glass, which the waiter refills, and leans back in his chair. Apparently, he's removed himself from the conversation.

The man is so weak it's disgusting. I turn my attention back to Brigitte. "As I said, timing is important for the Azul deal. I'd advise you to wait to meet. I'll let you know when the time is right."

"
You
would know, wouldn't you?" Gerard throws back another swallow of wine.