Page 56 of Corkscrew You
JP gestures for me to take a seat, and he sits himself back down in a Wegner Swivel ergonomic chair that I happen to know costs over ten grand. His desk looks Scandi as well, as does the chair I’m in, and no doubt all are mid-century originals. JP’s taste is as impeccable as his grooming.
“Obviously, you’re here to discuss business,” says JP. “But first, how’s Mitchell? I got the impression from your mother that he was being a little … difficult?”
“Dad’s not the greatest fan of modern medicine,” I understate by a mile.
“And like all unreasonable men, he believes the universe should adapt to him, and not the other way round.”
It’s not a question.
“Doc Wilson’s on the case,” I say in the hopes we can end this subject. I don’t really want to talk about Dad with JP. It brings up a whole slew of emotions that aren’t conducive to clear thinking.
“Doc Wilson.” JP chuckles. He, too, has known Doc for years. “Has he called Mitch a ‘durn fool’ yet?”
“No,” I reply, “but he did call him a ‘dang’ one.”
JP meets my eye, and I knowheknows exactly what the situation is with Dad. And that it’s not in the least bit funny.
“I’ll stop by this weekend,” he says. “Check in on him.”
I have this mental picture of two stags smacking heads together. But JP and Dad go back a long way and have remained friends despite competing in almost every aspect of their lives.
I suspect, but don’t have proof, that Mom chose Dad over JP way back in high school. JP went on to marry a supermodel, and amazingly, considering it’s highly probable he only married her to one-up Dad, they’re still together. Petra and JP are often around for dinner, and when Danny and I were teenagers, the mere trace of Petra’s perfume could turn us into stuttering idiots. Max, of course, has always been far too cool for that kind of embarrassing behaviour.
“OK.” JP snaps into professional mode. “What do you have for me?”
Crunch time. It occurred to me on the way here, that if it weren’t for Shelby, I’d have no problem delivering the bad news. I’d suggest JP cut his losses, carve the business up into saleable portions – land, assets, house, etc. – and flog each to the highest bidder. Plenty of successful vineyard owners who’d jump at the chance to acquire established vines.
OK, so I’d be out of a job, but I’ve got a pretty attractive resumé. The dismantling of Flora Valley Wines wouldn’t be a crisis. For me.
Needless to say, that’s not the option I intend to put to JP.
“We need an injection of cash.” No point in beating around the bush.
“How much?”
“Thirty grand will tide us over. Until we sell last year’s vintage.”
“And if you don’t sell it?” JP asks the only important question.
To which I can give only one answer. “We will.”
JP and I have a poker face-off. Then, when I’mthisclose to yielding, he smiles.
“How are you and Shelby getting along?”
Probably not appropriate to tell him she gave me a key lime blowjob. Or that I’ve fallen headlong in love for the first real time in my life and will doanything to ensure I can be the man she needs.
“We’re a good team,” I say.
“I had coffee with her mother, Lee,” JP reveals, somewhat startlingly. “She told me Shelby went through a bad patch after Billy died. Pulled through it, but still worries about her. I promised we’d take the weight of running the business off her shoulders, let her focus on what she does best – making great wine.”
Jesus, my heart is pounding. What does he mean “a bad patch”? Whathappened?
But JP’s out of his ten grand chair. Our business is concluded.
“I’ll sign off the cash injection,” he says. “Say hello to Shelby for me.”
“Thanks,” I shake his hand. “I will.”
