Page 11 of Red Mountain Burning
6
What Lonely Looks Like
When the five men drew near, Bellflour said with a shit-eating grin, “Howdy, neighbor.”
Otis felt a quick urge to bulldoze the man into the dirt. If the nitwit wasn’t careful, Otis would drop to all fours, run over, and take a bite out of his leg. Being a good boy, though, Otis stuffed his hands in his pocket and nodded. Had this been 100 years earlier, he would have put his hand on his six-shooter.
Judging by his attire, Bellflour was growing accustomed to living in the country. He wore heavy leather boots and blue jeans. He was a big man with a swollen belly that pushed at his short-sleeve button-down. A big gold watch adorned his hairy arms. Small red veins covered his nose like fine cracks in glass.
Keeping his hands in his pockets, Otis asked, “How you gentlemen doing today?”
“Haven’t seen you in a while,” Bellflour said, stopping a few feet away—too far to shake hands.
Otis assumed Bellflour didn’t want to embarrass himself by sticking out a hand and having Otis ignore it. Which is exactly what Otis would have done. And, as the notion crossed his mind, he couldn’t resist. He took a couple of steps closer, crossing into Drink Flamingo territory.
He offered his hand to Bellflour. “I do my best to avoid you.”
Bellflour reached for Otis’s hand skeptically.
That was just too easy, Otis thought. With his own smug grin, he pulled his hand back. It was the game of a child, but it gave Otis a modicum of satisfaction.
A guy in a Patagonia vest snickered, followed by the others.
Looking past Bellflour as if he weren’t worthy of eye contact, Otis said, “I was hoping you’d change your mind about this place.”
Bellflour chuckled. “Here I was just telling these men how much I admired you. After all, I might have been chewed up by those coyotes last year had you not jumped into the fray. I owe you for that, Otis.”
“I’ll consider us even if you’ll sell me your property and go shit on another mountain.”
“I’m not sure I ever want to leave this place,” Bellflour confessed. “We’re excited to get our vines into the ground and see what all the fuss is about.”
“You and I both know you couldn’t grow a weed out here.”
Bellflour turned back to his unfinished property. “That might be true. But I partner with the best.” He gestured toward the other men and introduced them. Two of the men were Drink Flamingo associates. The other two were contractors who’d flown up from Napa. A winemaker and vineyard manager. Nice enough men with names Otis knew well. Drink Flamingo was no doubt paying a pretty penny for their involvement.
Otis addressed the others. “So you’re all as intent as Bellflour on ruining this land?”
Bellflour extracted a cigar from his shirt pocket and rolled it back and forth with his fat fingers. “Oh, lighten up, Otis. As much credit as you’re due for your contributions, you’re getting old and grumpy.”
“You don’t need to tell me that,” Otis hissed.
“You ask what we’re planning,” Bellflour said. “We’re going to make one of the best cabernets Washington State has ever tasted.”
Otistsk-tskedand held up a finger. “You don’t make wine on Red Mountain, Bellflour. We’re not making soft drinks here. Haven’t you learned yet? You don’t make wine. Yougrowit.”
Bellflour shook his head, but he knew better than to argue wine philosophy. If he had taken the bait, Otis would easily have wiped the floor with him.
Saving Bellflour, one of the other men chimed in. For some reason, maybe the fine cut of his shirt or the clean haircut, Otis felt as though he was the one with the money. “These will be high-scoring wines, Mr. Till. People will pay big money to have us in their cellars.”
Otis shook his head and wondered where to start. People so quickly turned to scores when they didn’t know what they were talking about. Should he try to teach them a lesson today—or bite his tongue? What would Joan do? She was probably still on the phone with the Utah spammer.
Oh, fuck it.
“You know,” Otis started, “the problem with you guys is you’re putting money first. I get it. We all have to feed our families, and some of us have to make our board members smile. But you’re going about it ass backward. Gentleman, breathe this air for a moment. You’re in a holy place. Put your knees in the Red Mountain dust and pay tribute.Tryto understand her. If you do that, she’ll give you all the treasures of the earth.” Otis locked eyes with one of the Drink Flamingo henchmen. “I didn’t start out by opening a business checking account and filing for business papers. The first thing I did was put my ear to the ground.”
He glanced at Bellflour, justwaitingfor him to throw up a challenge, to dare and try to dance with the grapefather.
The vineyard manager up from Napa nodded eagerly. “I respect you tremendously, Otis. Your name far precedes you down in California, and I know exactly what you mean. I hope to make you proud with what we’re doing.”
