Page 8 of You Give Wine a Bad Name

Her words made me chuckle softly. “Well, considering I brought back your purse, I guess you can trust me. But maybe I should be the one worried—are you trying to get me liquored up?”

Her laughter was like a soft melody, easy and light, making the whole situation feel less like an odd encounter and more like we were two friends sharing a joke. It was hard to believe that just a few hours ago, I had been standing behind the bar at Sunset Vines, going about my usual routine. Now, here I was, bantering with a woman who, despite her initial coolness, was proving to be a lot more down-to-earth than I had expected.

I uncorked the bottle with a practiced hand, the sound of the cork popping adding to the room’s already intimate atmosphere. I poured the deep red wine into two glasses, the liquid swirling like liquid velvet as it settled. I handed Angie her glass, our fingers brushing slightly as she took it, a small, almost imperceptible spark passing between us. It was one of those fleeting moments that could easily be overlooked, but it lingered with me as I picked up my own glass.

“Cheers,” she said, raising her glass to mine. Her green eyes met mine over the rim, and for a moment, the world outside seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of us in this cocoon of warmth and dim light.

“Cheers,” I echoed, clinking my glass against hers. We both took a sip, the wine rich and full on the palate, its warmth spreading through me. It was a good choice, one that seemed to match the mood of the evening—complex, a little mysterious, and with a depth that was only just beginning to reveal itself.

Angie led the way to the massive sectional couch that dominated the room, its soft gray cushions an invitation for rest against the backdrop of a city that never sleeps. The skyline of LA stretched out before us, its myriad lights a sea of glittering jewels that seemed to pulse with life. It was a view that could make you feel small in either the best or worst possible way, depending on how you looked at it.

We settled onto the couch, Angie pulling a blanket over her lap as she got comfortable. Long shadows cast across the room, and quiet settled over us as if we were in our own little world, like astronauts on the moon gazing down at a turning Earth.

Angie took another sip of her wine, then turned to me with a curious look in her eyes. “So, tell me about yourself, Bowie. What’s your story?”

Her question caught me off guard, and for a moment, I wasn’t sure how to answer. Talking about my past wasn’t something I did often, especially not with someone I had just met. But there was something in the way she asked, a genuine interest that made me want to open up, to let her in.

“My story,” I began, the words coming slowly at first, “isn’t exactly a happy one.”

She remained silent, her gaze steady on me, encouraging me to continue. I took a deep breath, the weight of my past pressing down on me like an old, familiar coat.

“I didn’t have the easiest childhood,” I said, my voice low as I began to share a part of myself that I usually kept hidden. “My parents were addicts. My mom was hooked on pills, and my dad…well, he was in and out of the picture. Most of the time, it was just me and my little sister, Lila. We were close, and we had to be. It was us against the world.”

I could feel the memories resurfacing, raw and unfiltered, like old wounds that had never quite healed. “When I was about eight, my mom overdosed. She didn’t make it, and dad was nowhere to be found. Social services took us away, and Lila and I ended up in foster care. We bounced around a lot, from one home to another. By the time I was ten, we’d been through eight different placements.”

The pain of those years was still fresh in my mind, even after all this time. “I wasn’t an easy kid to deal with. I had a lot of anger, a lot of unresolved feelings. I got into fights, acted out, made myself unlikable, shoving everyone away. It was my way of coping, I guess. All the clothes we had were hand-me-downs from local charities, and the other kids made sure I knew exactly where we stood on the social ladder.”

Angie listened quietly, her eyes never leaving mine. There was no pity in her gaze, just understanding, and that made it easier to keep talking, to let the words flow.

“By the time I aged out of the system, I had a choice to make,” I continued, my voice steady despite the emotions swirling beneath the surface. “I could end up like my parents—dead, in jail, or worse—or I could try to make something of myself. I decided to choose the latter. Not just for me, but for Lila, too. I wanted to give her the kind of life we never had.”

I paused, taking a sip of wine to steady myself. The warmth of the alcohol helped, grounding me in the present. “I did a lot of research, trying to figure out how to turn things around. I found that a lot of wealthy people were self-made, so I decided to follow in their footsteps. I just needed to find the right path.”

A small smile touched my lips as I thought back to those early days, filled with uncertainty but also a fierce determination. “That’s how I ended up with Sunset Vines. I wanted to create something unique, something that could stand out. When a scandal hit our main competitor, Sweet Cocktails, and they had to shut down temporarily, we suddenly started getting a lot more patrons. And not just any patrons—wealthy ones, willing to invest in my vision. I reinvested every penny I made back into the bar, and somehow, it worked. Sunset Vines became a success, more than I ever dreamed it could be.”

The silence that followed my story was comfortable. Angie didn’t rush to fill it with words, and I appreciated that. Sometimes, silence was the best way to let things sink in.

After a moment, she looked at me, her expression thoughtful. “Why a wine bar?” she asked. “Why not a regular bar?”

I shrugged, leaning back against the cushions. “I thought about it and realized that wine is a bit more niche. It’s got this whole culture around it, you know? People who love wine are passionate about it. I figured if I could tap into that market, I might have a better shot at success. Plus, I just like wine. It’s got depth, character. It’s something you can really savor. I decided to learn about it, did my homework and studied up. Then I went around and visited the local wineries, spent time with the owners and learned about the winemaking industry from the ground up.”

She nodded, seeming to understand. “Sounds like you made the right choice.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “It gave me an edge I needed in the industry, like Sweet Cocktails but with a different angle. We still offer a full bar, but wine is our main seller. And it’s paid off.”

I took another sip of my wine, feeling more at ease now that I’d shared my story. There was something cathartic about it, like I’d shed a layer of my past that had been weighing me down for too long.

Angie set her glass down on the coffee table and leaned back against the couch, a contemplative look in her eyes. “You’ve been through a lot,” she said softly. “But you didn’t let it define you. That’s something to be proud of.”

I met her gaze, her words resonating with me in a way I hadn’t expected. “Thanks,” I said, feeling a warmth in my chest that had nothing to do with the wine. “It wasn’t easy, but I’m glad I made it through. And I’m glad Lila did, too. She’s doing well now in case you were wondering.”

A small smile tugged at her lips. “I was. I’m glad to hear that.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, my thoughts turning to my sister. “It is.”

For a while, we sat in comfortable silence. The evening had taken an unexpected turn, but it was one I was grateful for. It wasn’t often that I opened up to someone like this, but with Angie, it felt right. There was a connection between us, something that went beyond the surface level. It was like we’d known each other for longer than just a few hours, like there was an understanding between us that didn’t need to be spoken.

Angie broke the silence after a while, her voice soft but curious. “Do you ever think about what might have been? If things had been different?”

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