Crushing (The Southern California Wine Country Series) (3 page)

“A trip to Antarctica could be cool.”

Julie laughed, “Wouldn’t it?” Then she sighed. “Such looks on that guy. What’s on your list?”

“What list?”

“Who are you looking for? Handsome, wealthy, what?”

Amanda tapped another scoop of flour into the bowl. “I don’t know. Love.
True Love
. That’s what I want.”

“Not money or a rocking body?”

“Those are perks. We can choose anyone we want right now.”

“You can. I am plain. My thirties frighten me,” Julie shuddered. “I’ll be
old
then.”

Amanda tipped her head, “Thirty is nine years away, that’s like forever. And you are pretty.”

“Maybe.”

“About your question, great looks makes me pay attention. But I’ve seen some guys that under normal conditions are toads but with the right haircut, clothes, and cologne they can be quite handsome.”

“You want a fixer-upper?”

“Depends. It’s just a lot of guys can be handsome if they’d let themselves be.”

“So you’re still after looks.” Julie teased.

“After you notice him then it’s a matter of keeping your attention. That’s the hard, er, difficult part.”

Julie laughed. “How about a hot guy wearing droopy sweats and unshaven for days –”

“– Oh, a little unshaven can be sexy.”

“– a little unshaven
is
sexy. That guitar player Kyle? Fantastic. I bet he doesn’t even try, it’s just the way he is.”

“Thanks for the reminder. I was trying to forget.”

Julie said, “I can’t wait to see them play tonight. Maybe I’ll get someone to cover and I can just be out there to watch the whole night.”

“I think the staff is thin on help to find subs. Especially since I want to get someone to cover too.” Amanda grinned.

“Oh, you’re right.” Julie poured crumbled feta cheese and sliced cherry tomatoes into the salad, “When I’ve seen the hottest Hollywood actors play homeless or downtrodden character bits they are pretty. It’s hard to hide good looks.”

“I don’t know. Some let themselves go. What about money?”

“A hot Hollywood actor probably has a big pile of money.”

Amanda said, “Not always. At least not many in the tabloids. The tabloids are selling copies, they have to be dramatic.”

Julie looked at Amanda, “You mean exaggerate?”

“An actor that stays married and does normal things like take their kids to school and baseball games – that doesn’t sell newspapers.”

“How about an ugly guy with a big pile of cash?” Julie said, “He could dress up in fancy suits all the time.”

Amanda said, “What is it about fancy suits? Classics? Like jeans and no shirt. I can’t get enough of either.”

“Depends if that body is rocking or not.”

Amanda saw her reflection in a stainless stew pot laying on its side on a shelf, “A body stretches out over the years. People get heavier as they get older; it’s in our genes. Trauma and everything else in life damages a body. A body is transient.”

“But a fat guy right at the gate of life is less likely to age well than a trim guy.”

“Possible, but I’ve seen old high school pictures of people that were husky in school but then watched their lifestyle so they looked better in their forties than they did way back then. Meanwhile, the trim football star ends up with a beer gut bigger than two line backers duct-taped together.”

Julie laughed. “So what about a guy’s hands? Do you want your guy to be good with his hands?”

Amanda could only think of Kyle’s fingers racing down his guitar strings while his other hand strummed the pick back and forth at a pace that made her knees buckle. “Yeah. I think being good with their hands, and their bodies, is important.”

Julie said, “I had a boyfriend once that said he looked at elbows - because cosmetic surgery, collagen injections, and lotion treatments hide everything else. Elbows were his window on age.”

Amanda twisted her arms around to look at her elbows, “What does he look for?”

Julie held her elbows up to see too, “He didn't say but I've looked at mine and others to figure it out … and I can't tell.”

“Yeah, your elbows look like mine.”

Julie dropped her arms to her side, “Anyway. Guys want pretty faces and big boobs.”

“That’s a cliché. Smart guys want smart girls.”

“Your mother said that, right? I never believed my mother on that point.”

“It’s not propaganda. I have watched guys. A pretty blond can attract their attention, but if she starts spouting dumb blond-isms, then they look elsewhere. Dumb guys don’t care.”

“You really think smart guys won't bang a dumb pretty girl that is offering? Or a dumb ugly girl? Or a mean girl? Or anything that looks like a girl?”

“You’re funny, Julie.” The corner of Amanda’s mouth curled in a half smile, “At least some have restraint; we’re talking the smart ones, right?” She glanced out the open doorway and glimpsed the empty microphone standing at attention, waiting for the evening. She bit her lip. She thought of how close his lips would be to the microphone’s wire mesh. She wondered the probability of a musician making it big and the numbers seemed small and remote. Drunkenness and drug use seemed more likely when five or ten years pass without hitting it big. Did she want to get into something like that with such a person? Could she take it?

Julie said, “My father once told me I could marry more in fifteen minutes than I could earn in a lifetime.”

The spell broken, Amanda’s face came back to Julie, “That is really crass.”

“But he had a point. He also told me that women have a shelf life, in addition to a narrow reproductive window – so I should choose a mate accordingly, getting less choosy the older I got.”

“You can’t be serious. That is appalling! Women are not dependent on guys any more. I’m working toward my own career.”

“What’s your career plan?”

“I’m getting the common per-requisites done right now while I figure something out. I kind of like this wine business. It seems fun so far. But I was thinking of electrical engineering too.”

“You’re that good with math? I can’t believe how much math I have in Archeology.”

“I held my own in school.”

Julie’s hands rested on the side of the salad bowl, “How about this. Pretend you are an engineer. What if your boyfriend or husband does not have a job? Will you hate him?”

“Few take issue when the guy works and the wife or girlfriend stays home taking care of the kids, the pet, or even just the house. It’s acceptable if she sells jewelry, volunteers at the school, or does something as an outgrowth of her hobbies. It’s only fair to be the other way around.”

“But what do you think if you were in that situation?”

Amanda said, “I’m looking for a partner. I want someone who will be there as a friend, emotionally support me when I need it, love me, understand my occasional craziness and –”

“Hot sex several times a week.”

Amanda grinned, “Yeah. That is a nice consideration.”

“What about money? If he doesn’t earn any money, could you do it?”

“Half of wealth is keeping your expenses low, so even if he doesn’t work then it’s doable provided you know that situation. Going in expecting two incomes and spending like it … that creates stress.”

“Did your father ever give you any crazy advice?”

Amanda’s smile pinched. “I only grew up with my mother.” Amanda thought,
and she was not the best teacher
. “My father left us when I was two.”

“Oh, that’s so sad. Do you know where he lives? Are you mad at him?”

“No one knows where he lives. I was sad for a long time. What can I do? I did not matter enough to him to stay. He doesn't matter enough for me to care now.”

Kyle pushed the switch so the window went down, “Did you see that girl at the bar?” The window squealed as the actuator skipped and jumped every inch or two scratching at the glass to fulfill his command. Kyle wondered how to make that sound on his guitar and if it would fit in a song somehow, an ominous scratch of a monster.

Sardis twisted the steering wheel backing out their parking space. “Blond, thin, and tight. Lips that would look great around my cock. What’s not to like about her?”

“Hey! We just met her. She seemed nice when I talked with her, too.”

“I saw you banging your instrument against the bar like a terrier you were so nervous. You’ll screw it up with her.” Sardis accelerated along Rancho California Road, the car wheezing up to speed. The rusty fenders flapped in the wind and only added to the vibration of its imbalanced wheels, as if the contraption stampeded like a goose galloping for a takeoff. “She’s mine, Kyle. All that tight body of hers freshly peeled out of the mold – mine mine mine.”

“I talked to her first.”

“Talk doesn’t mean shit. It’s in the doing –” Sardis stuck his tongue out and waggled it up and down at Kyle.

“Crude, Sardis. You are just
fucked up
.” Kyle watched the trellis rows pan passed them, the breeze fluttering through the open window cooling enough that he did not have an urge to remove his jacket.

Sardis laughed. He cleared his throat, drawing up a wad of wet phloem and spitting it out the open window. “So what do you want to do until our gig starts? That fucker Elliot better show up on time tonight.”

Kyle said, “I’ve got twelve bucks. We can grab a burger.”

“Only if there’s beer.”

“You have money for beer?”

“You’ve got twelve more dollars than I do.” He glanced at the fuel gage. “Damn. We better put two dollars in this pig’s tank.”

Kyle pointed to the right, “A cheap station is down there. They sell hot dogs for a buck. If that winery pays us after the gig we can get beer.”

“We should ask them if we can get some complimentary wine. Maybe they could part with a case as a bonus. That’d last a few days.”

“Let’s ask. But only if the crowd likes our music.”

“We need cash. Elliot better be there. You should call his mom to make sure he’s not stoned out on the back porch again.”

Kyle grabbed his phone. He had bought it from someone for twenty bucks. Scratched up and banged about as if the previous owner dragged it behind his bicycle for a hundred miles. The screen had a long arc where it split but the anti-scratch film kept it together. “Hello, Elliot’s Mom. We need Elliot for a gig tonight at Amber Mountain Winery. Yes, that’s the one, it was in the papers a few months ago with all the sales from that Zack’s Blend they have. We are hoping that place is a big draw and we can sell some music. Can you make sure he is ready to go by five? –”

Sardis whispered as he turned their car into the gas station, “Good move. We don’t start until seven.”

“Yes, he’ll need a ride. It’s easy to find, just drive east on Rancho California Road. Thanks, Elliot’s Mom. Yes. See you then.” Kyle pressed the call end button.

“If Elliot couldn’t play so good I’d look for another bass player.”

“If we could pay more, then we’d have a guy close to his talent that’s punctual.”

Sardis said, “His mom is hot though. A real MILF – I didn’t believe I’d ever see one, but there she is.”

Kyle creaked open the car door, “She’s pretty, but … it’s Elliot’s mom. You know no shame.”

“If she knew how to play bass I’d have
her
in the band. She’d be fun on the road.”

Kyle rolled his eyes, “I’ll get the dogs. Two dollars is all the gas we can put in.”

“Load my dog up with mustard, cheese, onions – and chili if it’s free.”

“I’ll check.”

They sat in the shade of a tree looking over a vineyard that seemed to stretch in precise green rows from them all the way to the horizon.

Kyle said, “Nothing finer than gas station hot dogs.”

Sardis swallowed a chunk of the chili dog, “Don’t know what’s in ‘em nor how long they’ve been fondled under that counter-top roll heater –”

“Thanks for that image.”

Sardis shrugged. “At least we have gas station water.” He raised his plastic cup in salute.

“I don’t want to hear what you think the problem with the water is.” Kyle looked around the shade tree and along the quiet road. “Maybe we can sleep right here in the car tonight? Seems quiet.”

“We can put the drums under the tarp next to the car and then stretch out on the seats. Sure.”

Kyle dug out a bottle of mouthwash and a stick of deodorant.

“Those won’t help you land that chick.”

“I figured I better put some on because I can smell you. Here, take a little edge off with this.”

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

Kyle and Sardis parked in the employee lot and walked across the winery grounds in the darkening light. The rough stone of the winery sat chunky and solid against the hill and glowed with energy from within. Guests floated through the warmly lit tasting room and across the tiled patio. They cupped goblets of wine like delicate crystals, scattering light that winked at the first emerging stars overhead.

Sardis said, “Looks busy already.”

“You nervous?” Kyle slung his guitar around and strummed it, checking the tuning. Then he picked up his case of effects pedals and motioned toward the building.

His drumsticks twirling in both hands, Sardis asked, “Are you doing any of that drop-D stuff tonight?”

“Elliot doesn’t like to change the tuning on his bass. I can play the chords fine, just a little easier if I did some dropping.”

“Call Elliot’s mom and see if he’s left yet.”

“He left already.”

“How do you know?”

“If he didn’t leave yet he will be late.”

“If we can’t field the whole band then they won’t pay us at the end of the gig.”

They circled around to the gift shop and pushed through the tall glass doors. People mingled three and four deep around the long curving bars. Everyone chatted, laughed, and clearly enjoyed the evening already. Kyle scanned behind the bar for Amanda. She was laughing at a customer’s joke while she finished pouring and returning his glass. In the space of a few steps, he watched her grab another bottle from a case under the bar, peel the metal foil capsule, remove the cork with a fancy bench top mounted lever, and pour another customer’s soon-to-be-favorite wine. Her deft and refined movements showed a dancer’s grace. He saw her hook her pinkie finger behind errant blond tresses lightened with highlights and latch them behind her ear. A diamond earring sparkled there and a matching one at the choker around her neck. She looked up and met his gaze. Kyle felt that if he did not look away her beautiful brown eyes could burn him to tinder as he stood. He needed to move.

Kyle pushed the oak door aside and kicked a wedge of wood on the ground under it as if he owned the winery. Sardis did the same on the other side. They walked between the reflecting pools to their equipment.

“Hey, guys.”

“Elliot!” Sardis said, surprised. “I thought we’d have to call your mom again.”

“I’m sorry. I’m a little late.”

Sardis lied, “Elliot, we were running late too – your timing is
perfect
.”

“I’ve been here for twenty minutes.”

Kyle laughed, “Elliot, we worried you’d be your usual minimum forty minutes late so we told you an hour earlier than scheduled.”

“That’s not right.”

“But you didn’t get here an hour early, did you?”

“No. I guess it worked. I know this gig is important for you two. It’s important for me too. I need rent money so I can get out of the house. My mom is killing me about finding a real job. What kind of jobs pay out there to play bass? Only this, sometimes.”

Kyle said, “Let’s get plugged in and ready.” Kyle flipped out his sunglasses and stroked the tight bows against the side of his head putting them on. He plugged his guitar into his pedal board and looked over his shoulder for Sardis. All their gear gleamed crimson and black, that he had painted himself so their random junk matched. Elliot waited for his nod, already plugged in. “We’ll start with
Hot Dreams
and then go through
Fire
,
Fence Post
,
Mountain
, and –”

Sardis interrupted, “What about
New Adult
?”

“You sure you want to give these people that hammering drum solo? It’s long. Fine if we are playing an arena and people paid for a three hour show …”

“I like it because it’s long. Any of these guests could be from Hollywood and looking for a drummer.”

Elliot scratched his week old beard stubble that had gone from possible sexy; if many girls fell for his pudgy face; to unglamorous scruff, “Dude, we’re a band. I’d like to do
Wild
because I love my ten minutes of wicked bass slapping –”

Kyle said, “No. We need to play the tunes that get people dancing and tapping their toes.” Kyle surveyed the mingling crowd talking and laughing. He would interrupt all that comparative quiet in a few minutes. Then he noticed something on the ground to the side of their little stage, “Sardis, what’s that hat for?”

“Tips. Maybe we make a few extra bucks or change for a coffee.”

Kyle said, “This is a paid gig. Put that away, maybe on your head so your receding hairline doesn’t blind people in the lights –”

Sardis coiled the pork-pie hat along his arm and bumped it up to his head like some Vaudeville act. “How about this?” He cocked the brim to the side. “Like some sort of gangster?”

Elliot said, “We should get pirate hats sometime, to go with our band name.”

“Until we get cash, we can’t.”

“After
Mountain
I’ll put up the name of the next songs … Ready?
Hot Dreams
in a three, two, one –”

Sardis tapped on a cymbal in rising waves while Kyle’s guitar shrieked a single harmonic note across the patio. The piercing note rippled across the vineyards behind them and washed forward into the building. Then Sardis stomped the bass drum pedal where Elliot came in and both of them were chased into the tasting room by Kyle’s chord progression that made a wall of sound that crested like an army blitz. The volume of the instruments dropped to a lower volume and Kyle’s voice rolled out over the pounding beat. Kyle liked this song because the start came like an alarm clock to wake the crowd and then show them the soothing side of their most articulate playing and smoothest vocals. Later, as the song swelled to its climax, there would be new blitzes of crescendos and squealing notes plucking at their minds.

Already the crowd poured out to the patio to hear the band that startled them into motion. Kyle smiled and launched into his next riff. His old mentor voiced in his head,
seize the audience early, and never give them a chance to breathe. Write your songs so simple and engaging they cannot help themselves tapping and dancing
. Kyle forgot all his troubles when he stood playing his guitar behind a microphone.
When you cut your profession close to your strengths you’ll never feel like it’s work. Talents cannot be bottled up; they give your soul more peace than any other thing on this earth
.

Kyle looked through the winery plate glass at the illuminated interior and saw Amanda leaning on the bar, watching, and listening to them. Her face held a small smile as if she enjoyed his song. His mind skipped into the same voice of his mentor, but it was Kyle’s own idea:
Talents are probably only second to a hot chick that is into you.
What would he trade to have her?

He watched the winery personnel push out a massively carved, wheeled bar onto the patio, fold it open, and lock it in place. Amanda moved to the patio bar. Winery guests found chairs, refilled their wine, and watched the band play. When the last note of
Mountain
faded from the amplifiers, Kyle toed the kill switch for everything except his microphone, “We’re going to take five. Is everyone having a great time?” The clapping and whistles threw their own wall back at Kyle. He turned to Sardis and Elliot after the clapping subsided. “I’m going to talk with Amanda for a quick minute. Maybe you want an appetizer. See if someone in the kitchen will supply us?”

Elliot said, “Yeah, that’s an excellent suggestion, dude.” He slipped his guitar strap over his shaved head that gleamed like a white pumpkin. “I’ll go ask. I am famished. That fatty of mine earlier is catching up now. Would you two like something too?”

Sardis nodded, then he said to Kyle, “I thought we agreed she was mine to talk to?”

Kyle waved his hand, “I didn’t agree to anything like that.”

“She’s been looking at me the whole time we played.”

“Probably all your tattoos freak her out so much she watched you to make sure you didn’t do something crazy.”