Page 1 of Backroom Boy
1
Lukas
“Thank you, sir. I appreciate you taking a chance on me.”
I shook the man’s hand, a trickle of doubt creeping in at how soft his palm felt against mine. Growing up just barely clinging to the middle-class lifestyle in a small town, I put a lot of stock into a man having some callouses on his hands to show me his character. But Mr. Bishop was giving me an opportunity I couldn’t pass up: the chance to work the back room of a winery in Sonoma Valley, learning the ins and outs of a successful business.
This was step one of achieving my dream, and a lack of callouses wasn’t going to stop me.
“You bet, Lukas. Here’s the key to the pool house and I’ll see you tomorrow at eight sharp.” Mr. Bishop placed a shiny gold key in my hand and sat back down behind his fancy desk, already moving on to his next task.
I hustled out of the room, and nodded goodbye to the various employees milling around the impressive winery that had been featured in architecture magazines over the years for its modern lines of glass and concrete. Starting tomorrow, I’d probably be getting to know those same people while I learned my position behind the scenes. At twenty, I was old enough to work the tasting room, but that wasn’t how things worked apparently. You started at the bottom rung and worked your way up. Good thing I had absolutely zero problem with that. In fact, I wanted to learn every single thing that went on with running a successful winery.
So I could copy it and open my own one day.
Wild dreams for a poor kid from a small town, but I had the American dream buried in my heart, pumping through my veins, and filling me with the motivation to prove it could be done. Some might say being hired to wash dishes for almost minimum wage and living in a rich man’s pool house wasn’t exactly living the dream, but I could see beyond all that to ten years down the road.
Hopping on my motorcycle, I surveyed the vineyards as far as the eye could see before strapping on my helmet and heading over to Mr. Bishop’s house. I’d applied for the job online, but my brother-in-law had put in a good word for me, having been a successful businessman for years up and down California. I secretly hated that I hadn’t gotten the job on my merit alone, but I was too desperate to begrudge the help. The summer loomed ahead of me and I was ready to put the work in to realize my dream.
“Well, holy shit,” I muttered to myself, making a left just down the road at the two cement pillars Mr. Bishop told me to look for. I pulled into a long driveway lined with tall green shrubs. “It’s like the West Coast’s version of a plantation.”
A castle of a house loomed ahead, the rock façade almost hidden by bushes and trees and all sorts of shit flowering in the warm summer sun. I slowed to take it all in, wondering who the hell cleaned all those windows. I couldn’t see Mr. Bishop putting in the elbow grease. A smaller path to the right of the property looked like the one Mr. Bishop had described. I cringed at the engine noise that bounced off the stone house, interrupting the serene gardens that flanked the acre lot. There, behind and to the side of the infinity-edge pool, sat a miniature version of the front house, vines growing up the front and everything. That would be my new home away from home for the summer and I was damn grateful.
I cut the engine and put the kickstand down, climbing off the bike I’d worked on almost every day the last year until it looked brand new. The small duffel bag strapped to the back was a pitiful display of how little I truly owned. I just didn’t care about clothes. Not when that money could be saved up for the plot of land I had in mind on the far southern outskirts of Auburn Hill, the town I grew up in, just a two-hour drive south. I threw the bag over my shoulder and pulled my new house key out of my jeans pocket.
Damn, the pool looked like an oasis I wanted to explore with its blue tile and gently rippling surface of cool water, but I didn’t think that part of the property was available to a lowly employee like me. Instead, I headed into the pool house and surveyed my new home.
The air inside was stale, reminding me of the old church Dad would open up every morning. Growing up a pastor’s kid hadn’t been easy, but helping my dad in the summers had been one of the highlights. Throwing my bag down on the hardwood floor, I went through the kitchenette and opened the sliding window, then into the single bedroom and did the same. A chrome ceiling fan in the middle of the main room off the kitchenette was a nice find. Once that sucker got cranking, the whole place aired out just fine.
I spent the rest of the day putting clothes and toiletries away, hopping back on my bike to visit the closest grocery store for supplies, and reading up everything I could find about Black Bishop Winery. I may only be washing dishes, but I’d know that winery backward and forward from day one.
An owl hooted outside the kitchen window, pulling me out of a riveting description of the red varietals Black Bishop Winery had started with back in 1920. I blinked and realized it had gotten dark out. A quick glance at my watch showed it to be well past my usual dinnertime. I put down my research and headed for the kitchen to slap together a turkey sandwich. That was the extent of my cooking knowledge and what I’d lived on since Mom quit making my lunch sometime in high school. She’d hoped my lack of a good meal would spur me on to learn how to cook some basic dishes. She’d been sorely disappointed.
After gulping down my sandwich and a soda, I stretched my hands above my head and decided to get outside for some fresh air now that the temperature had cooled down. I grabbed the black leather jacket I wore when riding my bike and headed out. All the lights were on in the main house, lighting it up like a realtor would be coming by to take glossy pictures of what several million dollars could get you in Sonoma Valley.
The vineyards lay south of the house, so I headed in that direction. If I walked long enough, I knew I’d hit the main drag of Sonoma where the tasting rooms got closer together and the restaurants and shops sprouted up. Not being the most social guy, I had no plans on walking that far and seeing actual people. It was just me and the budding grapes on row after row of gnarled grapevines. By late summer or early fall, the grapes would be harvested, but for now, the vigneron would be watching the growth carefully. The wind swept through the plants, perfuming the air with a scent of sweetness and earth. I inhaled deeply, caught up in the differences between Sonoma and home, loving every minute of my alone time.
A flickering light up ahead caught my attention, but it was the giggle that had my ears perking up. Around the slight bend of the vineyard, a young woman came staggering up the dirt path, nearly wiping out multiple times in her platform shoes.
I sneered at the sight. What the hell was she doing walking on a dirt path in the dark in heels? As she approached, her nose stuck to the screen of her cell phone, she wasn’t even looking around for strange men who might pounce at the sight of her short skirt and oblivious nature. I kept walking, her lack of concern for her own safety none of my business.
We were only ten paces apart when she startled and looked up, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the darkness around us. A strand of her long blonde hair fell across her face, covering what looked to be pretty features. Which only made me more angry. Merlot wasn’t exactly a big town with a high crime rate, but a pretty girl walking home alone in the dark seemed like asking for trouble. I had a sister who I’d lecture for days if she pulled that kind of stunt.
“Oh!” she gasped, bobbling her phone and coming to a screeching halt.
Her bubblegum pink dress, far too skimpy for a late night walk even in early summer, twirled around long, tan legs. She tilted her head to the side, a flash of earrings sparkling in the moonlight.
“Do you need help?” I asked, staying where I was so as not to startle her further.
Her mouth changed from a cute little circle to a grin so wide it showed off identical dimples on either side of her face. “No, I’m good, handsome. Just heading home.” Her confident reply was ruined by a hiccup.
I frowned, trying to study her eyes in the dark. “Have you been drinking?”
The girl scoffed and waved her hand through the air like she was batting away a fly, but she listed to the side a bit. “Okay, Dad. It’s just me and the grapevines out here. Perfectly safe.”
Shehadbeen drinking. That much was obvious. As obvious as the fact that I’d have to walk her home if for nothing else than to prevent any guilt if she showed up in tomorrow’s newspaper as a dead body. Definitely not because she was the hottest girl I’d ever seen, but because it was the right thing to do. Didn’t appreciate the dad reference though.
“Just you and the grapevines and yet I found you. How about I walk you home, princess? Make sure you get there safely.” I still didn’t come closer though she showed no signs of being scared of me.
