The external actions of a person's life proceed from the inward man. When you live in your old self, you have a strong will and many desires, with ups and downs of all sorts.
JEANNE GUYON
I GUN THE Porsche around the final curves in the road before turning off on the winding drive that leads to Azul. As I pull into a parking space, I reach for the radio and turn off the talk of KGO that filled the void in the car, and my mind, as I drove.
I called Bill last night and set this appointment, making sure it was set for a time Jason wouldn't be at the winery. All I revealed to Bill was that I had news after speaking with Kelly Whitmore's attorney.
Sorry, Bill, the news isn't good.
I could have delivered the news over the phone, but a personal visit makes me look good. Facts are facts.
I reach for my briefcase, get out of the car, and set the alarm. I take a deep breath to clear my mind. Don't overthink this, Andee. It's business. That's all. If Bill had been wiser in his business dealings, this wouldn't be happening. You're just delivering news of his consequences.
Anyway, I remind myself, I don't know what Brigitte will do with the demand note. Maybe she'll leave well enough alone. Maybe she's just bailing out a family friend. Yeah, right.
As I walk toward the winery offices, I run through the plan one more time. There's just one risk: Brigitte. Can I trust her? No. But I have some collateral—she doesn't want her involvement known at this point either.
We'll see . . .
In any event, I don't work for Azul. I took nothing from them in return for my services. Just listened to Bill and, as far as he's concerned, made a helpful phone call to check out the situation.
I pull open the heavy oak door of the winery tasting room, take an immediate left, and follow a hallway that opens into the winery offices. Bill stands at a coffeepot in the reception area, pouring himself a cup of coffee.
"Andee, good to see you." He sets his cup down and reaches to shake my hand. "May I offer you a cup?"
I look at the weak brew and shake my head. "No, thanks." Has he spoken to Jason in the last thirty-six hours? Does he know . . . ? I put the thought out of my mind.
"Well, then, follow me and we'll have a seat in my office."
"Great."
We round a corner and enter Bill's office, where he motions me to a brown distressed-leather chair. He sits on the matching sofa. In front of the corner arrangement is a large cowhide-covered ottoman scattered with wine magazines. The office's decor is what I expected: warm, comfortable, relaxed. Just like Bill. Just like Jason.
I scoot forward in the large chair. Don't get comfortable, Andee. This isn't a social call. "Well, Bill, I'm afraid I have some potentially bad news."
"I was afraid of that." He leans forward, elbows on his knees.
"I spoke with the Whitmore's attorney, as I told you on the phone, and he told me that sometime within the last week, Kelly sold your note to an anonymous investor who offered her substantially more than the value of the note."
He takes in the information, nods. "So what does that mean for Azul?"
"I don't know for sure. That's why I said it's potentially bad news. It could mean that whoever bought the note will demand payment immediately. If you can't pay, then they will ultimately force Azul into bankruptcy."
He shakes his head.
"Or maybe whoever purchased the note just wants to protect you—help you out. If Kelly made it known that she was holding such a note, then it's possible someone you know stepped forward on your behalf and wants to remain anonymous."
"Can't think who'd do something like that. But I suppose it's possible . . ."
"Time will tell."
"That it will." He leans back. He seems relaxed considering the information he's just heard. "It's all in God's hands."
God's hands? Actually, it's in Brigitte's hands. I just nod. "Sorry I couldn't be more help, Bill."
"Andee, you did what you could and I appreciate it."
I stand to leave, making the excuse that I have another meeting to get to.
Bill stands and shakes my hand again. "Thanks again, Andee. Hope to see you soon."
Not likely.
After the meeting with Bill, I drive back to the city and go straight to the studio, where I tape several radio segments. From the studio, I head over to Silicon Valley for a meeting. After that meeting, I return calls, including one to a cable producer interested in producing the Andee Bell Show. Once back at my office, I make a long list of things that need my attention in the next few weeks: Web site revamp, manuscript edits, book tour, promotional events, media requests. The list goes on and on.
I prioritize and determine what I need to do myself, and what I can pass off to Cassidy. I look at the list again and add: hire a publicist and call real estate broker.
It's time I build my staff and invest in an office building.
I have a busy year ahead of me.
It has to be.
I open my e-mail. Cass has already gone through the andee@andeebell.com folder and responded to what she could. The remainder I'll deal with. Then I open my personal e-mail folder and see an e-mail from Jason.
"Well, I might as well get this over with." Sam, who's curled himself around my desk lamp, looks at me and hisses.
I open Jason's e-mail and read:
Dear Andee,
I'm concerned about you. I understand if you need some space. Know that I love you and I'm here for you when you're ready.
Jason
I don't let myself think or feel. I just act.
Dear Jason,
My intent isn't to hurt you, but I told you in the beginning that I don't have time for personal relationships and I'm not being fair to either of us. I need to remain focused on my goals and give full attention to my business endeavors.
I'm sorry. I wish you well . . .
Andee
Jason deserves more than that. But that's all I can give him.
"He'll get over it," I say to Sam. "And so will you."
With that done, I dive into work. I work through the afternoon and into the evening. I suffocate any thought or feeling that surfaces with work.
I won't let up.
I can't let up.