Page 68 of Before We Say Goodbye
Within five minutes of Rebecca’s surrendering her hope of a sober party, Otis had filled glasses for everyone in attendance sans Jed. Apparently it wasn’t only he who’d been desperate for a sip, as by the time he’d sat down, half the glasses were empty.
After the game, which was apparently a stunner—Otis hadn’t watched—he went back into the kitchen to do dishes and found Lloyd and Rebecca speaking in low whispers in the corner under a rack of copper pots.
Lloyd backed away quickly, almost too quickly, as if Otis had stumbled upon them on the edge of a kiss.
Rebecca’s eyes glowed with guilt. “We’re just catching up.”
Otis looked from one to the other. “Right.”
She likely understood what he might have assumed and cut it off at the pass. “I was asking Lloyd about potential numbers if we did the white zin.”
Otis smiled an unhappy smile. “I see. I thought we’d already discussed and closed this topic.”
“We’re just talking.”
“Just, just, just,” he muttered, then more loudly: “You mean going behind my back. I am the winemaker here. I’m telling you that we will become the laughingstock of California.Again. First we succumb to an infestation, and now we’re discussing making a wine without even an ounce of terroir, a wine that isn’t art at all. A wine that is no different from the damn sodas we tried to serve out there.”
“People like it,” Bec said. “They’re demanding it. Not every bottle has to bleed terroir.”
Otis clutched his heart. “You sound like him now.” He refused to make eye contact with Lloyd and pointed at him instead. “We’re not in this business to follow trends. You always bring up Carmine. He’s not making white zin. He wouldn’t make it if the lives of his children hung in the balance. This has to be a joke.”
Bec moved toward Otis, breaking away from her boyfriend. “We need the money. You can still make your terroir wine. Why not make a guzzler too?”
“Because we will never outlive it.”
Lloyd leaned against the wall. “Otis, I get you. You know I’m a terroir guy. I live for a wine that speaks of its place, but we’re just saying that—”
“We? So youarecolluding? How many times have you two spoken without me there?”
“There’s no collusion, my man.”
“My man? I am not yourman.”
Rebecca put a hand on Otis’s back, as if that might extinguish his rage.
Lloyd smiled a smile that could break clouds apart. “We’re simply talking about taking advantage of a trend that’s not stopping anytime soon. I worry that we’ll be scratching our heads in five years, wondering why we didn’t take the money. Think about it. That kind of green can set you up to do whatever you like. You’ll be able to make deals. ‘Take thirty cases of my terroir wine and you can have a pallet of my white zin.’”
Otis peered into the eyes of his lover. This must have been how Napoleon felt when he learned of Joséphine’s infidelities. “My heart is broken right now. Truly shattered.”
“Take a deep breath,” Rebecca said.
“I’m not taking a deep breath.” His voice escalated. Others had come into the kitchen. He could feel them watching like gawkers witnessing a bar fight.
“We’re not pushing it on you,” Lloyd said. “We want to reason with you.”
Otis pointed his finger at Lloyd and then at Rebecca. “I dare you to sayweone more time. I know you have eyes on her. Or for her, whatever the hell. I know that you would love nothing more than for her to divorce me so you could have a chance with her.”
“That’s not tr—”
“I’m speaking.”
“Otis, stop.”
He lifted a hand. “Bec, I’ve had enough. Lloyd, I want you out. Of my house. My life. You are a silent investor that gets a check. Very soon, I will buy you out. Exactly what it says in the contract.”
Lloyd grew prickly. “I don’t want to be bought out.”
“Tough shit.”
