one

pairing suggestion: champagne—épernay, france

Ideal as an aperitif to get you started.

-

One thousand seven hundred and forty-two. That’s how many flash cards I had studied over the last two years. Yet, as I waited for the results of the Certified Sommelier Exam, I knew they weren’t going to call my name. Maybe it was because the exam was notorious for being difficult and held a 60 percent failure rate. Or maybe it was because my anxiety had appeared during the blind tasting section, raising my pulse and muddling my thoughts. My tasting group liked to call me The Palate for my calm and collected ability to decipher any wine, but with the clock ticking, the Master Sommeliers watching, and the other participants frantically scribbling on their papers, The Palate was replaced by a scared and confused taster blankly staring at the glasses of wine.

I forced myself to push through, identifying a vintage, varietal, and wine region for each glass, but I knew I hadn’t come close. It was like firing a gun in the Police Academy trials. You could be a sharpshooter all year long, but if you missed the target during your final exam, you missed the target and the test was over. There were no second chances that day, only an option to try again at a future date.

I took a deep breath and stared at the door, my hands clenched as I waited for the revered Master Sommeliers to enter with the results.

The other forty-nine people around me all wore their game faces—the practiced pose necessary for sommeliers. It was important to remain outwardly serene while dealing with all types of restaurant guests on a nightly basis. I was used to gracefully listening as a guest yelled at me over a bottle of wine or smiling without comment as a group enjoyed a special bottle that they had brought in, even though I could tell that the wine was clearly spoiled.

The six Master Sommeliers entered and I straightened my shoulders. The first Master stepped forward as I eyed the stack of papers in his hand. “We have your results,” he said, his gray hair slicked back and his game face perfect, cemented in place by decades in the wine profession. “Unfortunately it was a low pass rate today. A lot of you found the trivia portion to be your downfall.”

One thousand seven hundred and forty-two, I reminded myself. Every free moment over the last two years had been filled with memorizing flash cards. The trivia section had gone well, and I was extremely confident about the service portion of the exam. Everything had been great except the blind tasting.

I stood in a sea of professionals, all masking their nerves behind their sommelier game faces. I hoped I seemed as calm as my neighbors. I clapped as the first three names were called and the recipients walked to the front to receive a certificate and the purple pin. They were one step closer in the four-step process to the coveted position of Master Sommelier, a title held by just over two hundred people around the world and only a small percentage of them female. With the title comes respect, honor, and a guaranteed paycheck.

I stared at the large red pin on the Master Sommelier’s lapel as he read out names, my hand absentmindedly fidgeting with the dime-sized introductory pin on the lapel of my coat. I wanted to wear the Master Sommelier pin with such passion that an ache stirred deep in my chest.

I folded my hands together and waited, a small tremble running past my elbow. The pile of papers in the Master Sommelier’s hand was shrinking.

“We have only one name left. The last person to join our group today is …”

But it wasn’t my name.

I stood back, fighting to keep my game face on as I watched the group of newly minted Certified Sommeliers stand together for a photo, their purple pins shining in the overhead light. Their next step would be the Advanced Exam and the desirable green pin.

“Don’t worry, kiddo,” said a voice behind me. I turned to see Bill Andrews, my boss and manager of Trentino Restaurant. “You’ll get it next time.” Bill was in his fifties and always had a broad smile on his face. He was meticulously stylish with his salt-and-pepper hair neatly trimmed and a navy blue sports coat as his permanent accessory—even when he wore jeans.

“Thanks,” I said. “I don’t know what happened. It was during the tasting—” I broke off, unable to continue.

“You’re a great taster, okay? Don’t let this shake you.” He stepped closer and put his hands on my shoulders. “We can go over it on Monday with the tasting group, but I know you. You’re good at this, okay? Don’t let this get to you.”

I nodded as I swallowed my disappointment. “Thanks.” I glanced at my watch. It was four thirty and I still needed to change. “I have to go, I’m going to be late.”

“Is this for Frontier? Man, I’d love to switch places with you. I want details on everything, okay?” Bill lowered his voice as he motioned to the sommeliers surrounding us. “I bet some of them would trade their new certification to get into Frontier Winery. Everyone wants to go there.”

I allowed a smile to break through. Bill was right. And a party was just what I needed. “Thanks. I’d better go. I’ll see you at work tomorrow.” I grabbed my purse and headed toward the door.

“Wait, Katie.” Bill pointed to a table covered with envelopes. “Your results.”

I took a deep breath and scanned the table for the envelope that contained detailed notes written by one of the Master Sommeliers, letting me know how I failed and why. When I found my name, I scooped it up and stuffed it in my jacket pocket unopened. I tried to focus on the upcoming party at Frontier, but the tightness in my chest threatened to consume me.

It wasn’t until the vineyards of Napa Valley appeared outside my car window that the tightness released. The perfectly organized vines brimming with bright green leaves in geometric rows never failed to bring calm and order to my life.

The familiar sign approached, Welcome to this world famous growing region, its warm message welcoming strangers and friends to the renowned Valley. Nestled between the foothills of Northern California, Napa Valley possessed a reputation acknowledged all over the world for its picturesque setting, culinary expertise, and award-winning wineries.

The first commercial winery opened in Napa in 1861, and now there were more than 450 wineries in the Valley, including Frontier, a historic winery known throughout the wine world for its secrecy and its exquisite red wine.

I lowered all four windows, encouraging the scent of the vineyards to float inside. The damp earth, the clipped vines, the plump grapes, and the crisp Napa air—all the elements that create a bottle of wine, a bottle of wine with a story to tell to anyone who listened carefully enough.

I always listened.

Just like every bottle had a story, every person had a story and I handled people better when I thought of them as wine. Some wines I loved and eagerly anticipated, while other wines were difficult to swallow, their delicate structure spoiled. Expose a wine to air long enough and it will turn to vinegar.

I thought of the people in my life as specific grape varietals. My dad, stoic and stern, was like a Barolo—an Italian wine that needs years of aging before it is drinkable and, even then, needs to be paired with a heavy steak. My best friend Tessa was clearly Merlot—sometimes smooth, sometimes with a bite, and struggling with a soiled reputation that it didn’t deserve.

Merlot’s reputation was damaged in 2004 when a pop culture reference made it “uncool” to drink. It became the wine you didn’t order and the wine you didn’t dare take to dinner at a friend’s house. Merlot, the most widely planted grape in Bordeaux, no longer received the same affection in California. Vintners all over the state ripped out Merlot vines and replaced them with more popular varietals such as Cabernet, Syrah, and the newly famed Pinot Noir.

Tessa had lost her reputation around the same time. She became the girl parents didn’t want their kids to be around, the outcast at school. Her grades slipped and she never went to college. Instead, she jumped from job to job, never managing to last long at any of them.

The black matte invitation fluttered on the front seat, the parchment overlay flapping in the breeze. I moved my purse on top to keep it still, the short note from Tessa barely peeking out from under it.

Hope you can make it.

I glanced at the time. I had promised Tessa I would be early, but the Friday night traffic out of San Francisco had delayed me more than I had hoped and it was already twenty past six, only ten minutes before the party started. I pressed harder on the gas pedal as the vineyards flew by my window.

The entrance of Frontier Winery came into view, the gates surrounded by a stone wall that lined the property. Frontier wasn’t open to tasting appointments or tours. In fact, Frontier was never open. The gates remained closed, a constant reminder that some places in life are off-limits. Today, however, the gates were wide and welcoming, the driveway stretching through the trees. A white sign decorated with cursive letters announced, 100th Anniversary. Private Event. Invitation Only. Do NOT Enter.

The Prohibition years had wiped out many of the wineries in the Valley, but not Frontier. Long gone were the days when this winery survived on crafting sacramental wine, which could escape the laws of Prohibition. Now, Frontier produced a limited-release wine that boasted three-figure price tags and was available only to the Frontier Wine Club and an exclusive list of big-city restaurants.

I paused in front of the sign before proceeding through the gates. A man in a black suit stood on the left side of the driveway, flanked by three valet attendants in red vests.

“Name?” he asked, his dark sunglasses hiding any evidence of emotion.

“Katie Stillwell.”

He flipped over the pages in his hand.

“I’m a guest of Tessa Blakely. She works here.”

He circled something on the paper and a valet stepped forward, but the man put his hand up, shooing the valet back to the line of red vests.

“She’s requested that you park in front of the offices instead of valet. Continue straight and you’ll see her silver car. You can park in the space next to it.”

“Thank you.” I pulled forward. Mature oak trees lined the gravel driveway and rows of green vineyards began past the trees. They opened to a view of a two-story stone building covered with small leaves of creeping ivy, which hugged the windows like a winter sweater.

A covered wooden walkway draped with vines extended to a second structure that mimicked the century-old stonework but was clearly built years, maybe even decades, after the winery.

I parked next to Tessa’s car and stared at the exam envelope on my front seat, the words calling to me from inside. Now would be as good a time as any. I slid my finger underneath the flap and removed the letter. My eyes scanned the page, the black ink soothing even as the words shook me. I had passed theory and service, but the blind tasting had been my downfall. Needs a lot of work, the Master Sommelier wrote.

The hours, weeks, and months I spent blind tasting ran through my head as I stared at the hillside behind the winery. A fallen tree lay at the bottom of the slope, its broken limbs splayed in a forgotten pile beneath the vines that staked a firm hold in the soil, the perpendicular rows segmented only by the occasional oak tree.

“Needs a lot of work,” I whispered to myself as I got out of the car, the scent of fermenting grapes thick and heavy in the air.

The side door of the offices opened and a tall blonde jumped down the two steps. “Yay, you made it!” Tessa cheered, running toward me, her curls bouncing on her shoulders, her low-cut navy blue dress doing little to hold back her bulging chest. “I tried to call you. I was worried you weren’t coming!” She threw her arms around me, floral scented shampoo wafting from her hair even though most wineries, and most likely Frontier, forbid employees from wearing scents of any kind.

“Of course I was coming!” My reply was muffled as Tessa hugged me. “I’m even two minutes early.”

Tessa finished the hug. “You didn’t answer my texts.”

I felt my purse and looked at Tessa. “My phone’s in the car. Why, what did they say?”

Tessa shook her head with an amused smile. “You’re so organized, but you never have your phone.”

“I don’t like to be available to everyone twenty-four/seven.”

“Clearly.” A grin spread on Tessa’s face, her smile revealing the tooth she had chipped by falling out of my tree house when we were young.

“Why are your teeth purple? Have you been drinking already?”

“I work at a winery, Katie. It’s basically part of the job description.”

“You never change.”

“Why would I? It’d be a shame to ruin perfection.” Tessa tapped my shoulder. “So, spill it. How did the test go?”

I breathed out, focusing on the vineyards, their organized lines dotted with plump bunches of dark red grapes. Harvest would be any day now.

“Earth to Katie. Where are you? Stop ignoring me.”

“Sorry, I’m not.” I turned to Tessa. “It’s just …” I took a deep breath. “I didn’t pass the exam.”

Tessa stopped. “Are you serious?”

My chest tightened. “I guess I wasn’t ready.”

The smile drained from Tessa’s face. “But you never fail at anything. Please tell me you’re kidding.”

“Let’s talk about it later.” I glanced up at the buildings. “I’m here now. I want to enjoy this.”

“Yes, but are you okay?” Tessa raised her manicured eyebrows, her eyes sympathetic.

“I’m fine. Really. In fact, I’m better than fine because I’m actually here at Frontier.”

“Okay.” Tessa brightened and squeezed my arm. “So what do you think of my place?”

“Your place?” I laughed. “You’ve worked here for four months.”

Tessa shrugged. “Details, details.” She motioned to my dress. “I remember this dress. Looking to get lucky?”

I looked down at my black cocktail dress with its high neck and low hemline that fell an inch above my knees. “I actually thought it was pretty conservative.”

“I’m being sarcastic. Come on, Katie, would it kill you to show a little cleavage once in a while?”

“You mean like you?”

“If you’ve got ’em, flaunt ’em.” Tessa shook her chest as she kicked out her leg, the edge of her three-inch heel barely missing my shin.

“How do you walk in those?”

“Practice. Plus, they’re my new favorite shoes. Come on.” Tessa looped arms with me. “Let’s get you something to drink.” She pulled me toward a lawn peppered with round tables and white tablecloths.

“Wait, can I see the place? I’ve been dying to come in here for years.”

Tessa pointed to the buildings behind us. “It’s right here.”

“No, I mean a tour.”

“This building holds the offices and the owners live on the top floor. That one is the winery where all the fun stuff happens, and behind it is a creepy old wine cellar. Good?”

“Really? That’s all I get?” I took a step forward. “Is there at least a bathroom I can use? It was a long drive from the city.”

“Let’s go inside the offices. We’ve ordered fancy port-a-potties for tonight, but I’d never do that to you.”

We entered the first building into a long hallway with a dark wood floor and beige walls that appeared darker than they should due to the poor lighting. The same musty smell that seemed to inhabit all older buildings was heavy in the air.

Tessa pointed to the second door down. “The bathroom is through here, past the break room.”

“I’ll only be a second.”

“Good, ’cause we have a date with a bottle of wine.” Tessa winked as she crossed her arms and leaned against the wall.

I stepped inside the break room. It was the same as any other break room with a microwave, coffeemaker, and a round table with chairs. It was almost strange to see something so normal at a place I had always thought of as practically mythical.

I shook off the disappointment and headed to the bathroom where I took a moment to reapply my eyeliner and lipstick. I never used much makeup, but Tessa had taught me years ago to keep eyeliner and lipstick in my purse as a quick fix for any occasion.

I returned to the break room and paused at the table, where a newspaper was open to the games and cartoon section. The sudoku was partially filled in and I stared at it, the numbers moving in my head. After a moment, I met Tessa back in the hallway.

“About time, slowpoke.”

“You know if you put a nine and a four in the top row of that sudoku and then an eight and a six in the left middle box, you’ll be able to solve the rest.”

“You and your puzzles,” said Tessa. She held up a pair of black three-inch heels. “I have something for you to wear.”

I looked down at my shoes. “What’s wrong with these?”

“Katie, it’s a special night. You’re finally here at Frontier and you can drink amazing wine while chatting with gorgeous men. Don’t you think heels will make it all the more glamorous?”

“Maybe.” I stared at the heels in her hand. “I guess. For one night.”

“That’s all I ask.” Tessa crouched down to replace my shoes.

I lifted one foot at a time as Tessa placed the heels on my feet. My ankles wobbled as I stood with the new height. “I can’t wear these. I’ll trip and look drunk.”

“Then you’ll fit in with the party guests!” Tessa opened a door and tossed in my shoes. “Don’t forget they’re in this closet.” She grabbed my hand and pushed open the door to outside. “Come on, let’s get to the party and start drinking.”

“Okay, but not too much. I have to drive back to the city tonight.” I took the steps one at a time, my heels sliding when I reached the gravel driveway.

“So law-abiding!”

“Always.” I shuddered as a distinct memory came to my mind.

“You okay? We need to get you some wine. The ’08 Cabernet will help. It helps everything. Besides, there are some fun surprises planned for tonight. Be prepared to have your socks knocked off. Not that you’re wearing socks.” Tessa smiled with her lips closed as we approached the lawn.

“Wait, I know that smile. You’re up to something.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Tessa as she stepped onto the grass, her blond hair swaying as she walked. “What did you always say? That I’m like a wine?”

“Yes.” But unlike Merlot, which was making a comeback with wine drinkers everywhere, Tessa’s reputation was getting worse. When a wine is left out and turns to vinegar, it’s never the wine’s fault. Tessa’s reputation over the last twelve years wasn’t her fault either. It was mine.