Be assured that God does not invade the unwilling soul . . .
JEANNE GUYON
THE MOST IMPORTANT thing I learned from my adolescence was to trust my gut. My instinct developed along with my father's drinking habit. From my small room in the apartment, I could hear the ice clinking and then crackling in the glass as he poured his first drink of the day. The third time I heard the clink and crackle, I knew it was time to leave—whether it was 10:00 a.m. or 10:00 p.m.
I downshift as I reach the Golden Gate and a clot of traffic. Thursday is the new Friday and it seems everyone is headed out of the city for a long weekend.
Was the ice trick instinct? Maybe not. Maybe that was learned behavior. But the times I knew I needed to leave the apartment before I heard the ice and didn't? Those were the times that taught me to trust my gut.
I learned to move, ghostlike, and slip out the front door, undetected. I knew it was better to spend a day at the library or a night on the street rather than under my father's drunken hand.
I also learned another important skill during those years: bluffing. On the rare occasion that he caught me leaving, I mastered the art of the bluff. "Oh, I'm meeting Mr. Mallory at school to help him grade math tests. I'm his aid this semester." Or "I'm spending the night at Stephanie's. Her parents are out of town and she's afraid to stay alone." Whatever. Just say anything to appease him—to get out.
I weave back into the fast lane and put my foot on the accelerator. The Porsche 911 GT2 RS responds and shoots past the slower traffic. This car moves!
Heeding my instinct and bluffing are the two skills that serve me best in the business world. I get the last laugh. Whatever cosmic game was being played with my life in those years, I wound up the winner.
I think back to my lunch with Gerard and Brigitte and my suggestion that Bill and Jason might be ready to entertain an offer for Azul. A bluff based on what my gut tells me. Sure Jason gave me his speech about what Azul means to the family, but I watched Bill the evening we met. As we discussed the economy and the impact on local wineries, his foot tapped under the table. His eyes shifted when Jason spoke of the strength of Azul's financial foundation. The vein in his neck bulged.
Maybe Bill's hiding something from Jason. Or maybe he just had indigestion. Time will tell. But I also heard the passion in both Bill and Jason as they spoke of soil, vines, varieties, crop yield, aging, blends, blah, blah, blah.
These two are artisans. What they are not is businessmen.
"Hey, move it!" I slam my palm on the horn until the idiot in front of me has the sense to move out of the fast lane.
So I'll wait and watch. Opportunities present themselves to those who are patient and attentive. And I smell an opportunity with Azul. I wouldn't do anything to hurt Jason. But if Azul's in trouble, and my gut says it is, then brokering a sale for them would be in their best interest, of course. And why not keep it in the family? It makes sense that Jenna's family by marriage would bail out her family of origin.
And for some reason, Brigitte wants Azul. I'd stake my life on it.
As long as it's legal, all's fair in business.
I think of the weekend ahead. A fortuitous invitation from Gerard and Jenna for Jason and I to join them at the Bouvier chateau, as they call it. "It's Napa people, not Nice." Whatever. The timing is perfect. If Gerard says anything to Jason about Azul being on my list of recommended acquirements, I'll be there to cover myself. For every good bluff, there needs to be an equally good cover—just in case.
A car changes lanes ahead of me and cuts me off. "What the—!" I switch lanes, pass him, and glare.
My heart pounds and my neck and shoulders ache. I'm accustomed to stress—it comes with the job, but this evening, it seems to have the upper hand. I pull the seat belt strap away from my chest and roll my shoulders. As I do, a memory smacks me. My dad at the wheel of our station wagon with his window rolled down and his head hanging out as he yelled at another driver who'd cut him off. As he swore, his spittle blew back, hitting me in the face. We careened down the highway, him swerving, as he blasted the guy in the next car. I'd slouched behind him in the backseat, terrified. Afraid we were going to crash. Afraid of what my father might do. Or of what the other driver might do to my father.
I shake my head. What's with all this angst? I'm nothing like him. The very thought disgusts me. But it's also a reality check. What's eating at me? Why can't I shake this feeling of doom? The thought that around the next corner it's all going to fall apart, everything I've worked so hard to construct.
Will I ever reach a point where I can rest? Will the demons that taunt me ever lay off? How much money will it take for that to happen?
How much money will it take to fill the emptiness?
Drive determines destiny. At the rate I'm driving myself my destiny may be my demise.
I shudder.
I glance at the clock on the dash. 5:34 p.m. I'm supposed to meet Jason, who worked in the valley today, at the chateau at 6:30 p.m. I have plenty of time. "What's the rush, Andee? Ease up."
I flip my signal and maneuver to the slow lane. I turn on the radio and search for something in the easy listening genre rather than the talk radio I prefer. I loosen my grip on the wheel and stretch my fingers.
The music grates and the tension remains. I flip the radio off.
Security is what I'm after. Any moron could look at my childhood and understand why financial security is important to me. I don't need a shrink to figure that out. So why don't I feel secure?
I think, as I have a dozen times this week, about the author of the blog highlighted in Urbanity. I, like all the other suckers who read the blog, am hooked. I may not agree with the way this woman is handling her life—I'd boot the biddy who's treating her like dirt—but, even in the midst of it, she is sure. Secure. She believes God is for her. Not against her.
I know better.
I thrum my fingers on the steering wheel.
Whatever.
This weekend will be good. The way my mind is jack-rabbiting down senseless trails, it's obvious I need a break.
A little vacation.
I reach for the radio, turn it back on, and tune it back to KGO Newstalk but just as I get involved in the topic, my phone rings and cuts the radio. I click the phone button on the console. "Hello."
"Hi, hey I have a message for you that I thought might be important." Cassidy's voice reverberates through the interior of the car.
"Okay, who called?"
"Bill Durand. He left his cell number."
"Bill Durand? Really? What's his number?"
Cass repeats his number and I file it in my mind.
"One more thing, he asked that you call him when you have a few minutes alone."
"Got it. Thanks, Cass."
I hang up and smile. Instinct? I won't know for sure until I talk to him, but everything in me says there's only one reason Jason's dad would call me. He's in need of a little financial advice.
I flick the voice activation button on the console and speak Bill's number. He answers on the first ring.
"Bill Durand."
"Bill, it's Andee Bell."
"Andee, thanks for getting back to me. Sounds like you're on the road?"
"Yes, I'm meeting Jason in the valley for the weekend. Gerard and Jenna invited us to stay with them."
"Jason mentioned that. Listen, I hope this doesn't put you in an awkward spot, but I wondered if you'd have some time to meet and discuss a business matter. I could use some input."
"Sure, Bill, I'd be happy to meet. What works for you?"
"Well, Jason said he and Gerard have a few appointments tomorrow—looking at some wineries that Brigitte is interested in acquiring. Jason's always interested in seeing what other vintners are up to, so he's going along. Any chance you and I could grab a cup of coffee together while they're tied up?"
"I don't see why not. I'll tell Jenna I have a meeting."
"Great. Shouldn't take long."
We discuss a time and place to meet and then Bill hesitates. "Uh . . . like I said, I don't want to put you in an awkward spot, but it might be better, at this point, if neither Jason nor Jenna knows we're meeting. I'd like to get your input before—"
"No problem. Confidentiality is my policy. Has to be with what I do. I'll look forward to talking."
"Thanks, Andee. See you tomorrow."
I punch the phone button on the console and laugh. "Instinct? You better believe it!"
So much for vacationing.