“Come now, what does it matter to you?” That had to be Curly. She seemed to be genuinely nice.
“All I’m saying is I haven’t seen her at any of the other events around here.” That was definitely Larry. “I checked out her Instagram page, andshe can’t expect to go to many of these things if she doesn’t beef it up. YouTube? That’s not where our people are.”
Our people?
What did she mean by “our people”? And what did it matter if I reached out to different people? How was that any skin off her button nose?
“Whatever.” It was Moe again. “She’s like the rest of them. We’ll never see her again. She’s another flash in the pan.”
Deep breaths. It doesn’t matter what they think.
I held my head up high, schooled my features, and walked into the room.
“Oh, hi,” all three of them said, as if they weren’t being mean girls not seconds before. Only Curly’s smile reached all the way to her eyes, so I smiled at her.
This pie-in-the-sky YouTube thing that gives you the illusion of success ...
A flash in the pan, Moe had said. An illusion, Mom had said. Either way it was an awful lot of unneeded animosity. It had never occurred to me that YouTube people and Insta people would fight each other. Silly me, I thought there were plenty of viewers to go around. No matter. We only had another two hours, and then we were on our own.
In came the representatives from yet another vineyard. Donna stood to the side and let them all speak, almost as though they were auditioning for a part. I thought of my conversation last night and the name on the card: Marisol Jung. I scanned the list of people I’d met today. I didn’t recognize any of these wineries but one. Considering my background, that didn’t mean a lot, I supposed. Still, no reason why Marisol couldn’t have been on this list, was there?
I wanted to interview her instead. Maybe I preferred her wines because I’d tried them first. I itched to find out, but I had to fulfill my obligations first. I’d finally given in to the spit bucket because I had to be able to drive at the end of this. And the last presenter that afternoon? It was the name I recognized, but the wines were terrible—at least to my novice palate. I made liberal use of the spit bucket. Vine Friendshad probably hoped I would be toasty enough not to realize how bad those particular wines were.
The minute I got out the door, I called the number on the business card.
Marisol answered, surprised.
“This is Vivian from last night. Could I please find out more about your wines?” I blurted.
She gave me directions to a little café in Yountville.
I drove away from the hotel, knowing we were supposed to “network” that evening at an optional wine tasting out in the courtyard, but I needed to either see a friendly face or do something productive. With any luck, meeting Marisol would accomplish both those goals.
You’re being a coward because you don’t want to face Larry, Curly, and Moe.
Maybe. Well, Curly wasn’t so bad, but she seemed to always be with the other two.
Next time—and there would be a next time someday if for no other reason than to spite the people who said I couldn’t—I would be here again, and I would rent that convertible.
Finding a parking space in Yountville was an adventure, but I finally found a spot in a residential area a couple of blocks over. As I was parking, a black cat walked in front of my car, and I gasped.
Nope. Two eyes.
As if my cat would be in California.
I closed my eyes and banged my head on the steering wheel for a moment.
I couldn’t think about Lucky right now. I blinked my eyes and took deep breaths until I thought I could handle focusing on Marisol and her wines.
Following the GPS on my phone, I walked two blocks to a modest café that looked like a hole in the wall—especially when compared to its neighbor, a sleek, modern restaurant.
Once inside, my eyes had to adjust to the dim lighting. The small café was full of round tables for four. I spied Marisol at the bar in the center.
“Hi,” I said, kinda feeling like I was on a first date.
“Hello, Vivian, isn’t it?”
“That’s me.”
