Read A Taste of Merlot Online

Authors: Heather Heyford

A Taste of Merlot (10 page)

Chapter 16
B
ack in Vallejo, Meri hesitated before she pulled into a space near the co-op.
“Where's your car?”
He swung his arm in the general direction of a side street. “Just around the corner.”
“I'll drive you over to it.”
“Nah. Need the exercise.” He patted his flat abs. “I would kiss you good-bye, but I probably still have tobacco breath from the ice cream.” His eyes teased.
She grabbed him by the front of his shirt to pull his head to hers. When she'd tasted every square centimeter of his mouth, she released him.
“Was it okay?”
“Amazing.” All she'd tasted was pure, unadulterated
man
.
“There was really only a hint of tobacco in that ice cream, you know.”
“I'd never turn down one of your kisses.”
“Meet you back here on Sunday for the game.”
Once Mark had gone, Meri gradually floated back down to earth. Where exactly did they stand, in terms of her contract? Did he think, because she had slept with him and he'd taken her on a whirlwind tour of the city, that she'd changed her mind about using her famous last name? She hoped not, because she hadn't. She wouldn't.
How could she explain to Mark—to
anyone
—that there was another, more treacherous reason why she didn't want to be known professionally as Merlot St. Pierre, in addition to the well-known family scandals?
Out on the freeway, she pushed a button and the moon roof slid silently open. Maybe the cool, northern California night air would help her think.
On the verge of American Canyon, she shivered, remembering where it had all started, the baby step toward what would eventually become her own,
private
scandal.
She'd finally made it through that first, horrible day at boarding school. She pulled on her pajamas, sank down on her narrow bed, and looked around forlornly at the small dorm. Sadie, her roommate, had been called to the office that morning to be formally introduced to her, but where was she now? Sadie was a fifth-former, and had no doubt been here since September, not ripped away from her friends mid-year like Meri had. How would she understand what Meri was going through? Sadie probably hated her for abruptly forcing her to share her room, give up what little privacy this place afforded.
Though she had her own spacious suite back home, Meri was used to sharing her space—even a bed. With her parents always off somewhere—Papa in the vineyards or the lab or traveling on business, and Maman acting in movies—she and her sisters had made a regular habit of cozying up together in one or the other's bed.
Meri had lain down on top of the covers in the glare of the harsh ceiling light. She must've fallen asleep, because the next thing she knew she heard Sadie, opening drawers, running the water in the bathroom they shared with the two girls next door. As much as Meri had craved company earlier, now, jolted out of a restless stupor, she felt exhausted and shy. She faked unconsciousness until Sadie turned out the lights. But sometime in the middle of the night, she was awakened yet again by her pillowcase, damp with tears.
The next two evenings were the same. Lost, homesick, Meri escaped into sleep again right after supper. When she'd learned she'd be rooming with another student at Lindenwood, she'd hoped they'd become friends. But how could they when they never saw each other?
Finally, on Friday, Sadie returned to the room right after dinner.
“You probably wonder where I've been every night,” she said, kicking off her shoes.
Meri gaped wordlessly, intimidated by the slightly older, considerably bigger girl.
“I get tutored every night except Friday,”
“Why?”
“My parents make me. I flunked almost everything last year.”
She tugged off her uniform sweater, pulling its sleeves inside out, and tossed it onto the floor.
“What didn't you flunk?” The very word felt awkward in Meri's mouth. Neither she nor her sisters had ever “flunked” anything. They just hadn't.
“Art and PE.” She flashed Meri an irreverent grin.
Gosh. It took a certain amount of guts to flunk everything.
“How come?”
She shrugged. “I dunno. Didn't feel like doing it.”
That was a lot to chew on, and Meri would've been satisfied mulling it over for the next couple of hours. But Sadie wasn't finished. She climbed onto her bed, smashing the mattress flat in the middle and making it curl up slightly at the ends, and sat there facing Meri directly.
“That's why I'm here.”
“Did you come from far away?” asked Meri. She attributed part of her own homesickness to the vast distance between California and Connecticut. To get to Lindenwood, she'd flown for hours, over mountain ranges, deserts, plains, lakes, and rivers, farther and farther away from her familiar, vine-laced ridges, until it seemed she'd flown clear to the other side of the world.
Sadie let out a bitter laugh, for an eleven-year-old. Even Meri could sense that, and she was only eight.
“If you consider sixteen miles far,” Sadie replied, jumping off the bed to grab her can of soda. “Diet,” she justified, pointing to the label. At that moment she seemed light years older than Meri.
Sixteen miles was close enough to drive back and forth every day.
Sadie read her mind. “S'easier for them just to send me here. That way they don't have to worry about me. Can come and go as they like.”
She took the last swig, set down the can, and wiped her mouth with her shirtsleeve, right across the monogrammed “S” on the cuff, embroidered in navy blue.
“That's what they do anyways. Always going down to the city. You know. New York.”
She ran the syllables together so that it sounded like, “Ney-ork,” and from that day on, Meri said it that way too, believing it made her sound more eastern; less foreign. She would always remember that as the very first thing she learned at boarding school.
“What do your parents do?”
“You know. Something to do with steel, my dad. My mom shops, mostly. Gets her nails done. Works out. You should see her legs.” She brightened with pride. “They're like toothpicks.”
Sadie's legs were definitely not toothpicks. More like hotdogs. Not fat, but they didn't curve in at her knees.
That night, Meri must've been crying in her sleep again, because in the dark she heard Sadie's voice.
“Hey, Meri—you okay?”
Meri clamped her mouth shut, but it seemed as though some response was needed. She didn't want to rebuff Sadie, now that she was finally making headway.
“Yeah,” she started to say, but to her shame the word came out as a sob. Followed by another.
There was a pause. And then Meri heard Sadie's sheets rustle.
“You can come over here and lie down with me if you want.”
In the glow of the nightlight, Meri saw Sadie raise her covers. Exactly what Savvy and Char used to do when Meri crept into one of their bedrooms, on those nights when she felt alone and dwarfed by the palatial house on Dry Creek Road. That was her invitation to climb in with them, to curl up for warmth and companionship, and it happened more nights than not. Now, it made her miss them even more. Her muscles tightened in preparation to rise up and move, to take Sadie up on her offer.
But something held her back. Was this different, or not? Sadie wasn't her sister.
Sadie was her roommate. That was almost like a sister, wasn't it? She weighed her options, hesitating. She wanted Sadie's friendship, didn't she?
That's when it came to her. She'd been here a whole week and barely been noticed, much less spoken to. Everyone already had their tablemates at meals, their study buddies, their routines. More than merely wanting it, she needed someone at this alien place, if she were to survive here.
Besides, with parents like hers, Sadie seemed to need comforting as much as Meri did. Wouldn't it be selfish to turn away from her?
Meri had a momentous decision to make, and with it the premonition that whatever she chose to do in the next few seconds would follow her forever, for better or for worse.
Five miles from home, the lights of Meri's favorite coffee shop flickered into view. She was in desperate need of a skim cap
.
She eased off the accelerator, checked her rearview and flicked on her turn signal. She wouldn't sleep tonight, anyway.
Chapter 17
W
hen Mark got into his own car, he took his phone off silent and it immediately rang.
Gloria
.
“Where are you? I've left you two voice messages.”
“I told you, I took a personal day.” If she'd only let him teach her to text message . . .
“How'd it go last night with Merlot?”
“Fine.”
“It's a go?”
“It'll all work out.”
His aunt's sigh of relief was audible. “Wonderful. I took it upon myself to contact West Coast Artisans, and they're on board. They'll have to contract additional craftsmen, but they're excited. We may still need Bali, even with that.”
What—she didn't trust him to follow through on his commitments? Mark was steamed. But then, why should she? He hadn't won Meri over to their side.
She twittered on about work, but Mark had stopped listening. He was too busy racking his brain, trying to think of a way to fix the major boondoggle he'd created. He scrubbed a hand through his hair as he reached the city limits. He was driving back to a mess that went up to his eyeballs, and it was only getting deeper. The plane tickets to New York for the trip to the Javits Center were canceled. Tomorrow was Friday. If he couldn't change Meri's mind by Monday, Gloria would eviscerate him, probably in front of Dick, who all the while would give Mark his usual, disdainful glare—but this time, it would be deserved.
Worst of all, there would be only one vendor left from whom to buy his spring line:
Rainn.
True, he'd promised Rainn orders over the phone. But nothing was final until he actually pressed send on the e-mail with the signed documents attached.
At the office, Mark couldn't stop pacing. Even without Gloria's constant interruptions—ironic, given he couldn't remember the last time she'd traversed all of the thirty yards to his little corner of the world—his restlessness made it all but impossible to accomplish even the most routine tasks.
Gloria was gearing up for an executive conference call among all the divisional and store managers. She wanted to give everyone advance notice of an exciting new line for spring. When Mark heard about the call, his heart almost stopped. They couldn't release Meri's name before she'd agreed to their terms! He dashed into Gloria's office just as her assistant was about to connect her to the nationwide network of stores.
“Hold it. Let's keep the new vendor's name under wraps, even to our employees. Instead, we'll build intrigue with an extended, cryptic ad campaign as soon as we can update our billboards and websites, instead of waiting until after Christmas to promote her.”
“Promote spring before Christmas? It isn't done.” His aunt was right, of course. It was unprecedented.
“What's that old saying—something about how insanity is repeating things the same old way and expecting different results?”
Gloria looked at her CFO. “Dick?”
Mark gritted his teeth. Why was she bringing him into it? Dick was an accountant, not a merchandiser.
Not surprisingly, Dick gaped like a carp out of water. Impatiently, Gloria turned back to Mark.
“It's unprecedented. But what do we have to lose? It might even give our holiday sales a bump.”
Mark breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn't used to lying and the need to cover his tracks that went with it.
Later that afternoon, she was back in his office. “How do you like this for a teaser?” She slid an artist's mock-up under Mark's nose. C
OMING
S
OON
F
ROM
H
ARRINGTON'S
: A S
PARKLING
N
EW
C
OLLABORATION
F
OR
O
UR
G
OLDEN
A
NNIVERSARY
!
“Nice,” he replied, barely looking up. He grew more distracted as the day went on, dodging her questions and suggestions, hoping she didn't see through his agitation. How could they advertise something they didn't have?
He continued to fret all night, weighing argument after argument to use to persuade Meri, none of them more convincing than the ones he'd already tried. It seemed as though he'd only just closed his eyes when Saturday morning came.
He glared bleary-eyed at the ceiling. Forty-eight hours until deadline. Sunday was the game, and Monday the big meeting. He ought to be using every available minute to hold Merlot's feet to the fire. But instinct told him that would be the worst way to handle her. Meri didn't even know there
was
a deadline. She was bound and determined to do things her way . . . though she was dead wrong.
How had he gotten himself into this mess . . . deceiving both Meri and Gloria? Mixing business with pleasure, when he'd sworn off relationships for the foreseeable future?
With a heavy sigh, he swung his feet to the floor, propped his elbows on his knees, and scratched his head.
Think, Newman. Think.

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