Page 4 of Rock the Chardonnay

Louise follows my gaze briefly, then glances back down at her tablet. Her hands, dark brown with golden undertones, speed over the screen. “My allergies are already acting up. You cannot just comment on the colors unless you want to be poetic or for them to think you’re high. Are you high?”

“No, of course not.” That’s one of Louise’s conditions. No drugs. I have zero issues following that stipulation. Drugs and alcohol are not my coping mechanisms. Anonymous sex is another story, but this is small town Wisconsin. That’s not going to happen and I won’t need it out here.

All my stressors are elsewhere, for the first time in a long time.

“Good.” She nods once, her tight, dark brown spirals held back on one side with a clip. “So what else?”

“I don’t know.” I remember that road. That leads to the trailer park where my mom and I lived for my senior year of high school. Not that either of us spent much time there. “A lot of my most popular songs were written from experiences here. I could talk about that.”

“Perfect.” Louise arches one artfully-plucked brow, tapping notes onto her screen with admirable efficiency. “And the guy? There was a guy, right?”

My stomach churns as I stare out the window. The road leading to the Fosters’ vineyard is up on the right.

I turn my head to face the front windshield. “There’s always a guy, isn’t there? One who got away.”

“What do you mean, the apartment is booked?” Louise stares down the woman with dark brown eyes and gray-streaked hair who looked half-Korean.

Maddy Olmstead shrugs, her light blue cardigan slipping down her shoulders. “I’m so sorry.” She slides her cellphone into the back pocket of her wide-leg jeans. She is petite and dressed comfortably, and looks exactly the same as when I’d lived here in high school. Not that I spent a ton of time at the town library, where Maddy works. “It’s the Rock and Wine Festival, and there must have been a mixup with the online reservation system. You just can’t trust technology now, believe you me. It’s like quality control is an afterthought now.”

I stand to the side, staring at the cozy cottage with vines covering the pale yellow walls. There is a trellis of climbing roses to one side of the house, and a small vegetable garden with beans and tomatoes growing up their frames. Seasons in Los Angeles become so jumbled together. I’ve forgotten what a real August looks like.

Sultry, hazy, long days filled with the scents of stolen summer kisses.

That’s one of the many reasons I’m excited for this tour. I need to get out of the city, away from my bad habits. My feet have been itching to be anywhere else, and the constant motion of the road is what I’ve been craving. I needed to base myself in LA for my music career, but now that it’s finally rocketing, I need to experience…more.

Louise rubs the space between her eyes, her brow wrinkled in a way she would never normally allow. “Do you have any idea if there are openings anywhere else in town?”

Maddy shakes her head. “I’m not sure. Most places around town have been booked for months. One of the vineyards might have a spot, if you call around. Some of them are renting places now. You could try Foster Family Vineyards.”

My abdomen clenches.

“Thank you.” Louise sighs loudly and turns to me. “I’m so sorry, Daughtry. Your first tour opening for the Vendetta and your accommodation is screwed.”

“It’s fine.” It really is. I trust Louise. After having heard horror stories of other managers, Louise is a unicorn in the music industry. Supportive, hardworking, and she doesn’t run me into the ground.

Louise is already searching on her phone. “Let me see if I can find the number for that vineyard.”

“No!” I’ve spoken too sharply. Both Maddy and Louise stare at me with widened eyes.

I wave my hand in the air and inhale the scent of St. Olaf. I’d forgotten that, too. How it smells in the summer like ripe fruit and lazy humid days by the lakeside. “Really, don’t worry, Louise. Something will turn up. Aren’t we going to be late getting to the festival grounds?”

“You’re right.” Louise’s gaze fixes on the paddock in the distance, where a palomino and a bay thoroughbred graze. Is Louise a horse person? I thought she grew up in Pennsylvania, not that her birthplace makes her less likely to be a horse person. Asking would involve crossing my own personal boundaries.

She rolls her shoulders back and turns to me, smiling. “Everything is going to go great this weekend. We’ll find you somewhere to stay. You’ll wow everyone tomorrow night when you open for the Vendetta, you’ll sell every single piece of merch we brought, and the world will be your oyster.”

“Thank you for the pep talk.” My phone buzzes in my pocket but I ignore it.

Louise, however, does not. With her gaze narrowed, she points a dagger-like fingernail at my cell phone. “Is your mom calling again?”

Busted. “I’m sticking to what we agreed. Really. I don’t send her any more. I don’t answer more than once a day.”

Maddy scoffs loudly, then coughs to cover it up. Apparently people here in town remember my mother.

Oh goody.

Louise sighs. “Don’t let toxicity into your life, Daughtry. There are enough people in this industry—hell, in this world—who will try to bring you down. Find the ones who lift you up.”

“Amen,” Maddy Olmstead agrees.

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