Page 41 of Red Mountain Burning
An Eye for Design
After sitting with Otis for a while, mostly in silence, Brooks climbed back onto his Scrambler and cut through the vineyards to Lacoda. He hit the turns hard and the straightaways even harder, and dust swelled around him. As the two wheels fought the slippery terrain, Brooks wondered if they’d ever have a peaceful vintage on the mountain.
What a sad sight to see Otis so down on what he’d spent the latter part of his life building. Brooks wished he could do more, but there was only so much any of them could do. With all the attention Red Mountain was garnering—the rising land prices, the countless articles, the sold-out vintages—it was inevitable that ignorant people with greedy intentions would chase the potential of this place.
He’d hoped that would be the last of the drama for the day, but as he pulled open the door to the Lacoda tasting room, he felt a chill far colder than the air conditioning. Jake stood behind the concrete bar with his arms crossed, talking to Carmen, who was perched on a stool in front of a line of Lacoda bottles. They turned when they heard him enter, and Brooks offered a quick wave and started in the opposite direction.
“Got a sec?” Jake asked.
Brooks felt like his energy had been zapped as he stopped and pivoted. “Of course.” He walked up to the bar, assuming a position on the opposite end from Carmen. He told them about the drift issues.
“Though I doubt it will go anywhere,” he said, “we’re bringing it up at the Alliance meeting. Otis wants the entire mountain to commit to organics.”
Jake sipped water from an old army canteen. “Wouldn’t that be nice?”
“One day, maybe.” Brooks glanced at Carmen and the line of bottles. “Everything good here?”
Carmen looked back over at Jake, clearly letting him break the latest news.
Jake set down his canteen. “Yeah, we’ve been brainstorming some new ideas.” He picked up the bottle closest to him and held it out for examination.
Brooks felt something catch in his throat. In the past years, Jake and Brooks had spent many long hours debating the perfect packaging to capture their project. They’d finally decided nothing in their message was more important than being understated and minimalist, the antithesis of what you might expect from a rock star. This vineyard wasn’t about Jake and his music. Otherwise, they’d have put a picture of him on the label, maybe used his last name. The idea behind Lacoda was to make the project about the land, not the brand. These thoughts had led to their decision of a squat bottle, which they considered sexy and hip like a Paris street wine.
Brooks looked at the yellow capsule covering the tip of the bottle—a nod to the sun—and then down to the label. The simple Lacoda logo hovered above the wordsRed Mountain, which was printed in a thin, cursive font. Understated. Simple. Elegant. The vineyard block, vintage, and variety were printed under the appellation. Only the most necessary information.
As all three of them looked at the bottle, Brooks braced himself. Not to be an elitist, but Carmen didn’t understand wine like he and Jake. He’d never seen her wander the vines or taste through the latest vintage in barrel. He’d not known her to even read a book on wine. And he’d never seen her mesmerized by the bouquet or dazzled by a first taste. The only thing that had mattered to her in the four years since starting Lacoda seemed to be the buzz.
Of course, she’d spent a lifetime in the fashion industry, so he wasn’t surprised she might have something to say about the Lacoda aesthetics. In fact, after the way she’d been transforming the estate, Brooks should have seen it coming. The cynic in him couldn’t wait to hear how she was going to destroy their concepts. As he braced for impact, he realized how absurd it might seem to be so obsessed over the packaging, especially when the idea was to be understated and even humble. But the bottle was what carried the wine they’d put all their hard work into. Its appearance was a big deal.
Jake looked at Brooks with apologetic eyes. “I’d like for Carmen to have some say in the packaging. She has some good ideas.” He opened his hand to her, giving her the floor.
Carmen gestured toward the bottles on the bar. “I know you don’t want to hear it, Brooks, but the squat bottle just isn’t working. I think we’d look much more elegant in standard bottles, Burgundy and Bordeaux shapes. I know it’s hip to go alternative, but this just feels like we’re trying too hard.”
The only thing Brooks was feeling was a tightness in his neck. He looked over at Jake, who was still staring at the bottle, almost hiding behind it.
Breaking through the silence, Carmen continued, “It just makes the wine look fat and sloppy.” She wrinkled her nose like she was smelling rotten trash. “While we’re at it, the labels really need more character. No offense, but it’s just so manly and out of touch. Where’s the color? Where’s the…I don’t know…complexity? To me, this wine says, ‘Drink me with a ham sandwich.’”
Brooks thought it amazing that Carmen could so easily find a way to throw insults with whatever came out of her mouth.
“I dig the packaging,” Brooks finally said. “We don’t want complicated. No offense, but we don’t want a bottle that belongs on a catwalk.”
“That’s fine,” Carmen replied, “but this looks like it belongs in a gas station. Is that what you want?”
Following that zinger, Brooks was reminded that taking on Carmen was never a good idea. Biting his tongue for Jake’s sake, he said, “To me, what we have is perfect. It captures everything we’re trying to do here. But you two are the bosses.”
“Yeah,” Jake agreed, “but you’re a partner with us. You’re a big reason why we’re here. We want your opinion.” He put both hands on the bar. “Hell, we need it.”
Brooks knew Jake was in a tough spot. Brooks lifted his hand and then dropped it. “You’ve got my opinion.”
Carmen shook her head, laughing to herself in an apparent attempt to belittle Brooks. “What about using a name?” she asked, moving on as if she’d already won the bottle-shape argument. “There’s too much white space. And this saysRed Blend. It needs a name. Someone like me isn’t going to drink this wine.”
Brooks wanted to mention that this wine wasn’t for people like her, but he didn’t. Nor did he point out that she was sober, either, or that someone like her would drinkanywine that landed in her glass.
“You fellas need to think bigger,” she continued. “I can see this very elaborate, almost Château Mouton-Rothschild artist series. You could keep your logo but do something with the white space. We could hire the guy who did the mural behind me. As far as names, we could do something in a big, elaborate scroll, a different, cute name for each project.”
Cute?Brooks thought.
A master of dealing with his wife, Jake did the only thing he could do. Go with it. “What are you thinking, Carm? Any ideas come to mind?”
