Now I’m jamming. I spoke to a real estate broker to get the ball rolling, and Christian and I are meeting with him today. Yes, you read right. He offered to go with me before I even had to ask. Oddly enough, he even let up on cutting off David from being in my world. No demands or comments filled the apartment after the Taste of Italy night, and instead, a taste of calm arrived—well, if you want to call me being on edge for the next argument calm. So anyway, here we are on our way toward Malibu to view commercial land for sale. I can’t believe it.
“I think this is the spot.” Christian glances at the GPS on the dashboard, leading us to literally the middle of nowhere on Kanan Road.
I notice a tall, skinny man outside of his car, wearing a khaki blazer, blending in with the scenery if not for his bright white shirt and olive-green pants. “That must be Tad. See where I mean?” I ask, pointing in his direction.
“Tad is his name? What kind of a name is that? I’ll have a tad of this or a tad of that,” Christian taunts. “I can’t believe you want to trust someone named Tad.”
“It’s a fine name.” I put my hands on my hips, crunched by the constraint of the car. He better not be getting negative already. “Remember to be on your best behavior,” I add with humor in my voice.
“I’m not one of your kids in school. I think I know how to act.” He mouths his words through gritted teeth, but as soon as we exit the small space, I feel the fresh air of the hills greeting my face.
A gust of wind sends my curls in all directions, allowing me to shake my head in unrestrictive joy. As I push my mop away from my eyes and walk toward our new friend, I say, “Hi, Tad. I’m Toni. This is my husband, Christian.”
“Welcome to Malibu wine country. Good to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Agosti.” Tad reaches his hand out to shake both of ours.
Gulp. Way to hit a rough spot from minute one, Tad.
“You too, Tad.” Christian emphasizes the D in his name. “Toni’s surname is Agosti, but I’m Christian Kendall,” he’s quick to correct.
“Thanks for meeting us.” I jump in to move the moment along. “As I said on the phone, I want to get an idea of land cost, how everything works to buy acreage, and whatever else you can tell us.” I turn in a circle to take in the scenery. The arid land mixed with specs of green-leafed trees is different than I expected. I don’t know what I expected, though. Maybe already developed land with rows of vines, like I’m used to in Italy, not starting from scratch.
“I’m glad you called the best brokers for vineyards you could find, and I just happened to be on desk duty that day.” Tad smiles at both of us, and we remain silent. “What you’re looking at is a common area for farms in Southern California. There are some wineries as well as some vineyards.”
I cut in, “Why do some wineries exist without vineyards? Isn’t that impossible?”
“Good question. Some choose to grow their product in other areas that may be more suitable to the wine they want to sell, but they incorporate the business in this location to have their tasting rooms. The climate of our area isn’t meant for all grapes to thrive.”
“Interesting you didn’t know that info, Toni.” Christian pretends to cough and mumbles, “Over your head.”
I freeze for a millisecond then laugh it off so Tad thinks he’s kidding. Hopefully my coverup isn’t transparent.
Christian grins, seeming pleased that he got a rise out of me, but Tad appears unaffected, barely noticing us over the passing pickup truck blasting country music.
You know what? Screw hiding in plain sight. I’ll take ownership of not yet knowing everything about the wine business, leaning into Christian’s notion of my ignorance. Why hide the truth—about being at the beginning of my learning, NOT about being ignorant, because I’m not, thank you very much. “Yeah, there are so many aspects of having a winery that I haven’t thought about yet, I’m sure.”
“Oh yes, there are, Toni. I can assure you.” Tad’s volume drops. “But I can help you with getting it off the ground. We all have to start somewhere.”
“Thanks for the validation.” I avoid looking at Christian. “I appreciate anything you can tell us. But for today, I think seeing a few options for land would suffice. It’s all such a big decision.” Now, I accidentally look at Christian, thinking he’ll be all over that statement, taking it in his grip and never letting it go, but he’s staring off in the distance. I dodged his sarcasm? I should play the lottery today.
Tad continues, “This lot you see here is five acres and has hillside slopes, giving you a perfect angle for air to hit your grapes after irrigation on those cool nights we love. The terroir can’t be beat in this area of our state.”
“What’s the terroir?” Christian asks.
I jump in to answer, “That’s the way the soil, climate, and terrain affect the taste of wine.”
Tad nods in agreement.
Christian gives a, “Hmph,” and an eyebrow raise. “That’s interesting.”
Interesting that I know something, or interesting like this bug finally bit him too?
Wait, as soon as I think bug, I think of how a bug changed everything for Pietro. No bugs here, please. Let’s say, a kitten licked him. No, that’s weird.
Tad walks onto the dirt, distracting my train of thought going nowhere and apparently not caring about what looks like expensive loafers. I came prepared in my trusty red sneakers, so I follow without hesitation. Even in work shoes, I couldn’t resist.
He bends down to sift soil through his hands. “This is gold right here, peeps.”
Minus one point for Tad. Nobody wants to hear the word peeps anymore—at least, that’s what the kids tell me.
“The wineries in the ‘Bu…”
Christian and I chuckle, so Tad stops talking.
“Sorry, I’ve never heard Malibu’s nickname.” I hope I didn’t offend him.
Christian’s doesn’t apologize but continues to smile.
Tad continues, “You may be a native soon, so I’ll teach you all the lingo. As I was saying, the wineries in the ‘Bu”—he stops and looks at us with a grin—“grow many varietals with ease. You can grow robust cabs to delicate sauvignon blanc.”
“Growing cabernet grapes would be my priority.”
“How do you know that, Toni?” Christian asks.
“I’ve learned how the Mediterranean climate of Southern California is like the area of Italy my family lives in, so I know Pietro grew cabernet. And pinot noir, but that isn’t usually grown down here. It’s more in Napa and Sonoma.”
Tad drops the soil, brushes the remnants off of his hands, and stands up. “You have done some research, haven’t you?”
“Yeah, a little.” Maybe more than I thought. My posture grows straighter.
“And your family had a winery? Pietro?” Tad asks.
“Yes,” I say. Good catch, Tad. You earn back the lost point. Continuing, I add, “Until they tried the business here then couldn’t make it work.”
“Just like so many in the past. A quote by wine historian Thomas Pinney states, ‘The most striking fact about the history of winemaking in Los Angeles…is the completeness with which it has been forgotten.’”
A dull ache strikes my chest. “Tell me about it. What a shame.”
“You can say that again,” Tad agrees.
“How much does land like this cost?” Christian forces us back to the present.
“This lot is going for four mil,” Tad replies.
Christian clears his throat.
I can barely make a sound.
“Four million dollars?” Christian crosses his arms and spreads his legs in a stiff stance. “How can anyone afford that?”
“Well, that’s why there are loans.” Tad says the little L word with big meaning.
Images of me feeling the plumpness of grapes in my vineyard move farther and farther back in my mind, like a car driving away from a designated site. That site may be this site I’m standing on right now. I knew this business would be costly, but damn, that’s a lot of dough.
Yet, something whispers to keep going.
“Tad, I’m not sold on this area yet. Are there any other sections of Malibu you could show us?” I ask.
Christian widens his eyes at me as if to ask why I’m wasting Tad’s time, but he remains quiet.
“There’s one more section of land for sale, but it’s bigger and costs more money.” He pauses. “Let’s do this. You go grab some coffee and watch the waves while you talk about the opportunity here. I can see you both want this, and I want to help you get there. Think about how much you like the area. Let it settle in.”
If Tad sees we both want this, he needs glasses.
“Yeah, we have a lot to think about, Tad. Thanks so much for your time. I’ll be in touch.” I shake his grainy hand, and something about feeling specs of the earth soothes me.
“Thank you, Tad.” Christian says his name without a hint of harassment. The sticker shock must have knocked him silly.
As soon as we close the car doors, Christian says, “I gotta say, Tone Tone, it’s nice over here.”
Huh?
“Uh, yeah it is, but um…what do you think of…everything?” I can’t bear to glance to my left.
“I’m not sold on the idea, but seeing you talk about something with passion struck me this time. What a change from your usual.”
“That’s what I’ve been saying!” Could it be? Could he get it that I need something different in life? Maybe the mention of Pietro finally hit Christian’s artist heart. We found it together, Pietro. His art heart still exists!
“All I’m telling you is that even with the stupid amount of money it would cost, it was good to see you happy.” He reaches over for my hand. “And it’s fun to take a little drive with you.”
“In that case, how about we follow Tad’s advice and grab some coffee at the beach?”
He clicks his seatbelt into its anchor and starts the car. “On the way.”