Fortunately, the road was nearly free of cars so I could glance at the ribbons of color against the backdrop of deep-green mountains without killing myself or anyone else.
I lowered the windows to let the wind race through the cab. My mind wandered to the beach in Maui as I passed the Russo vineyard. It was home to the man I had a love-hate relationship with. We were in the hate stage at the moment, having broken up four months ago after a weekend that nearly put me back in rehab. Leonardo Russo was the man I lusted over, woke up dreaming about, and wanted so bad it hurt.
Leo and I were like fire and kindling when we were together, hot being the operative word here, both with our sexual encounters and our ability to party on. A real shame considering I truly loved the man, but he was bad news as far as my sobriety was concerned. I was trying to focus in on that negative fact as I slowed to cruise by and fantasize about any future possibilities. It was just then that I saw two men standing toe-to-toe talking out on the front porch of the tasting room, a large two-story clapboard painted gray with white trim.
I pulled over, thinking one of the men was Leo, and already I could feel the tingle in my toes. I hadn’t seen him in awhile, but the man still had a powerful effect on me. Perhaps a little wine buying might be in order for Dickey’s freedom party. There could never be enough wine at one of our family events.
Leo’s Pinot Noir had won a gold medal at Vinitaly. I figured heartfelt congratulations would serve as my opening act, just a bit of friendly conversation between two neighbors.
I knew my limits, sort of. And anyway, it wasn’t as if I could start anything up again with him anyway. I’d heard he had a new girlfriend, a Marley or Sharley or something. She lived over in Napa. A wine critic or a food critic. I wasn’t sure of all the details, not fully wanting to admit that he had already moved on, but I did know she had a fat ass according to Aunt Babe who was somewhat of an expert on fat asses, having one herself.
The sun was in my eyes as I stared at him. His rich brown hair seemed longer than usual, and there was quite a bit of facial hair going on, most likely due to Marley or Sharley’s insistence because the Leo I knew shaved at least twice a day, but it was Leonardo all right. I mean, if it wasn’t, he looked enough like him to be his brother, and as far as I knew, Leo didn’t have a brother.
I let out a long, slow lustful sigh, completely envious of fat-ass Marley or Sharley or whatever the hell her name was. And what was wrong with my ass anyway?
I sighed again hoping he would notice my pickup. It was obvious this truck belonged to me: I rode around with my olive-picking ladder sticking out of the back. A prerequisite this time of year; one never knew when they would be called on to start picking.
For a moment, he glanced my way, but there was absolutely no sign of recognition.
Fine.
What did I care.
I shifted my gaze. The other man didn’t look familiar. He was much smaller than Leo, both in height and weight, had thick, gray hair combed straight back, and wore a shirt the same color as the autumn leaves.
He must be a tourist.
I was just about to back up so I could head for the driveway, thinking my mother would truly appreciate a case of wine, when the man started poking Leo’s chest. Leo slapped the man’s hand away and I knew from my many years of watching my volatile relatives, these two guys were in the heat of a battle.
I watched for another moment as arms flailed, and tempers elevated to a point where another man came out to try and put a stop to their escalating argument. I was thinking perhaps this was not the optimum time for a visit, so I pulled back on the road, thankful to let the temptation pass.
When I arrived at the bank just off the Plaza in the village of Sonoma fifteen minutes later, the parking lot was almost empty. I figured I could get in and out in no time. I so didn’t want to