Page 88 of Red Mountain Burning
The Flagship Takes a Name
Harry Bellflour woke up with a terrible headache. He’d suffered through yet another sleepless night of tossing and turning and sweating. Was it the wine? He’d only had a couple bottles. Pushing himself up, he limped to the bathroom, feeling a tightness in his legs. As he relieved himself, he ran over the speech he would be giving in a couple of hours as he announced the name of Drink Flamingo’s flagship winery and pulled back the tarp on their new sign.
His idea of the social media campaign to find a name was nothing short of genius. Not only had it garnered some wonderful media and consumer exposure, but the campaign had landed the perfect name. He smirked as he saw the sign in his mind’s eye. The name was just controversial enough to cause a stir, and Bellflour wasallabout causing a stir.
Descending the stairs in his boxers, he saw the coffeemaker timer hadn’t worked. Cursing, he pushed the button. It was supposed to be ready for him by seven. He switched on the news, pulled a bottle of orange juice out of the fridge, and sat at the kitchen counter. As the coffee brewed and the kitchen filled with the aroma of the morning, Bellflour sipped his orange juice and scrolled through his emails.
“Bastards,” he said, seeing a note from one of the board members. They wanted more updates on the project. He’d been sending them weekly. Wasn’t that enough? Hadn’t he earned their trust by now?
Another swig of OJ. More emails asking things of him. Was he the only one in the company who got anything done? He was glad to see his supplier had found some very nice pink umbrellas for the pool. He approved them and kept going, working through all the details that only he knew how to do. Everyone in the company loved having meetings, setting action items to follow up on later. Bellflour was a fucking action item!
He drank his coffee as he read the latest wine news on his iPad. A winemaker in Napa had been arrested for tax evasion. A worker had been injured in a tractor accident in Dundee, Oregon. A new AVA had been approved in Paso Robles. He worked his way to the national news. The president. More taxes.
Bellflour slowly enjoyed the last sips of coffee as he knew what he had to do next. Once he’d put his mug in the dishwasher, he sat down on the living room rug to follow his new routine. Thirty push-ups and thirty sit-ups. He made it to ten push-ups before he had to drop to his knees. At thirty, his arms burned. But he made it. Bellflour wasn’t the kind of man who made a promise that he didn’t keep, especially to himself. He rolled to his back and knocked out the sit-ups. The last ones barely counted, but at least, he’d gone through the motions. That counted for something.
Standing, he walked to the windows overlooking the highway and Red Mountain beyond. What a long two years it had been, and he was finally there. Something about announcing the name today felt like a major milestone. An endcap.
Nothing could stop him now.
* * *
Two dayssince she’d had her talk with Otis, and Joan was still there. He’d been working hard to be a better partner, and he sure as hell didn’t want to let her go. In fact, he’d quit at three o’clock the day before and cooked dinner. A healthy dinner to boot. They’d sat together listening to the London Symphony Orchestra and talking about another trip—a redo, as Otis liked to call it. Their trip around the world last year had barely counted as a vacation at all, as he’d spent the entire time worrying about Harry Bellflour’s initial vision for Drink Flamingo by the highway.
Otis liked the idea of a redo and had brought up the idea again in the morning while Joan was doing her morning stretches. They were on the back deck looking west toward Mount Adams. Having declined her invitation to stretch, Otis sat in a chair with his legs crossed. That’s about as limber as he desired to be.
As she leaned down and reached well beyond her toes, he said, “You’ve just about recovered from the bullet, haven’t you? I wonder if you could kiss your feet.”
She smiled from down on the mat. “I’m not quite there.”
When she sat back up, she twisted left and looked up at him. “You always talk about going to Europe for a vacation. There are other places in the world.”
“I’ve had enough of Asia for a while,” he said. “It was fine, but I want to be closer to the vineyards.”
“Otis, youronlyidea of a vacation is to eat and drink your way through Europe.”
“What’s wrong with that?” He noticed he’d made his coffee particularly strong this morning.
Going for another stretch, she said, “Believe me: I enjoy France and Italy just as much as you do, but there is more to the world than vines and wines.”
“Here we go again,” he said, trying not to think about the Drink Flamingo press conference today. He couldn’t dare let his mind wander in that direction, or she’d know it in an instant. “Please tell me. What would be more fun than a couple weeks in Beaune exploring menus and Grand Crus?”
“As much fun as that would be, I can think of a few things. What about joining a research boat to Antarctica? Or bungee jumping in Australia?”
Otis scoffed. “Are you mad? You want to know what I would look like bungee jumping?”
“Desperately.”
“Well, I can tell you. Picture an old man dropping from the sky with a rubber band dangling from his leg.”
She closed her eyes. “I see your tweed cap preceding you. Okay.”
“Now watch as the rubber band tightens.” Otis could see it himself. “Yep, there I went, broken to pieces. See my legs go back up in the air and the rest of me still falling?”
They both laughed at the image.
She turned to him. “I see a big fat smile on your grumpy face. Who cares where the rest of you went?”
Otis had an idea. “How about we go back to South Africa? I’ve been attracted to pinotage lately.”
