Christmas in Wine Country (2 page)

“It’s…” A mix of true bafflement and horror rendered Lila almost completely dumb. To her right, an eight-foot Mexican flag unfurled with a snap from the top of the rafters. Below it, two more giant, inflatable cacti stood tall and bright green.

Elegant. Tasteful. Refined. Something to wow our top clients and board. These were the expectations for the event. “Nacho cheese dipping station?” she tried, hoping for a laugh from the woman and the reassurance that, all appearance to the contrary, she was quite the practical joker.

“Come with me.” She led Lila around the room, orienting her to the stations in various states of assembly. “It was not easy to find this,” she remarked, pointing to a giant baby-shaped piñata. Swaddled in a diaper, it had a halo over its head.

“Is that the baby Jesus?” Lila asked.

“Yes, the baby Jesus piñata you requested. Had to special order that one.”

“So…the guests take turns whacking the baby Jesus?”

“It’s got all sorts of candy inside,” she reassured Lila.

“Um, wait…” With the distinct impression she’d found her way into the wrong movie, Lila decided the best way out was simply to stop, shake her head, and will it all not to be so. “This is not right. This is for the AdSales holiday party, right?”

“I have to admit, we were surprised by some of your requests. But Mariana was so specific. And we’ve done so many parties with her before. She’s always on top of things.”

Taking the clipboard offered her, Lila read off the printed list. It included four six-foot inflatable saguaro cacti.

“For example, you only requested beer and margaritas,” She pointed to the bullet-pointed beverage list: all caps
CERVE
Z
AS
! “Yet you do understand we are a winery.” 

             
Looking at it, Lila realized “pregnancy brain” wasn’t just a cute myth. The indefatigable Mariana had clearly taken the list of supplies for her infamous, annual backyard Cinco do Mayo party and sent it to the Endicott Vineyard’s party coordinator. For AdSales’ VIP holiday party.

“But you knew to have an ice sculpture?” Lila grasped at a straw.

“You called and requested that last week.”

Back at the entrance once again for air, Lila wobbled her way out onto the cobblestone. “You know, maybe we just need to focus on this.” Lila gestured at the uneven stones she’d stumbled upon earlier. Exercising the terribly faulty judgment of one in the throes of panic, Lila ignored the inflatable cacti and arriving mariachi band in favor of the unfixable. “We need to deal with this safety issue.”

             
“Excuse me?” 

             
“The cobblestone. It’s so dangerous.” Near hyperventilation, Lila swallowed and found her throat strangely constricted or swollen. Maybe she was having an allergic reaction? They stood together, the elder event planner studying Lila, the younger scrutinizing the courtyard, biting her nails and envisioning all manner of hideous accidents.

Across the way a tall man in a bulky fisherman knit sweater strolled toward the main building of the estate. Head down, hands in the pockets of his corduroys, he moved slowly, lost in thought. He looked perfectly steady on the stones. Then again, he had on work boots. 

             
A waiter darted up. “Are we going with the 10-foot ovals or the eight-foot? Because last time—”

“One sec.” The event manager directed traffic, raising her left index finger to ask the staff to wait while raising her right hand to wave over the man in the sweater. Calling out “Jake!” she signaled, “Over here.” He looked up, slowly and not particularly thrilled about the interruption. “A question.” Pointing at Lila she then hustled with the waiter back into the room. 

As Jake ambled over Lila fought the impatient urge to run toward him. He must be the groundskeeper. He had a kind-of a slow and steady way about him and looked to be about Lila’s age or a bit older, perhaps in his early 30s.

             
“You have a question?” he asked as he reached her. 

             
“Yes,” she began. “It’s the cobblestone.” He stood with his arms crossed against his chest. “It’s dangerous.” He kept looking at her, but now with a slight tilt to his head. Suffused with the enormity of the impending calamity, Lila continued in a rush, “In about
half an hour we’re going to have 250 people—maybe even more if they didn’t RSVP and that’s so likely because we sent out invitations with the reply card in the mail but who even reads their mail anymore—”

“I read my mail.” 

“OK, but what I’m trying to say is there’s going to be hundreds of people showing up for this party and how are they even going to get inside without breaking their necks?” Though she detested the shrill note her voice reached and the inexplicable flail her hand made, anxiety triumphed over embarrassment. “It’s a disaster!” 

Jake looked from Lila to the courtyard and back again. Not so much alarmed as puzzled with a hint of annoyance. 

             
“Well?” Lila nearly shrieked. “What are you going to do about it?”

             
Raking a hand through his dark, unruly hair Jake exhaled, “Do about it?”

             
“How are you going make sure everyone’s safe? Because, I don’t see safe here.” Lila gestured around her wildly. “I see broken wrists. I see trips to the ER.”    

             
“You want me to do something about the cobblestone?” he asked, seeming to just register her request. “This cobblestone cemented into the ground?”

             
“Yes, whatever.” Lila dismissed the irrelevant details. “This dangerous, uneven surface.”

             
“This is a replica of a fountain in Tuscany.” Drawing up to his full height, Jake made the statement as if it explained everything.

             
“I don’t care what it’s replicating!” Lila’s panic rose in direct proportion to the degree to which it was ignored. “People will fall on the way from the parking lot!”

             
“What, exactly, do you propose we do about it?”

             
“I don’t know! That’s your job!” Her hands flew up once again in exasperation. “Put some bubble wrap down over it!” Immediately hearing a popping soundtrack accompanying the imaginary scene of chaos, Lila revised, “No, throw a tarp over it! Yes, that’s it! A nice tarp.” She looked out over the courtyard, wondering what exactly a nice tarp would look like. Black? Could they find one with some shimmer?

             
“You want me to put a tarp down over the cobblestone?” he repeated, incredulous. “Or, I’ve got it!” He snapped his fingers and Lila looked up for a moment in hope. “I could carry the guests. I could be a shuttle. They could hop on my back and I could run them into the ballroom.” Lila’s mouth opened in shock at the rudeness.

             
Then, to her complete disbelief, he turned and simply walked away. Not in a hurry, no angry huff, the same nonchalant pace he’d assumed prior to learning about the crisis. Appalled, she watched him in stunned silence as he headed down a paved path along the side of the building. It was a flat, safe, handicapped accessible path that she’d somehow missed before, leading directly to an adjacent parking lot. 

As a hot flush of embarrassment flooded her cheeks, Endicott’s event coordinator appeared once again at her side. “Now about the margarita maker. It’s in a wagon being pulled by a plastic donkey.”

Looking inside the French doors, Lila found herself locked in a gaze with a large and unrepentant ice giraffe.

*
             
*
             
*

Phillip was not looking at her. That much was obvious. Lila had been standing in a clean line of his vision chatting—or more listening while her co-worker, Allison,
chatted—for at least 20 minutes now. Other than a perfunctory kiss on the cheek and a distracted “Don’t you look nice,” he’d been MIA.

Actually, it was worse than that she thought with a grimace and took a big sip of champagne. He was totally in action, just not with her. He’d been wrapped up with Axelle, the Parisian director who worked out of the New York office. Effortlessly glamorous Axelle, so tiny she could just about fit in your pocket. There they were, in a small circle with the board chair, a vice president and a giant man in a tux and cowboy hat. Just now Axelle was leaning into Phillip with laughter. And there he was, debonair and gorgeous as always, inclining his head toward hers, his hand resting oh-so-casually on the small of her back. Her bare back.

Lila took another sip of her champagne and wondered how Axelle pulled it off—wearing a red, backless dress to the company party and still managing to look sophisticated and professional. In her black off-the-rack Ann Taylor dress Lila felt like a 50-something career nanny. The red-dressed stick laughed again, this time leaning back and flipping her long, honey-streaked hair in a cascade. Lila wished she could take hers down from what now felt like a schoolmarm bun, but she’d pretty much shellacked her hair up into a fire hazard.  

Looking at her watch, she realized dessert was due to be served in 15 minutes. Here’s hoping that Endicott crew was great at fixing up microwave brownies. Before the party began, she and the waitstaff had had time to take down the Mexican flag, dismantle the Baby Jesus
piñata
, deflate the cacti and send home the Mariachi band with a nice tip for their troubles. Nothing could be done, however, about the Mexican flag sheet cakes large enough to serve 100. About 150 less than the number of guests.

“Oh my God! Karaoke!” Allison squealed next to her. “You didn’t tell me we were going to have karaoke!”

“We’re not,” Lila said, turning toward the dance floor. Where the DJ was announcing the next portion of the evening’s entertainment: Karaoke! Pressing her fingers against her forehead, Lila made a direct line toward the DJ. She thought she’d cleared it up: light jazz as guests filtered in, swing standards as people dined at buffet stations and milled about, moving into 70s/80s classics to top off the evening with some dancing. No open-mike invitations for drunks bellowing out “Only the Lonely” or, worse, ranting against rumored company lay-offs.

“Excuse me,” She cleared her throat behind the DJ. Garnering no response, she tapped him on the shoulder. 

“Oh, ho!” he chortled into his microphone and turned down the music. “We have our first volunteer!” What seemed to be a good half of the party guests turned their heads expectantly in Lila’s direction to watch the DJ ask, “And what’ll it be?”

“No!” Her horrified reply reverberated throughout the tent, sending a ripple of laughter through the guests. Backing away, she raised her hands as if to ward him off.

“Still deciding. I get it.” The DJs voice glided back into the mic, adding, “Here’s a little something to keep you all hot while we’re waiting for her to warm up.” The speakers started pumping out the opening beat to “Disco Inferno.”

“Ohmygod, are you not going now?” A rush of excitement grabbed Lila’s arm. Two company interns fresh out of college pressed in close. “Because we have the perfect song.”

“Seriously. It’s. Going. To. Rock.” The other intern grabbed her other arm.

Lila tried to untangle herself as she asked the DJ, “Hey, why are you doing karaoke?” 

“What, babe?” The DJ looked up, giving her a sliver of attention as he readied the karaoke machine.

“No, why?” She tried to sound more authoritative than plaintive. “Why karaoke? You’re not supposed to.” 

“What’s that, babe?” The DJ was now surrounded by the interns who were jumping up and down like 3-year-olds in anticipation of their favorite song.

“The contract! It’s not in the contract to do karaoke!” Lila nearly yelled, adding with desperation, “I’m the party planner!”

“Good, good,” the DJ slipped his hand around her waist and added, conspiratorially, “We’re gonna kick this party up a notch. DJ Daddy’s in the house.”

Lila’s groaned “oh my God” went unheard as DJ Daddy turned his attention back to the 22-year-old interns.

“I can’t believe you just jumped right in!” Lila’s co-worker, Allison, appeared at her side, eyes wide with surprise. “I never knew you had it in you! Need some help picking a song?”

“I’m not—

“OK, so if you really want to do some vocal stylin’…” Allison nattered on as Lila grabbed a glass of champagne off a passing waiter’s tray, catching the steely eye of a partner as she did. It was one of the top guys in the Chicago office. A pretty conservative guy. He was probably wondering why the hell a couple of 22-year-olds had
now taken over the annual corporate gathering’s entertainment singing about how their milkshake brings all the boys to the yard.

Not a good night to be Lila’s nails. Or cuticles. Bit to the quick.

Heading away from the show and searching desperately for Phillip, Lila scanned the crowd. Maybe he was making his way over to her right now to check in and see how she was doing on the big night.

Or maybe he was in a far corner leaning into that wee slip of a thing in red and murmuring in her ear. 

The next passing waiter lost two champagne glasses to Lila, one of which she emptied in about five seconds. Out the window, the vineyard’s expansive grounds beckoned. Would anyone notice if she vaulted over the hedge never to be seen again?