Blush - Jamie Brenner Page 0,70

“If you want someone to buy this winery, they’re going to expect a rosé.”

Now John knew about the sale? So much for quietly shopping it.

Vivian’s phone buzzed with a text: Leah, asking her to meet in the library.

“When someone else hangs a sign with their name above the door, they can produce whatever they damn well please,” Leonard said. “But as long as it’s my name on this vineyard, we sell classic varietals. That’s what sets us apart. That’s worth investing in.”

John shook his head. “I need to assure our accounts that you’re committing some grapes for rosé for the next vintage or they’re going to stop taking my calls entirely.”

“I am giving you excellent wine to sell,” Leonard said. “If you can’t sell on quality, then that’s your failure, not mine.”

“Fine,” John said. “Then I quit.”

* * *

Leah arranged a collection of her mother’s old hardcovers on the library table. Many of them were familiar, especially the one with the black jacket featuring a photo of a woman with high cheekbones and long red nails, waring red lipstick and a black turban-like hat with face netting. The epitome of 1980s glamour. The title was emblazoned across the center in white script: Scruples.

She turned to the inside flap description: “The story of love, desire, and the triumph of one woman who dared to reach out for everything she needed.” Women in these books were always daring to do something. The least she could do was make one small suggestion to her own mother. So why did she feel so anxious?

“I hope this is important,” Vivian said, breezing into the room. “There’s a lot going on at the office . . .” Her mother’s diaphanous silk wrap trailed behind her. Her face was hidden behind her usual sunglasses, but there was a tension around her mouth that suggested her morning was off to less than a good start.

“I have an idea,” Leah said. “What if we reached out to book clubs to host them here? The groups could sit on the veranda, have bottles of wine—leave with a few cases if they’re so inclined—and have their book discussions overlooking the fields where the wine was grown. What could be better? You and your friends loved it. Other women will feel the same.”

Vivian sat at the table, picking up one of the novels. Closer now, Leah could see the sheen of sweat over her immaculate application of makeup.

“Why did you put all of these books out like this?” she asked.

“I wanted to remind you how much you enjoyed them.”

“Oh, Leah. I was reminded of that the other night at the pool, talking with you and Sadie about Chances.”

“So then you get my idea.”

Vivian took off her glasses. Her eyes were bloodshot, with either fatigue or distress. Maybe both. “John Beaman just quit,” she said.

“Why? What happened?”

“I don’t want to get into it,” Vivian said.

Their sales rep was gone. Their vineyard manager had one foot out the door. The buyer had pulled out.

“We need to do everything we can to make money,” Leah said. “I’ll help you with the marketing for book clubs. You just have to do your thing: charm them when they get here, make them fall in love with the place, sell the wine.”

Vivian reached for the copy of Scruples, flipping through the opening pages.

“I’ve lost the spark,” she said. “This whole situation is so disheartening.”

“I know, Mom. I get it. But we can’t give up.”

“Fine,” she said, looking at her. “I’ll back you on the book club idea. But there’s something I want in return.”

“Sure. Whatever you need.”

“I want to have our own book club: you, me, and Sadie. Reading this.” She handed her the copy of Scruples.

Leah felt a surge of satisfaction—she’d known it was a good idea to show her mother the copy of Chances! In the midst of all the turmoil, it gave Vivian something positive to focus on. She wished so much she could just shut out the demands of her own life and indulge in the idea of a multigenerational book club. There was nothing she’d rather do.

“Mom, it’s a great idea. But realistically, I can’t stay much longer. Steven is losing his patience. He’s coming this weekend, and I said I’d go back with him.”

The door opened, and Sadie walked in carrying her laptop and a book bag. She looked surprised to see them.

“Good morning,” Leah said, remembering that Sadie had left the house the night before and wondering, again, where she’d gone.