Tasteless (3 page)

He steered the cart with his right hand as he rested his left one on Jamie’s tiny waist.  She directed him through the strawberry fields and towards the root vegetables where wooden barrels were filled to the brim with colorful beets and stalks of rhubarb.  The cart managed to pick up just enough speed to catch a cooling breeze, making the sun not just bearable but pleasurable.  In that moment, he could see how someone would opt to live this life when Manhattan was so nearby.  He was overwhelmed by all the sensations – the changing and fragrant scents of the fresh fruits and vegetables from field to field, the vivid images of dishes he could make popping up in his head, the beautiful girl that was sitting in his lap and stroking the back of his neck.

It was all enough to completely forget the bundle of anger that sat beside him.  Sam stole a quick glance at Rye who had turned almost completely away from the two of them.  He laughed, almost feeling bad for making her uncomfortable when he was enjoying himself as much as he was.

“So as you can see,” Jamie began.  “We have just about every fruit and vegetable you’d expect to see in season.”  She reached out toward a vine of hanging grapes, plucking a bunch off and tapping Rye on the shoulder.

“Oh,” Rye said, turning towards her and accepting the offer.  She looked relieved to be included in the tour once again.  “Thanks.”  Jamie dropped the pearly purple grapes into Rye’s open palm before turning back to Sam and putting a grape to lips.  Sam watched as Rye promptly furrowed her brows in disgust.

He laughed, leaning his head away and reaching up to take the grape from Jamie’s fingers.

“
Thank
you,” Sam said, popping the grapes into his mouth on his own.  Thankfully, Jamie didn’t look too insulted.

“You’ve really got the sales pitch thing down, don’t you Jamie?” Rye said, smirking.  She seemed to have gotten past her disgust and discomfort and had jumped right back into the mouthy little brat she was so content to be.  Sam rolled his eyes. 
That’s what you get for being nice.

“This isn’t a sales pitch, silly,” Jamie laughed.  “We’ve had a contract with you guys for two decades, we’re not worried about having your business.  This was just a nice little welcome for the new guy in town.”  She turned to look at Sam, her blue eyes glittering as she looked at him in a way that was arguably unprofessional.  Sam laughed with her.  Despite how commonplace it had become, he was always surprised by how easy it was for him when it came to women.  But even he was beginning to grow uncomfortable with the flirtation, strangely conscious of the impression he was making on Rye.  Though he really didn’t care what she thought, he also wasn’t looking to prove her right about the reputation that preceded him.  It would probably give her the platform to make even more unfounded assumptions about him, making his time at his new job unnecessarily miserable.

Back in Mike’s office, Sam drafted a wish list of all the items he wanted first access to.  There were the peach-pink beets and the strawberries and rhubarb, the purple cabbage and the crepe-husked tomatillos.  He watched as Rye pursed her lips, expressing her disapproval of his deviation from their usual list.  But he was feeling optimistic and hoping her silence was indicative of a desire to compromise.  God knows they’d need that to get everything done.

~

Through the week, Rye watched as Sam charmed vendor after vendor into giving them deals and discounts.  At Battensby Creamery, Sam helped the widowed Dottie Battensby hand-churn some fresh cream and in doing so, somehow rekindled the old woman’s libido.  To Rye’s horror, sweet old Dottie had a secret penchant for dirty double entendres. They left the creamery with Dottie promising to add a few new cheeses to her collection in order to fulfill Sam’s wish list, citing how pleasurable she found “experimentation.”

At Stanley Pastures, Sam managed to convince Beth
Stanley that they would be taking the grass-finished beef tenderloins to experiment with a steak tartare dish instead of the more economical grain-finished chuck roast that Rye had requested.  Rye was pretty sure that any customer could appreciate the classic flavors of her grandfather’s red wine beef stew, but Sam insisted the restaurant could benefit from a signature tartare and that he would be honored to have Beth as “a complicit partner in that endeavor.”  Even the maturity and composure of middle age couldn’t keep Beth from falling prey to Sam’s husky request and bedroom eyes.  Rye was dismayed when she returned to the diner to discover her roast had been replaced with the tenderloins.

Even the straight as an arrow and hyper-masculine Donald McDougal found himself falling for Sam’s charm, opting to carve him the custom cutting boards he wanted when Rye insisted the ones they had back at the restaurant were perfectly fine and that replacing them would be a direct insult to her family.

“I don’t like going against a young girl’s request,” Donald had said, his voice serious and gruff as he looked at Sam with eyes pleading for him to reconsider.  But Sam stood his ground and the next thing she knew, she was helping him carry his brand new cutting boards back to the car.

Rye had never given much thought to her charm and charisma, but seeing Sam’s power over people made her suddenly aware of her own lack of both.  She supposed she had never truly needed to be particularly charming or charismatic, especially since she had always preferred to keep to herself and others at bay.  Besides, all the elderly regulars at Somerville Diner liked her just fine without her having to force a fake persona to get her way.  She didn’t have to resort to Sam’s tactics.

But after a week of being witness to the conquering of Jamie Martelli, Dottie Battensby, Beth Stanley, and Donald McDougal, Rye was beginning to question her power in the overall handling of the restaurant.  Perhaps she should make more of an effort to be personable or at the very least, say something kind and flattering like Sam seemed to do so often.  But Rye knew there was just a little more to it than charm and flattery.  Sam was a shameless flirt.  Even with Donald, he had been surprisingly touchy and playful.  And Donald had responded positively, despite being just a hair on the homophobic side.

Rye knew she had some sort of charm in her, but she wasn’t sure she could flirt.  She had tried and failed in her pursuit of Jeremy and didn’t even bother in her first and only short-lived relationship, back in her equally short-lived college career.  She was pretty sure she’d never bother trying to flirt again, if it weren’t for the nagging desire she had for defeating Sam at his own game.

When she saw Emerald Valley Vineyards on the schedule, she saw her opportunity.  Rye recalled visiting the vineyard and winery a couple years back.  The resident tour guide was a soft-spoken and attractive man named Barrett who seemed to have an appreciation for tranquility despite being in his mid-twenties.  He was exactly the kind of perfect target that Rye had in mind for her first object of flirtation.

Rye had rummaged through her sisters’ closets, looking for an outfit suitable for a vineyard visit without looking like she had tried.  The last thing she needed was having her confidence shaken by one of Sam’s snarky remarks.  She settled on a pair of white jeans and a billowy, sleeveless chiffon blouse with a long keyhole in the back.  Rye slipped it on, taking a peek at herself in the mirror and marveling over how the navy print of her blouse brought out the gold in her hair.  She even stared at the makeup her sisters had left strewn across their shared vanity for a couple minutes, before deciding it was perhaps a bit too intimidating and that a nice outfit and running a comb through her hair should suffice.

When she got into the car, she could feel Sam’s eyes sweep down her body.  She sat facing forward, putting all her attention on fastening her seatbelt as she hoped he would keep quiet.

“Is it laundry day?” he asked passively as he started driving.

“What?” she asked, furrowing her brows.  “No.”

“You know how on most people’s laundry days, they dress like a mismatched slob because it’s all the clothes they have left?” he said.

“Um… okay?”

“Well, you’re dressed kind of nice today so I figured…”

“Oh, wow,” Rye said, rolling her eyes.  “You can stop there.”  She sighed, angry that even the subtlest of efforts couldn’t manage to go unnoticed.

“What, do you have a crush on someone at the winery or something?” Sam smirked.

“No,” Rye laughed, albeit bitterly.  “But I do plan on doing most of the talking today.”

“Oh, I see what this is about.  You’re sick of losing.”

“Losing?” Rye scoffed.  “Losing
what
, exactly?”

“Losing everyone’s favor to me.”

“I haven’t lost that,” Rye replied.  She hadn’t actually ever had it.  “And it’s just beginner’s luck.  You have the benefit of being the new guy in town.”

“But you felt the need to dress up today,” he smiled.  “You could’ve maybe brushed your hair too.”

“I
did
brush my hair,” Rye retorted, immediately regretting speaking up at all.  She watched as Sam’s smile turned into a self-satisfied smirk.

“You’re no fun,” Sam replied.  “It’s just too easy to get under your skin.”

When they arrived at the vineyard and winery, they were promptly greeted by a tall woman in her late twenties, dressed in an ivory blouse and charcoal dress pants.  Her hair was knotted in a perfectly wrapped platinum blonde chignon.  Next to her, Rye couldn’t help but feel her efforts at looking more like a presentable adult had fallen short.

“I’m Angela,” the woman introduced herself, shaking both their hands.  As Angela turned to Sam, Rye watched for the telltale twinkle she had seen in all the women’s eyes that week.  Luckily, it was absent this time.  Angela folded her hands in front of her as she continued to smile.  “I’ll be your tour guide for today.”  Rye’s stomach sank.

“Wait, how about Barrett?” Rye asked, realizing she had betrayed her own desire to play things cool.  She could see Sam smile his smug smile.

“Barrett, huh?” he said, nudging Rye in the ribs.

“Barrett left last year,” Angela said.  “He’s working Sidney Willis’s winery in Sonoma – isn’t that fabulous?”

“Isn’t Sidney Willis a film director?” Rye asked.

“Yes,” Sam replied, despite keeping his eyes on Angela.  “And a purveyor of some very fine wines.”  She could see him giving Angela those eyes that he had given everyone else, the smoldering glance that apparently only Rye could see through.  Angela paused for a moment, staring back before quickly blushing.  Rye sighed in frustration.  She had come to the vineyard with the intent of charming and flirting with Barrett, the cute and reserved boy tour guide, and the energy she had worked up to do so hadn’t completely left her body.  Despite the circumstances of Angela being an apparently straight woman and Sam already getting the upper hand, Rye was determined to give her best go at being the one in power today.

“Angela, I’m sorry to interrupt but I love your blouse,” Rye said, widening her eyes before batting her lashes in admiration.  “Who makes it?”

“Oh, it’s not a brand name,” Angela said, looking down at her outfit as if she had almost forgotten what she was wearing that day.  “It’s kind of embarrassing but I got it on sale at some discount retailer.”

“Well, you could’ve fooled me,” Rye continued.  “I guess not all us girls can make some random thing off the rack look like couture.”

“You don’t look so bad yourself,” Angela replied, gesturing towards Rye’s outfit with a big smile.  She smiled back, happy for the genuine compliment and pleased that Sam was looking pretty nauseated by the sudden mutual girl-crush.

If only Rye had known earlier in life that something as simple as a quick compliment could get her into the good graces of most.  Angela ended up leading her through the winery arm in arm, showing her the different grapes they grew on site as well as the ones they brought in from out of state.  Rye smiled with every defeated shuffle through the dirt that Sam’s sneakers were making behind them, failing to join the exclusive little club that Angela and Rye had formed in the last hour.  When they had gotten to the winery behind the vineyard, any stranger would have assumed that Angela and Rye were old friends.  It helped that Angela was the chatty type and Rye was the type who liked playing the part of a good listener.  It seemed that Angela found her rapt attention more flattering than any words she could speak.

But she could tell that Sam still had some tricks up his sleeve.  When they had arrived at the small cottage overlooking the vineyards to taste some of the wines that Emerald Valley had to offer, they came upon another tour group.  They were settled at one of the many large wooden barrels that had been set with various wine glasses to do tastings, already a couple glasses in.  Another female guide was there, discussing the nature of the wine she was pouring for her group.

Though she tried to continue paying attention to Angela, Rye couldn’t help but notice that Sam’s attention had fallen on the other guide.  She was tall and thin like Angela but with a darker, wavy do.  Her lips curved in a mischievous fashion with every glass she poured.  Sam grabbed his wine glass, joining the other group so seamlessly that he had almost tricked them into thinking he belonged there.

“Oops, guess it’s just us,” Angela chirped as she shrugged.  “Groups are fun but sometimes it’s also fun to have a little private session.  So between the two of you, are you usually the one who calls the shots at your restaurant?”