Christmas in Wine Country (32 page)

             
“Well, I don’t think—” About to say that she was pretty sure no research linked using a land line to leave a message on a cell phone with any kind of cancer, Zoe cut Lila off.

“You haven’t listened to any of your messages, have you?” Zoe demanded. “You don’t even know if Annie’s called.”

It was true.
Lila shrugged, unable to explain
the passivit
y of the downtrodden.

“Come on. We’ll do it tog
ether.” T
hey went back into the kitchen, fished Lila’s phone out of her bag and put it on speakerphone on the table before them.

Five voice
mails. Two were from Gram.

“Oh no.” Lila brought her
hand up to her mouth. How had she let their Sunday call come and go? Gram must be worried sick. Zoe stopped her from
making an immediate return call, however
, insisting
that
she get through all five. Two were from Zoe
, including one in which she san
g,
“
H
it me with your best phone call! Dial away!”
The final caller, however, threw them for a loop.

“Lillian.” A smooth, polished
male
voice glided through the spe
aker. “I
m
ust
take
you out this Saturday. So much to catch up on. And we have something to discuss that I think is going to make you very happy.” Zoe and Lila looked at each other.

Answering the question in her eyes, Lila said, “Phillip.”

*
             
*
             
*

At first, Lila wanted to
blow Phillip
off
in
exactly
the
same
manner
as
he’d
behaved with
her:
cold, cruel and
heartless. Maybe not even c
all him back. Maybe send a text:
Phillip who? But Zoe worked on her; she really wanted to see what the de
al was. Eventually, curiosity won out
. The guy who had neither ph
oned nor emailed nor texted
once since the break up was going to drive all the way out to Redwood Cove, take her out and tell her something that was going to make her ve
ry happy? Lila
had to find out what was up.

She
opted for a quick return call. Phillip, who maintained a strict policy of no personal calls during the workday (
or at least no Lila calls),
picked up on the first ring.
When she suggested they just meet at a restaurant, he refused. He insisted on picking her up at her apartment
, a
nd on keeping their destination a surprise
.

             
Later that week, Zoe asked,
“Wasn’t that French girl wearing a backles
s dress at that party?”
Surprised she
remember
ed
such a detail, Lila confirmed that, yes,
at
the holiday party
Axelle
had indeed been wearing a backless dress. And looking phe
nomenal. Later that day Zoe showed
up
at Lila’s apartment
with her own backless numbe
r. Stretchy and black, it
look
ed almost
casual from the front, only to wake you right up from the back.

             
“You need to
bring your full Lila,” Zoe
counseled, dropping off what
she referred to as “the works”:
make-up for the stars, hair product, teeny dress, even teenier panties. Lila hadn’t known that holistic Zoe of the unbleached organic cotton tunics would even recognize such items as an eyelash curler or a flat iron, let alone own th
em. “They’re Tiffany’s
,
” Zoe
explained. “And, besides, we’re women. We don’t need to make sense.”

Saturday,
Lila
was
w
earing
her own p
anties, thank you very much.
But
she
was also feeling
grateful. At least Zoe didn’t seem to think she was an idiot who’d ruined everything. Zoe still seemed happy to be her friend and for that Lila
had
play
ed
her dress-up doll.

S
he’d let Z
oe style her hair, with
guidance away from up-dos and toward how she wore it every day anyway, just softer, shinier and
with
bigger, looser curls. And she’d let Zoe do her makeup, again counseling away from the initial suggestion of angry
red around the eyes (apparently reds were ‘the palette of the heart’), in favor of some
sultry
grays. The best thing about the fuss was it didn’t give her time to think. Questions like, “Phi
llip? Really?” didn’t have
time to percolate.

Pacing acr
oss the wooden floorboards, Lila’s
strappy high heels made a rhythmic clicking. It was 4:23pm. Phillip was due to arrive in seven minutes. With only a few hints—“prepare to be impre
ssed” and “dress up, not down”—
plus the early hour he insisted upon, Lila could only assume that he was taking her out in the city.

She’d certainly dre
ssed, if you could call it that. Lila
tugg
ed
her cashmere wrap
tighter around her shoulders and wondered h
ow she’d let Zoe convince her to borrow that
slinky
black backless dress
.
Pacing her living room, now just
three minutes before 4:30, she didn’t feel much like seduction. Not that Zoe had been counseling her to get Phillip back; that scenario hadn’t seemed to cross either of their minds. Zoe seemed to simply take it as a given that on such an occasion—seeing the one who jilted you, particularly if the jilt was done for someone French and without much thought—it was essential to look scorchingly hot.

             
The downstairs buzzer rang. Lila jolted
, then c
all
ed
into th
e intercom, “I’ll be right down.
”
She’d considered
inviting
him up for a drink before hea
ding out, but
now
decided against it. The apartment, present week excepted, had become a happy place. A place where she sipped tea and watched the ocean. She didn’t want to see it through Phillip’s judgmental eyes. She was sure she didn’t have enough taupe or charcoal or whatever modernist lack of color she should be celebrating.
Grabbing
a light coat
with the same hemline as
the dress—also borrowed from Zoe—she
headed out the door.

             
Phillip
waited
outside
,
standing alongside his black Porsche
. He looked
like an ad for the car in a dark, slim-cut James Bond-worth
y
suit and tie. She couldn’t help but
b
e struck, as she always had been, by his cool, sophisticated good looks.

             
“Lillian. You look
fantastic.” In a romantic
gesture, Phillip grasped her hand and gave it a kiss.  

             
“Hello Phillip.” Lila wished at that moment she smoked so she could do something dramatic and 1940s like blow a smoke ring, throw the butt to the sidewalk and grind it under her shoe. In lieu of that, she accepted his arm as he walked her to the passenger side. Suddenly so gallant she thought to herself, remembering their former habit of leaving the office separately so as never to arouse suspicion.

             
Sliding in among the new leather interior, Lila did have to admit it felt nice. He’d even heated h
er seat. Key in
the ignition, Philip’s dashboard leapt to life with a softly lit navigation system and Bluetooth synced and ready.

             
Pointing at the glowing map, Lila said, “You know, I can pretty much just tell you how to get back to the freeway.”

             
“Shhh.” Index finger to his lips, he oozed charm as he said, “This night is all about you, Lil
l
ian. You sit back, relax. Leave everything to me. And prepare to be dazzled.”

             
Lila sat back into her seat, stifling the hint of a laugh. He was trying hard, wasn’t he? Stealing another glance at him as he pulled the car into the street, she was struck
by his beigeness. Beige hair, beige skin. He looked so well groomed, skin softly glowing, hands surely fresh from a manicure. A bit like a show dog.

             
“So good to see you,
” Phillip said. Lila nodded non-committally. She wasn’t so sure yet. She was officially in a wait-and-see mood.

             
The automated GPS voice yelled “Turn right in 50 feet.” Seeing as how they’d dead end into the state road in 50 feet, Lila knew she could navigate better than some computer regardless where they were going. But, wait-and-see, she reminded herself.
As she shifted
in her seat
,
her
dress slid up a few inches
. Phillip’s attention riveted to her legs. “Made you look,” she thought, chuckling to herself and wondering if she could maybe
even
have some fun with him tonight.

             
“I couldn’t believe it when I was able to get us tickets at such late noti
ce.” As Phillip bragged
about his connections, Lila looked out the window and recalled how much her old roommates had prized that quality. Venice and Valeria had launched and landed entire relationships based on the male’s ability to book a table or get into a party.

As they drove, Phillip kept them company with the sound of his own voice, punctuated at awkward intervals by the GPS loudly reminding them to “keep straight.” Tuning in as he waxed rhapsodic about the B&B where he had a room with “at least 500 thread count European cotton sheets” Lila asked, “Wait, you’re staying up here?”

             
“Where’s that pretty head tonight?” Phillip teased her,
then
answered, “Yes, as I’ve been saying, I’m at Surf Ranch. At the wine-tasting this evening the proprietor…”

As he described how he’d impressed even the veteran wine snobs with his palate, Lila bit her lower lip and watched the dark blur of trees out the window. Surf Ranch was where she’d booked them a romantic vacation last December. Where she’d dragged herself sobbing and miserable, bereft and jobless. Like a snail without a shell, slinking out for a romantic getaway all alone. Of course he wouldn’t remember that she’d made plans for them to stay there.

“Left turn in…one mile!” the GPS yelled and Lila sat up straighter. One mile? They’d come down south a ways and now they were heading inland. Almost as if they were going to start climbing up and over the ridge toward something else she knew of in the vicinity.

“Wait, are we heading…?” Lila began to ask.

“Yes. I can’t keep it a secret any longer.” Reaching into his jacket pocket, Phillip pulled out two tickets to the Sonoma County annual wine auction. Held at Endicott Vineyards. He reached out and patted a hand on her knee, his palm soft as a baby’s bottom.

“No!”

“I know! Aren’t you shocked I got tickets? I know someone who knows someone. Had to pull some strings. It’s a great opportunity to network. And I wanted to see you. I need to talk to you about something.”

At the GPS’s next command to “turn left”, Phillip eased them onto Vineyard Drive and up they began their winding ascent. Past Heartstone Vineyards. Past Briarpatch Vineyards. And on to the plum estate, the crème de la crème: Endicott Vineyards.

*
             
*
             
*

A huge, white tent billowed in the parking area next to the Great Room. Together, the two spaces created room for nearly 1,000 guests. Phillip pulled into queue for the valet.

Closing her eyes, Lila rested the bridge of her nose on her fingers. Options, what were her options? Wishing she’d gone to spy school instead of Colgate, she thought of the arsenal of skills she could now be drawing upon. She’d probably have a stun gun and a fake license plate she could unfold right in her purse. She could smoothly exit the scene in a car of her choosing, change her identity with a single bottle of hair color and never look back.

But they hadn’t covered any escape scenarios at Colgate. She’d learned nothing of use, really, at all she realized, and so now she sat in Phillip’s car in the parking lot at Endicott Vineyards as he got out, closed the door and gave his keys to the valet.