Crushing (The Southern California Wine Country Series) (2 page)

A beat up burgundy Ford Crown Victoria bounded up the drive like a creaky moon buggy on under inflated tires. Dust roiled in loose swirls behind its rusty bumper. The car curved around the building to the far parking lot. Kyle opened the complaining door and slammed it shut. The window glass, left rolled open, clattered in its guiding frame.

Kyle strode ahead on his just polished biker boots. His long legs wore his newest jeans rescued from a thrift store sale. A clean T-shirt hugged him tight under his leather stage jacket that hung open. The free end of the zipper grip tinkled against his belt buckle as he walked.

“See, we’re on time,” Sardis held up his arm, showing his brother the worn watch face. Once a beautiful stainless steel machine with enough buttons to fly an aircraft it had succumbed long ago to his years of banging on drums and his dented life.

Kyle remembered stealing that watch from the jewelry store when he was ten, a birthday gift for their father. Their father had beat them both with the watch when neither told him where it came from nor how they afforded it. In disgust, their father threw it out the screen-less living room window and left it lay for days in the rocky packed dirt around their shabby Wisconsin home. Sardis picked it up and kept the watch but did not wear it until the two boys lived on their own. “It doesn’t hurt to walk a little faster.”

“Yeah, yeah.” said Sardis. Though older, he was the shorter of the two, his height difference only accentuated by the flat canvas shoes he favored compared with Kyle’s boots.

They stopped inside the gift shop, still too early to expect many customers but the doors had been open. Kyle glanced over a stacked display of wine and recipe books splashing the sideboard with hunger-inducing pictures of fanciful food. His eyes slid through the archway into the tasting room and the racks of sparkling bottles beyond. “Hello?”

Julie came from the kitchenette and asked, “Can I help you?”

Sardis said, “We’re playing a gig here tonight. We wanted to get the larger equipment set up this morning and make sure we have power and such.”

“Sure. You know where you’re setting up?” She looked at Sardis standing with his deeply tanned and tattooed arms bulging from his black t-shirt. The gaudy tattoos bright even through his tan scrolled with artfully twisted skulls, bones, and demons. She did not see any tattoos on Kyle since his leather jacket covered his arms.

Kyle glanced outside, “Let’s try at the end of the patio with those reflecting pools.”

Sardis agreed, “We have a couple of lights – crazy shooting into that water.”

Julie squeezed her brown eyes to see better given how the morning sun pierced through the windows and said, “Looks good. That’s where we usually set up wedding ceremonies. But none planned for tonight.” She turned back toward the kitchenette, “I need to finish the snacks before guests start arriving. If your vehicle is in the lot, you can use the cement walkway along that side of the building. Park your car to the employee lot when you return tonight.”

Sardis nodded, “Thanks.”

-:-:-:- -:-:-:-

Amanda dropped her purse on the shelf in the back room, heavy with worthless trinkets and a little change that made her bag sound like the pouch of a medieval tax collector. She slipped her phone in the back pocket of her jeans and walked around the corner, “– Whoa, Julie! Sorry.”

Julie laughed, “No, it’s my fault. I was, ah, looking outside, and got … distracted.” Her face still pointed toward the patio while she explained.

The sun pierced the windows like sniper shots into Amanda’s eyes. She lifted her hand to block the rays and saw Kyle. “Holy handrails,” Amanda clenched her nails into her palm.

“Yeah. Like that.” Julie stood still, watching as a doe blinded in the light. She whispered, “His name is Kyle.”

“The band for tonight?”

Julie nodded.

They watched Kyle spin drums out of beat up cases. The pewter beads twined among his black rubber wrist bracelets flashed in the sun. Sardis bolted together the drums from Kyle with a practiced hand on a crescent wrench.

Kyle’s black hair hung almost to his shoulders over the black leather jacket, cut square at the ends as if recently trimmed. His angular face displayed purposefully forgotten beard stubble that defined his jaw and highlighted his lips and teeth. Kyle scanned the drum cases. Not seeing what he looked for he grabbed several empty cases in each hand and trudged back to their car. Amanda and Julie’s eyes followed his classic jeans move with the stride of an athlete until he shimmered around the corner of the building.

Amanda said, “That sun is really bright this morning.”

“Dangerously bright, my eyes are watering … Well; I must get to the rest of the appetizers.” She scurried toward the kitchenette. “I think I should make something with chocolate for today, one of Debra’s famous recipes.”

“That’s a good plan. Let me know if you need a taste tester, ok?” Amanda grinned. “I’m off to set up the bar.”

“– You should talk to him.”

“Have you?”

“Yes. He wasn’t interested. All business.”

Amanda wondered how she might keep her attention on the customers and the wine since she only needed to glance sideways and see them playing. She told herself that it would be dark when they play and they are probably some raspy, croaking, death-metal singers anyway. Although Martin had said, one of them could sing nice. She wondered which one?

Amanda lined up the wine glasses and arrayed the first sample bottles, carefully peeling the metal foil capsules back so all she needed was to pop the corks out with the bench top cork remover. She placed water decanters and cracker trays along the bar top and stood back waiting for the arrival of their first customers.

The big oak doors to the patio swung wide as Kyle pulled them open. Sunlight streamed through the doorway and outlined Kyle in silhouette. Amanda’s eyes locked with his, how the crystal blue of those eyes pierced her soul. She could feel the sun’s sudden warmth bounce through the door around Kyle and caress her arms and shoulders like a divine hug. He pushed back his black hair and stepped forward. His all-black guitar was slung over his shoulder so it hung across his back, the headstock of the guitar dripping from his side like a tomahawk.

“Hey, I wanted to check the sound of our setup. Do you know if anyone minds if we make –” Kyle’s precise stride faltered, the closing oak doors appeared like the ruffled wings of anxious gods, and he hesitated, “– some noise?”

Amanda shook her head in a way that seemed more like her body shivered from the cold.

Kyle came close to the bar. Amanda felt the swinging doors pinch off the light and ensconce the tasting room in darkness. A brooding dangerous coldness compared to the reaching rays that followed Kyle in.

“I’m Kyle. What’s your name?” He held his hand out to her. She saw Aztec-motifs carved into the pewter beads.

“Amanda,” She said, his hand warm and strong, difficult to release from hers. She withdrew her hand before their touch became awkward. He smelled of leather and dangerous music – the dangerous and delicious smell of a rebel. She ran her fingers through her hair to push it away from her face, twisting a few strands behind her ear. All she could think of was
dangerous
. If he rides a motorcycle then he would be the perfect man to screw up her life, but she would secretly love the entire ride.

“I’m going to have to ask you to please stay in here tonight when we’re playing, I can already see you will distract me too much.” Kyle turned and banged his guitar tuners against the bar. The strings twanged a mixed spiel of embarrassed notes. He spun the guitar around to check that nothing was damaged. His eyes came back to Amanda’s, “Sorry.”

Amanda put her hand over her mouth to hide a sudden smile. Then she asked, “Is it just the two of you playing?”

“No, besides my brother Sardis, we have a friend that plays bass guitar. He’ll arrive tonight, hopefully on time. Though, I have a couple of songs we can get by with if he’s late.”

“What’s that wrapped around your hand?”

Kyle uncoiled the strap, “This is my necklace. A leather lace through a hole in an old penny. I wear it as a necklace when I’m not playing but I use it as a pick when I do.”

“Why do you use that for a pick?”

“It gives me a sharper attack and better tone than any other pick I’ve tried. It's easy to grip and the lace keeps me from dropping it.”

“It’s really worn.” Amanda looked back into Kyle’s face, “Anything special about it?”

“I got this penny in change for a candy bar I bought in Wisconsin when I was a kid. I saw the California Mint made it. I saved it and kept thinking about it and soon realized I wanted to leave for California.” He did not tell her that this particular penny was the only money he had in his pocket when his father threw him and Sardis out of the house. A few times, he almost spent it covering sales tax but put it on the lace to keep from losing it. “I knew my future was tied into this lucky coin.” Kyle pushed through the doors. He signaled to his brother who sat down and began tapping on a snare drum while Kyle plugged in his guitar. He glanced along the ray of sunlight that illuminated Amanda’s face through the windows and the corner of his mouth curled into a small smile.

Amanda watched Kyle. She saw him start his fingers along the low notes of the guitar neck. He leaned into the volume pedal and his notes swelled as the chords reached across the patio and vibrated Amanda’s lungs. She gulped for air. The lightly distorted rock music that came from his guitar brought Julie from the kitchenette and several workers with wine splashed on their coveralls came up from the wine cave.

Kyle’s effervescent notes filled her with awe while his voice gripped her with longing. Something in the timbre of his voice tugged at her. She had a boyfriend once that she loved talking to on the phone when he went away to school because of the sound of his voice. She kept that long distance relationship going too long. Kyle’s singing was more though, something rugged and hot – it wrapped her desire tighter.

His music quickly found the toy wind-up key sticking from her body and each strum of his guitar twisted the brass flanges around and around, ratcheting up the spring dozens of notches at a time. Amanda squeezed her thighs tighter, fearing that she might suddenly uncoil in a mouse nest of uncontrolled spring wire. The drums kept a beat like sharp rubble under it all that allowed the guitar music to tug at her and soar. She watched his fingers and wanted them running up and down her in as rapid bursts as he did across his fret board during a guitar solo. She listened as he bent the strings in yearning notes that yanked her higher.

Then Kyle waved to his brother and they changed into several other song pieces as Kyle kicked a few more pedals at his feet. Sardis’ dirty blond hair shook from his hammering arm blows to the drumheads. Then they stopped, the sound echoed away across the wispy grape vines among the vineyard surrounding the winery. Kyle closed up his pedal board and carried it like an executive briefcase with the guitar again slung over his back.

Applause from everyone came as he stepped into the tasting room. He grinned. “Thanks. Sorry for the noise, but we’re done checking the setup. See everyone this evening.” He caught Amanda’s eyes and winked at her before turning and leaving through the open oak doors.

Amanda saw that Julie stood beside her, “I didn’t hear you come up.”

“Loud music.” Julie said, still watching out the windows at the empty band kit waiting for the evening. “He liked you, Amanda.”

“I thought you were in the kitchenette?”

“My lurking skills are improving. Or you were too distracted.”

“Yeah, must have been.” Amanda looked down at her hands and rubbed them on her thighs to get the clamminess off. “Whew. Do you need any help? I’m all set on the bar until customers arrive.”

Julie said, “Sure. You could run the kneading machine to mix up the dough for the baguettes.” Amanda followed Julie into the kitchenette. “Here’s the recipe card.”

Amanda pulled down a bowl and started mixing ingredients. She needed to distract herself from the images of Kyle that jumbled around in her head, “Hey Julie, you said you’re taking college classes? What degree?”

“Archeology. My parents hate it – they think I won’t make any money, probably true, but I like it.”

“Dinosaurs?”

“No. Human artifacts. There’s this dig, if you can call it that. It’s not the typical dig in the sandy Fertile Crescent or the jungles of Brazil.” Julie cropped the stems off lettuce that she sectioned into large salad bowls. “This one is more challenging. They found a thirty-eight gun British Frigate locked in the Antarctica ice.”

“As in the bottom of the world, Antarctica?”

“It will be an adventure. I’ll need to get a parka and big mittens. Nothing like I’ve ever seen here in California. And they go in the middle of summer down there. Anyway, the whole project is early. Dr. Cooper, the lead scientist, and his staff spent months already working on grant proposals to salvage it for research. So far the expense of getting scientific teams down there compared with the possible business value has not enticed many. Except for a Chicago pharmaceutical firm that expressed interest, thinking they could get biological organisms that might still be viable after such long-term freezing. Perhaps the study will uncover long extinct viruses, molds, or tiny organisms. They believe they might extract new medicines, antibiotics, or something. But they are only mildly serious so far.”