Love Undecided Page 8

  The name Lovestone is a tribute to Stone Strassberg, her mentor and benefactor. But it also fits with her overall theme of romance and old Hollywood glamour. Lexie names her wines after iconic lines and characters from her favorite movies: As You Wish, Scarlett, Holly Go-Lightly, and Put Your Lips Together and Blow to name a few.

  The smell hits me as soon as I walk into the barrel room. That amazing smell of oak, must, and wine. Lexie keeps the barrel room cool, so I grab a jacket from the hook on the wall and start walking through rows of barrels to find her.

  Which I do, in the Pinot Noir section, straddling a barrel, four rows up. Or in laymen terms, about fifteen feet in the air. Wine thief in one hand, wine glass in the other.

  She is dressed in her normal winemaking outfit of jeans, long sleeved tee shirt, puffy vest, and Chucks. Lexie’s shoulder-length pink hair is pulled up in a spikey ponytail atop her head, bright blue eyes studying the wine in the glass, pink Chuck clad foot tapping the side of the barrel.

  Lexie is always in motion, whether she’s moving her whole body or just a part of it, she rarely sits still.

  “Hey Mama, what’s shaking?” I call up to her.

  Lexie responds without looking away from the glass, “Oh Kat, I’ve got the most beautiful 2010 Anderson Valley Pinot Noir right here. It’s so beautiful I think I might be able to finally use the name.”

  “The name?” I ask.

  “Yes,” Lexie says, almost reverently.

  One of Lexie’s all-time favorite scenes in a movie is from Love Actually when one of the characters writes a series of signs for a woman he has fallen in love with, who happens to be married to his best friend. One of the signs says, ‘to me, you are perfect.’ Lexi’s been waiting for the right wine to use that name for ever since.

  “This is exciting, let me taste, let me taste, let me taste!” I say.

  “Come on up!”

  I start to climb the incredibly unstable and rickety (as far as I was concerned) pieces of nailed together planks that Lexie considered to be a ladder. Lexie was like a little monkey swinging from barrel to barrel with the agility of a ninja. Things like ladders that were falling apart didn’t faze her.

  “You need a new ladder, Lexie,” I say.

  “I know, I know. But I love this ladder. It was Daddy’s ladder. I get that it’s rickety and uneven, but it’s been in the family its whole life. I can’t give it up now. No one is going to love it like I do. And it will miss me.”

  Lexie frequently gives life and feelings to inanimate objects. Case in point, her father’s ladder.

  Lexie’s father had that ladder her entire life, so it had definitely seen its share of use and abuse. And for some reason, after he died, Lexie clung to the ladder like a security blanket.

  I finally make it to the top of the rack and awkwardly straddle a neighboring barrel. Once I feel stable, I ask her for a glass.

  Lexie grabs another glass, from where I have no idea, and fills it for me. I lift the glass to my nose and sniff just like Lexie taught me to do, give it a little swirl, and then sniff again.

  “What do you think? What do you think?” Lexie asks, eyes alight with excitement.

  I look at Lexie, feeling at a bit of a loss, and guess, “Roses?”

  “Ah, I have taught you well, Grasshopper,” Lexie replies with a giggle.

  Then I taste the wine, and Lexie is right, it is sublime. And I tell her so. Lexie does a little sitting shimmy on the barrel, barely able to contain her excitement.

  “I’m so going to submit it to the National Winemaker Challenge!”

  “Um, hell to the yeah!”

  “I know, right?! Oh Kat, I’m so in love with this right now!” She lifts her glass and smells it again. “I’m so in love with myself for making this!”

  Remi, my other bestie, arrives and strolls down the aisle in the barrel room. “Ugh, I always forget how cold it is in here!” She shivers delicately.

  “Hey, babe!” I yell down to her.

  “Hey, beautiful girl,” Lexie yells. “Grab a jacket and join us!”

  Remi looks up at us, both straddling barrels, fifteen feet in the air, with near full wine glasses in our hands. Then she looks down at herself, and back up the racks.

  “That’s not going to happen,” she responds drily.

  Lexie takes a closer look at Remi.

  “Whoa, Nelly, did you wear that to work?” she asks.

  Remi looks incredible, as usual, even if her outfit is a little Daisy Duke meets Rosie the Riveter. Red bandana tied in her hair, short sleeved fitted plaid shirt, high waisted jean short shorts, and the most adorable pair of patent leather, platform, peep-toe Mary Janes I’d ever seen.

  Remi is the epitome of a pin-up girl centerfold from the 1950s. And Lexie and I both agree Remi would make the perfect spokesmodel for Lovestone, but she won’t agree to it.

  “I did. And before you say anything you should know that I have been getting total sexist shit from the guys in QA about my designs and prototypes.”

  “Like, sexist, sexist?” Lexie asks.

  “Total. Sexist. Shit. As in saying that I cannot possibly put together a plausible prototype because I am a woman, an attractive woman, who did not graduate from an Ivy League school.”

  “Seriously?” I ask.

  “They try to pass it off as joking, but they do it all the time and it is really starting to make me angry. So since the sexist fucking company policy only includes a dress code for men, I have been wearing my skimpiest outfits all week. If they are going to ‘accuse’ me of being an attractive woman, then I am going to fucking show them an attractive woman.”

  “I love you,” I tell her, smiling.

  “Oh my! New shoes?” Lexie asks.

  “Thank you for noticing and, yes, they are new and not even resale. Ladies, meet my first pair of Christian Louboutins.” Remi holds her foot up daintily.

  “Ohmigosh! Ohmigosh! Lemme see!” Lexie scrambles for the ladder and pretty much throws herself to the floor to get to the shoes. Even though Lexie’s daily footwear consisted of Chucks or Doc Martens, she can still appreciate a beautiful shoe when she saw it.

  “Oh, they are so pretty,” Lexie croons. “I just want to pet them like a puppy.” And she proceeds to do just that.

  I carefully make my way down the ladder so I too can admire the shoes. They truly are a thing of beauty. Just like everything in Remi’s wardrobe.

  Before leaving my law practice, I owned a wardrobe consisting primarily of conservative power suits. So, I had recently been converting to tight jeans, slutty tops, and every single pair of ‘fuck me’ shoes, boots, and heels I could find.

  “These go in the share pile, right?” I ask Remi. She and I wear the same size eight shoe and size M top. Anything that I can borrow from her, I do. Even though I have four inches on Remi’s height, I’m mostly legs and ass to Remi’s voluptuous curves. But, since I also have the tits, I can borrow anything of Remi’s from the waist up or the knees down.

  Lexie, however, is the epitome of petite, three inches shorter than even Remi, with a respectable B-Cup, tiny waist, and little size six feet. Which unfortunately means she would drown in anything Remi or I, with our D-Cups, might lend to her by way of tops, and wouldn’t even be able to hold up any of our pants or skirts. So, she never gets to partake in the share pile.

  “With a security deposit, sure,” Remi quips.

  “Ok, so what’re the haps for dinner?” Lexie asks, “I’m hungry!” Lexie, always being in motion, is also always hungry. I envy her metabolism.

  We decide on delivery, and then settle down in the separate lounge area of her tasting room, since the tasting room is closed we have the place to ourselves.

  Chapter 18

  Kat

  “I’m going to try Wise Up,” Remi tells us. “And then that’s it. If nothing comes from that, I’m going to rescue thirty-seven cats and become a spinster.”

  Wise Up is a dating site put together by a bunch of guys from MIT. It
’s all based on algorithms, automated reasoning and data processing. Take the fairy tale out and put the science in. Use reality to get the fantasy. Let the geeks dictate your future.

  And Remi believed in geeks. As a chemical engineer, she is one. She works for an environmental research firm, developing methods to repurpose non-biodegradable waste products.

  “Well, if you’re going to become a spinster,” I tell her. “Then we should just get married. It’s legal now, you can cover me under your insurance for when I get cancer again, which will save me a ton on medical bills. And I could learn to love your vagina. At least I think I could.”

  “I love that you think you could learn to love my vagina,” she looks at me. “That’s so sweet, thank you.” She actually sounds sincere when she says it.

  “Well, then we are moving to Utah,” Lexie interjects. “‘Cause if you guys plan to get married and leave me to my own private spinsterhood hell, you can forget that. We’re gonna be sister wives and all be married to each other.”

  “Deal!” Remi and I both say at the same time.

  “You can be gay in Utah now too, right?” Lexie asks. I laugh as Remi looks at Lexie and shakes her head.

  The delivery service arrives with our food and we all quiet down for a bit and begin eating.

  “So…” I say, twirling my straw wrapper around my finger rapidly. “I’m working on a new case for Sherman.”

  “Oh fun,” Lexie says. “What’s it about?”

  “Are you ready for this?” I ask. “Some guy is going around town, breaking into people’s houses, and taking a shower. Have you heard about it?”

  Even though San Soloman is a relatively small town, it’s still big enough that any number of things can happen without the entire population knowing about it. Remi is an avid news watcher and can pretty much report back on all the latest local, national, and world news at any given time of the day. Lexie avoids the news, saying it’s depressing, but usually has people filling her in on the latest when she works in her tasting bar.

  “No,” they both say.

  “Weird, right? So I guess he takes a shower, then leaves the water running. They are calling him The Shower Stealer. And, he’s posting pictures of the bathrooms on social media with running commentary of the cleanliness of the room, and it’s kind of hilarious. But I don’t think it’s supposed to be.”

  “Leave it to you to find something like that funny,” Lexie says.

  “Did you get a feeling about it?” Remi asks.

  “No, I didn’t. I was far too distracted by the tall drink of water Sherman is having me assist. Holy—”

  “Don’t fuck him,” Remi says at the same time Lexie says, “Don’t sleep with him.”

  “I didn’t! I won’t! You guys have zero faith in me.”

  “With good reason,” Remi scoffs.

  “But don’t you think that if I did sleep with this guy it would help me move on? You know, from sexy ex.”

  “‘Cause that worked so well before?” Remi asks.

  “We just worry about you, Kat,” Lexie says, patting me on the shoulder.

  “Yeah, well, don’t,” I say. “I’m not sleeping with anyone. And I’m only helping out a little bit until I get a feeling that will give them a lead. Besides, Brad came and helped us with the case today. And as long as I keep seeing him, he’s really never getting over me. So, clearly I now need to push up my ‘we are never ever getting back together’ lunch.”

  Lexie starts to drum on the table and sing the Taylor Swift song, “WE… are never, ever, ever, ever getting back together.“

  “Okaaayy,” Remi says. “The never getting back together aside, how did he end up helping you with a case?”

  “Well, he’s been to all the scenes, and he helped with a bit of a break in the case, so it ended up being really good that he was there,” I say.

  “He just wants to be with you, Kat, in any way that he can. It’s so romantic. And so sad,” Lexie says with a sigh.

  “I know,” I say, “but it all just needs to stop.”

  “Why does it bother you so much?” Lexie asks me with a smirk.

  “It doesn’t bother me,” I say.

  “Well, then why does it need to stop?” Remi asks.

  “Because he needs to let me go. It’s not going to happen,” I say.

  “Methinks the lady doth protest too much,” Remi says.

  “No, I don’t,” I say. “I just want him to be happy, and the only way he is going to be happy is if he moves on.”

  “Maybe he’s happy with everything just the way it is,” Lexie says.

  “Nobody is ever happy with anything just the way it is,” I tell her.

  “Preach it, sister,” Remi says, raising her glass.

  “You guys are so pessimistic,” Lexie sighs.

  “I prefer realistic,” I say.

  “Realistic, pessimistic, same thing really,” Lexie says.

  “Anyway,” I say. “He’ll move on, I’ll move on. We’ll solve this case, and then I’ll go back to hanging out all day doing nothing except texting you guys.”

  “I like it when you text me,” Lexie says. “Well, except when you text me all day, like you do sometimes, ‘cause I don’t always have time to answer and then I end up feeling kind of overwhelmed by the number of texts and I don’t read them or answer them. But otherwise, I totally love it.”

  “Good to know,” I tell her.

  “Back to the case,” Remi says.

  “Okay, so we got a partial lead today, thanks to Brad, but we aren’t sure how it fits in yet. If at all. So it’s back to trying to find clues and hoping I have a feeling about something. I did get a really weird feeling the other day when I was heading into the precinct. But, it wasn’t really like a feeling, per se, it was more like anxiety.”

  “Well, duh,” Lexie says. “It’s only natural to feel anxious with everything you’ve had happen to you and still have going on.”

  “Why? I’m cancer free, I’m single, I’m jobless, what can there possibly be to make me anxious?” I ask.

  “Exactly,” Remi says.

  “If it makes you happy, today was one of the more exhausting days that I’ve had in a long time,” I say.

  “Kat, you didn’t say anything, we didn’t have to go out tonight,” Lexie says.

  “It’s okay, being with you guys is never tiring, it’s the opposite. I always feel better with you.”

  Lexie leans over and gives me a hug and kiss on the cheek.

  “Promise you are taking care of yourself?” Remi asks.

  “I promise,” I tell them, mentally crossing my fingers behind my back to excuse myself from the lie.

  Chapter 19

  Brad

  Ethan and I meet up at the bar after our on-call shift. The Recovery Room is our favorite place, not to mention it’s one of the only places in San Soloman that is still a real bar with no ridiculous theme or gimmick. You can get good food, pitchers of beer, play pool, throw darts, and catch the game on a big screen.

  New owners took it over a couple years ago and revamped the entire inside, leaving the dive bar feel, but getting rid of the years of dirt and grime from the actual dive part of the previous bar. They refinished the bar top and floors, brought in all new booths, tables, and stools, added a digital jukebox, remodeled the bathrooms, expanded the ladies room. It was a smart move on the new owner’s part, business has more than doubled since they reopened.

  Ethan and I play a few games of pool, then grab some food and catch the end of a college game on the big screen. He turns to look at me.

  “How’d it go earlier with Kat?”

  I shake my head.

  “She’s working with that fucking guy and it kind of drives me crazy. I did give them a tip on the case they’re working on though. Remember all those houses with the showers left on? That’s what they are doing. The idiot hadn’t even noticed that all the houses have kids. What kind of fucking detective is he?”

  “Hey, don’t be s
o harsh, man. If you were the only one that noticed, that means Kat didn’t either.”

  “She’s not a detective. And she had a fucking brain tumor, E. I don’t expect her to be operating at full brain capacity. And don’t defend him, man. My friend, my side.”

  “Sorry, bro. My bad,” Ethan says. “You doing okay, after seeing her and stuff?”

  “No. And I’m about at my limit. Not to sound like a pussy, but I miss her man.”

  He nods his head and gives me a sympathetic look, “I get it,” he says. “And you definitely sound like a pussy, but, I get it.”

  I flip him off.

  He laughs. “You know you still don’t do that right.”

  “Fuck off,” I say.

  “Here, look,” he says as he tries to demonstrate how to give someone the finger.

  It’s not that I don’t know how to flip someone off, it’s just that my fingers look awkward doing it. It’s like all the side fingers, and my thumb, don’t want to bend correctly at the knuckles and so I end up with one straight finger, and four partially bent fingers. It makes Ethan laugh every time.

  I flip him off with my other hand which sends him into near hysterics. My other hand isn’t much better at it. And I’ve practiced it too, in front of the mirror, just to see how it looks.

  The answer is: awkward.

  It just looks awkward. Always.

  Ethan excuses himself to use the restroom and I refrain from practicing more and focus instead on the post-game wrap-up on TV.

  Ethan returns to the table. “Ready for another round?” he asks.

  Suddenly feeling extremely tired, I run my hands over my face. “I hate to say it, dude, but I’m going to call it a night,” I say. “After that burger and the beers, I am ready to crash on my couch and not get up for days.”

  I stand and throw a few twenties on the table. “That should cover my part.”

  “I got you. Later, man,” he says.

  As I near the front door, I turn back to ask him if we are on for the gym in the morning, but I see that he’s already talking to a couple girls at the bar. Man, that guy works fast!