Tasteless (4 page)

“I’m supposed to be,” Rye said, despite the fact that she wasn’t so sure anymore.  “But I
definitely
will be doing that today.”  She turned her full attention back on Angela as she handed Rye a glass of what looked like a surprisingly dark white wine.

“Now, don’t be alarmed!” Angela giggled.  “Everyone’s always a little startled when they first see an ‘orange’ wine for the first time.  It’s called orange because while it’s a white wine, it has a slight tinge to it – you see? A nice amber hue.  And it’s this way due to allowing the wine to macerate for a little longer with the grape skins and solids, which isn’t the usual practice for white wines.”

“Uh huh,” Rye muttered, keeping a cautious eye on Sam as she brought her glass to her lips.  In the short time she knew him, Rye could tell he wasn’t the type to give in so easily, not even with petty feuds like the one in which they were currently engaged.  He definitely wanted her to let her guard down by walking off as he had, but Rye had no doubt that it was probably part of some alternate plan he used when things didn’t immediately go his way.  But as she mindlessly sipped at her wine, she felt herself furrowing her brows at the surprising earthiness.  “Oh, this is different,” she said as she set her glass down, trying not to make a face as she looked back at Angela.

“Intriguing, right?” Angela smiled.  “I think it’s something that could add real character to your existing wine list.”

“I’m not… sure we need that kind of character,” Rye said.

“I know, it’s not for everyone,” Angela said.  “Most people either love it or hate it.  It’s a very exciting addition for us to have here at the winery.  I could talk about it for days, it’s one of my favorite items to discuss with our visitors.”

“It’s just unexpected,” Rye replied, lifting what little was left in her glass.  She held it up to the light and studied the color.  “I pretty much know nothing about wine but I definitely didn’t think something this clear could taste so… rich?”

“That’s what most people find to be unique,” Angela nodded, as if to encourage her amateur observations.  She seemed genuinely, and comically, interested in anything Rye had to say about the wine.

“It… uh…” Rye grappled for more.  “It looks like a white but tastes like a red.”

“Yes!” Angela nodded.  “It does – isn’t that so fascinating?” She pointed over at the table that Sam had joined.  Their guide had begun pouring the same wine for her table.  “Looks like Brooke’s table is about to try it – let’s see what they think.”

“This here is an amber wine,” Brooke explained to the table.  Angela grabbed Rye’s forearm.

“Oh, yes, it’s sometimes called an amber wine,” she quickly whispered to Rye.

As Brooke got to Sam’s glass, he leaned over to whisper something to her – quiet enough that Rye couldn’t quite make it out.

“So you’ve tried them before,” Brooke replied, turning her full attention to Sam and batting her lashes.  “Yes, there’s this great vineyard in Italy…” Her voice fell to an indiscernible hush as the rest of the table discussed the wine amongst themselves.  Angela crimped her lips as she watched Brooke and Sam have their quick aside.  Rye could almost detect a hint of jealousy as Angela slowly straightened her spine.

“Um, so…” Rye started her sentence before having anywhere to go.  All she knew was that she wanted Angela’s attention once again.  “Why do some people call it orange and some people call it amber?”

“It’s interchangeable,” she replied, curt.

“And you said it’s usually love or hate – and you clearly love it, so… why’s that?”

“Well… it’s surprisingly full-bodied for something that, at first glance, appears light and clear,” Angela said, her gaze flitting between Rye and the conviviality of Sam and Brooke’s table.  “The complexity sneaks up you, takes you by surprise.”

Before Rye could ask another question, Angela was walking slowly across the cottage towards the other table.

“So,” she said loudly, directing her attention at Sam.  “What do you think?”

“It’s fantastic,” Sam replied.  “I was just telling Brooke that it rivals some of the
vino ambros
I’ve had in Venezia Giulia.”  Angela’s cautious, expressionless face quickly dissolved into a giddy smile, like a wallflower whom had unexpectedly been invited to sit at the cool kid’s lunch table.

“Oh my goodness, I would kill to go there!” she said, her hands fluttering to her heart as she pushed her way in between Brooke and Sam.  “I was just telling Rye how much I love the discussion that comes from talking about amber wines because it prompts such polarizing opinions.”

“Oh yeah?” Sam said, looking up at Rye.  She stayed glued to her barrel, staring at Sam and his now party of seven.  “What’d you think of it?” Rye looked for allies in the expressions of the tables’ participants, but it seemed as if everyone was pretty in favor of the strange wine.

“I think it’s kind of pretentious,” Rye shrugged.  “I don’t really see the point.”

“It’s the creative expression of true artisanship,” Sam said, his table nodding in agreement.  Rye smirked, shaking her head at their expected sheep-like behavior.

“I bet you could dye this thing red and no one would know the difference,” Rye said.  “What’s the point of looking like one thing when you’re really another other than to be deceptive?”

“Well, we can’t expect everyone to appreciate the subtle nuances,” Brooke said.  “But we appreciate your opinion.”

“Okay, fine,” Rye huffed.  “Tell me.  What exactly is it that you appreciate about tipping back a glass of white wine only to notice it tastes kind of funky? Different isn’t always good.  If you’re making a red wine, make a damn red wine.  Stop trying to be something else.”

“Alright,” Sam laughed.  “Rye, don’t get so worked up.  And Brooke, put us in for five cases to start.”

“No, Brooke, don’t,” Rye said, stepping up towards their table.  “I’m still the one who does all the approvals and signing here and I’m the one who knows what our restaurant represents.  We’re not going to be those assholes who pimp out an ‘orange wine’ and talk about how cool and artistic it is when it’s nothing but a wolf in sheep’s clothes.”

“Not everything’s black or white,” Angela shrugged.  “Or red or white.”

“Just because you’re not down to have some fun doesn’t mean our customers won’t be,” Sam said, giving Brooke a subtle go-ahead to get them the cases of amber.  Rye crossed her arms, feeling angry but too defeated to go after Brooke.

“Fine,” Rye said.

“Look,” Sam smiled.  “We can make a bet about how quickly these bottles will sell.  Maybe you’ll prove me wrong after all.”

“I don’t need your sympathy, Sam,” she spat, marching towards the parking lot.  He hurried after her.

“You put up a good fight today,” he said, touching a hand to her waist as he came up behind her.

“Fuck off,” she replied, brushing his hand away.

“Whoa,” he laughed.  “And you’re still going.”

“Seriously,” she said.  “Fuck off with your weird manipulation and mind games that you’ve been playing on everyone to get your way.  They maybe falling for it, but I know better.”

“Aw,” he teased, reaching forward to turn her towards him and keeping a firm grip on her hips this time.  “You’re just mad because people like me better.”

“Unlike you, I don’t have this pathetic desire to be liked by everyone.”

“How about being liked at all?” Sam challenged.  He smirked at her silence as she pried his hands from her hips and got into the car.

~

Rye expected the drive back to be awkward but Sam was strangely jovial, humming along to the radio as he made their way back to the diner.  She gave him the silent treatment, even when he asked her easy yes or no questions like whether or not she thought it was going to rain.  Rye knew she was appearing childish and she could feel her embarrassment creep up as her anger began to fade.

“So,” she said, breaking the silence.  Sam flashed his eyebrows.

“She speaks,” he laughed.  Rye rolled her eyes.

“Do you want to start going over the existing menu today and see how we can incorporate your new ideas?”

“Uh… I was thinking we’d just start from scratch,” Sam replied.  He looked over just in time to see Rye’s disapproval of his words.  “Or, I mean, yeah.  We can look over the existing menu.”

“Alright,” Rye said, her voice even and diplomatic.  She had always known it’d be easier to play nice – or
nicer
, but until her exhausting defeat at the winery, she didn’t particularly feel the need.  “Let’s get to that once we get back.”

“Don’t you need to start heading down to the city?” he asked.  “I was planning on taking the 8pm train.”

“Wait, why would I do that?”

“For Sage and Poppy’s party,” Sam replied.  “It starts at nine, right? I’ll probably be there a little late.”  Rye could feel a lump forming in her throat.  It wasn’t unusual for Sage and Poppy to throw their elaborate parties, nor was it unusual for them to leave Rye off the guest list, but she was surprised at the fact that Sam was once again included in something she hadn’t even known about.

“I…” she said slowly, trying to sound normal.  “I wasn’t sure if I was going yet.”

“Why not?” Sam asked, seemingly unaware of her surprise.

“I’m just tired,” she shrugged.  “It’s been a long week.”

“Oh, c’mon,” he laughed.  “I did as much as you did and on top of that, I’ve got two years on you and commute for three hours a day.  You’re too young to be too tired for your own sisters’ party.”  Rye pursed her lips, wanting to explain that her sisters didn’t really speak to her short of remembering to wish her a happy birthday every other year.

“I don’t know,” she continued.  “We’ll see.  Maybe.”

“You can take the train down with me,” Sam said.  “And on the way, I can teach you to act like a normal person in group situations.”  He laughed, playfully punching her in the shoulder.  Rye could feel tears threatening to come up.  Angry with herself, she turned away from him, smoothing down her jeans to pacify herself.

The wind blew through the open window, fanning away any evidence of impending tears.  Sam made the turn towards the dirt path leading to the diner.  Rye watched as they passed the familiar landmarks – the tree with the roots that had grown around the picket fence, the blue and white birdhouse her grandfather had hung on its branches, the tattered remains of a paper garland she and her sisters had made and hung one Christmas, long ago.

“That was a joke,” Sam said.  “In case that didn’t get through.”

“I know,” Rye sighed.

“It was a reference to just before, at the winery,” he continued.  “I’m not as
much
of a jerk as you think I am.”

“I get it,” she turned to him, forcing an awkward smile in hopes of ending their discussion.  Sam looked back, furrowing his brows at the strange expression but seemingly accepting it, nonetheless.

Chapter 3

LIVE FROM POPPY & SAGE’S SUMMER SOLSTICE GALA

The Snarker

June 21
st

Okay, we’ll admit it: we’re totally proud of Poppy and Sage.  Honestly, how could we not be? These are girls who grew up knowing the true value of a dollar.  Now they’re bitches that charge three hundred bones for a linen T-shirt.  That, my friends, is what you call doing business.

And so is holding your launch party at the gorgeous, hard-to-book, glass-encased Greyta in the Lower East Side! This place is popping on the regular but tonight, it’s hotter than the sun in El Azizia – and it has everything to do with the ridiculously star-studded crowd.  We’re sure you’re desperate to know exactly what they’re wearing but sadly, you’re not here.  Lucky for you, we snagged the shit out of those impossible press passes, so prepare yourself for one hell of a sexy rundown on tonight’s celebrity fashion.

The Ladies of the Hour:
Poppy and Sage’s brown locks have been straightened to oblivion and now look like the flowing, slow motion caramel in Twix commercials.  Needless to say, they look delicious.  Delectable, really, considering the matching chocolate satin gowns they decided to wear.  The pieces – self-designed, obviously – boast perfectly draped sleeveless bodices and fitted skirts, with Poppy sporting hers mini and Sage in a high-slit maxi.  Fa-law-less.

Gemma Hunter:
Also spotted on the red carpet was the founder and head designer at The Court.  The lovely Gemma wore a champagne gown with intricately hand-embroidered lace on the single shoulder – but more important was her matching accessory, NBA star and boyfriend Damian Evans.  Also in tow: actress BFF and Leadoff star Zoe Mercury, who made the power couple into one hell of a sexy power trio.

Sam Laurent:
Hello, bad boy! In his first public appearance since getting tossed from his Flatiron restaurant, the Chef Elite champ was spotted looking finer than an aged Bordeaux.  But then again, Chef
has
been looking pretty consistently gorgeous since being picked up off the streets and employed by the Somervilles.  My oh my. Clearly, “tasty” ain’t just a word to describe his soufflés, and the rest of the ladies on the red carpet can attest to that.

Indeed, the bar has been set high for tonight.  But the towncars are still lining up ouside of Greyta, so stay tuned for more coverage of tonight’s flawless fashion, fame and beauty.  You know we’re good for it.