Wild Monsters Dance About

---

Book excerpt

Toasting Lester 

When the invitation arrived, we were honored and a little baffled. The formal card read:

Mrs. Brandini invites you for an intimate evening, to drink Reserve and remember. 

Then we saw the date. Could it really be ten years later? The dinner would be on the anniversary of her husband’s abandonment all those years before. My wife and I were most intrigued to be invited. I loved the old lady of course, but I had hated Lester Brandini. Regardless, her Reserve was legendary. My wife and I would definitely attend.

In a community of winery owners and ranchers known for being, well, just plain nice, Lester had been the Rasputin of the Wine Growers Association. Meetings and Harvest Festivals had always ended in shouts (and even one fist fight), back when Lester was in our lives. Everyone secretly cheered when he left. Except for Mrs. Brandini, presumably.

It surprised no one that the monster would leave such a lovely lady as Agnes “Aggie” Brandini. Awful in public, we all suspected worse abuses by Lester behind their closed doors. The whispers from the tasting rooms said Lester fled to Spain, but left her plenty in the divorce. She never offered any details. Aggie never confirmed nor denied any rumors, so after a while we all stopped asking. The wine community had seen her thrive after that. Now, ten years later, she had us all to dinner, with lots of wine, and a big slice of memory pie.

Lit by candles, the main tasting room sparkled. The dinner was set up family style, and we all passed around the dishes until our plates were much too full.  The wine and gourmet treats filled our noses and then our bellies. Customary when wine makers get together, we all brought several bottles from our own stock, and Aggie had put out seven bottles of her special Reserve. Made by her personally, only fifty cases a year, a Reserve bottle retailed for $275 a bottle. They began to empty quickly.

Our plates clean, the stories flew around the elegant affair. “…Remember the costume party, Harvest Fest in, what was it, ‘97, or ‘98?” Her husband reminded her it was ‘98. She continued, “Right! Lester came in that kilt with those obnoxious bagpipes!”

My wife jumped in, “I remember he wasn’t wearing underwear.”

“Exactly! He mooned everyone. Oh my God, so gross.” We all laughed.

Mrs. Brandini laughed most of all. “He was a bastard, all right. But he was my bastard. To Lester!”

The glasses raised again, the wine continued to loosen the mood. James, who ran Cutlass Wines, finally asked what we had all been wondering for years. “Aggie, did the bastard ever turn up? Any contact after he left?”

The mood changed, the question laying an immediate hush over us, all eyes on the great lady. But Aggie didn’t answer, instead she laughed and turned the conversation. “I think about the simplicity of it all. Grapes, sweetness, sourness. I mean there’s a hell of a lot of chemistry, and PH testing, and hard science we must know. Of course, we are all adroit at what we do; we can talk about micro-climates, and loamy soil, and grades and elevations, or how much rain we didn’t get last year….”

We all gave a commiserate groan. Aggie continued, “…But it really comes down to grapes going bad and the delightful pursuit of lining up everything so it happens in just the right order, at just the right time.” She lifted her glass, “to make this amazing yummy juice we drink. We use words in our tasting room description lists like ‘elements of raspberry, coffee, or dark chocolate.’” She laughed again. “No one puts down what we really grow it in; no one lists cow shit. None of us tries to work ‘nitrate-rich fertilizer’ into our elegantly worded tasting sheets. But you can’t grow grapes without it, my friends. What it grows in matters. The things in the dirt, they change the character of the fruit ever so slightly. The roots that dig deep and share space with so many unknowable things…”

She slurred her words a bit as she trailed off, and I wondered if a joke would be appropriate to swing the conversation back into lighter subjects. But the grand lady’s face lightened as she stood. “Anyway, to Lester!” She toasted again, and everybody drank. “And no, I haven’t forgotten your question, James. I did confront him. And it wasn’t in Spain. We had a final scene of sorts. But what was said and done will never be repeated. It’s been ten years, my friends. The announcement I’ve been waiting to make is that I’m discontinuing my Reserve line. It’s time to move on.”

Jenny from Aspora Wines nearly choked. “But Aggie, that line is your premium seller. It’s too damned good to…”

“I know, I know. A lot of hard work goes into it. And I make a lot of money from it. I’ve been handcrafting this wine myself all these years. I’m done. This is the time to end it.”

“Can I buy the secret?”  I quipped, “Everyone’s dying to know your tricks.”

“No tricks. It’s all about where it’s grown, my secret little patch of the property. Special growing technique, and very special soil components. It’s been ten years since my dragon of a husband left us. I say good riddance. I’ve still got some living to do. I just wanted you all to be here to share in my decision. This is the end of my Reserve, so drink up!” She lowered herself and I noticed one of the last Reserve bottles landed in front of me.

I grabbed the bottle when a wild idea occurred. Left us, she had said. Not left her, but left us, a phrase one might use if someone had passed away. Special soil components, almost as if Lester was… I shot a glance to Aggie across the long table. She saw my look of incredulity. She smiled and shrugged, grabbed her glass and took a long swallow. The wry smile neither confirmed nor denied my suspicion.

I poured the last of the bottle into my own glass, and that of my wife’s. The label read Woman Scorned Reserve. I was enthralled that the wine was so balanced, so complex, so damned good; especially if the ground beneath it really contained what I suspected. Sour grapes, indeed. I remembered how Lester would get drunk and shout at this great lady, how we all feared the worst when they were alone. Then how thrilled we were when she launched her Reserve only a few years after he’d left. If he’d really left at all, of course. Whatever had been said between them, Aggie had gotten the final word.

But I was drunk, and it was a silly Hollywood-style notion anyway. I looked around and saw strange smiles on everyone’s lips. If anyone else suspected what I did, no one seemed to care too much. I laughed, thinking of that small patch of secret earth that grew these marvelous grapes.

I raised my glass, “To Lester!” 

It’s The Now 

Maya ran her fingers across the temporary tattoo on her wrist. “Will the real one hurt?”

Nicole brushed back her long blue hair. “Oh my God, you are such a baby. Okay, yeah, a little. Especially if you wanted to put it somewhere weird.”

“Yeah, like on your…” Jackson began, but was cut off.

“Stop, Jacks, don’t be gross.” Nicole continued, “No, I wouldn’t advise getting it anywhere uncomfortable. Besides, you need to touch it anytime you want. Jacks, don’t go there.”

Jackson let out his boy-like giggle, confirming his constantly dirty mind.

Maya squirmed in the padded restaurant booth. “I mean, I suppose I like the idea. But it’s so permanent. Sure, there’s surgery that can reverse it, but it’s basically forever. This is a big decision, guys. It just freaks me out.”

Caleb jumped into the conversation, “Everything freaks you out, Maya. I mean, don’t you still use a laptop from the last century? You are so behind all the tech.” he started talking in that weird voice he thought sounded like a typical old person, “Back in my day, we used mouse pads and flip phones on the way to the schoolhouse.”

“Yeah, walked five miles, in the snow,” Jackson added, They both laughed at Maya.

Caleb finished, “Get with the times, Maya.” Then he tuned out.

Maya pointed to Caleb’s tattoo. “You guys don’t even have the latest ones. You’ve got the older kind, and those are totally different.”

Jackson said, “No they’re not, it’s exactly the same. Look.” He showed his flame tattoo, licking down his arm with the yin/yang symbol at the wrist. “It’s the same technique, and this one’s like eight months old.” He pulled up his shirt to reveal the frowny face with the mysterious Fu Manchu mustache and beard, “and this one’s almost two years old. But they still use the same technology….”

They all waited for Jackson to finish his point, but he just sat there.

“Holy crap! Jackson!” Maya shouted.

Jackson’s eyes looked far away, until Maya snapped her fingers in front of his face. “See, you just proved my point. Where were you just now?”

“Sorry, it was just an ad for the new sushi place downtown.”

“An ad for a restaurant just popped into your mind, even though you didn’t even touch the Tat App? That just proves it; they’re not as safe as they claim.” Maya crossed her arms to punctuate her well-served point.

“Firstly, they don’t even call them that anymore.” Jackson’s disdain dripped. “They haven’t for like six months, and secondly, the new App Tats are totally safe. Plus, you only have to get one now. It’s not like the three individual ones I have. The new ones are every app in one place. Just press it and the menu is in your head.”

Maya continued her objection. “What if I’m driving? Isn’t it distracting?”

“They used to be.” Nicole explained calmly, “The new rules say you can’t drive for fourteen days after you get it, then you take the app distraction test. After that you’re hooked in, like all of us.”

“I don’t like the idea of something foreign being inside my head,” said Maya. “I know, like everyone has one, but it just seems creepy. The Internet was supposed be something we could use on a device. It’s creepy - the idea of it streaming in my head.”

Nicole said, “You are so dramatic. We are the device now, silly. People are the hub. Doesn’t your dad have one? Nearly everyone I know does. I read that it might even be a law soon. How are you keeping in touch with your friends and family right now? Answer? You aren’t, Maya.”

Maya groaned. “First of all, my dad got one a year after the divorce, the same month he got an earring. So that doesn’t really count. Plus, wait… Caleb. Caleb, what are you doing?”

“What?” Caleb’s eyes came back into focus. “I was listening to you. Jackson was just showing you his App Tat.”

“That was like five minutes ago. Were you watching that stupid show again? Pay attention, please.”

Caleb casually brushed his finger over his cross shaped tattoo app, annoyed. “I’m on Season Five with my show, but honestly, just now, I was mind-texting my mom back. Jesus, Maya, just do it already. Everyone’s connected. You’re the last person I know with no mind apps of any kind. And honestly, that’s kind of why we don’t hang out with you anymore. It takes forever just to talk, and talk and talk about everything. I mean, I know what these guys are doing all the time, before I even see them. Seriously Maya, it’s exhausting being with you sometimes.”

Jackson gave Caleb a high five for his good points. “We all know your appointment is for tomorrow morning anyway, so why are we even talking about this?”

Maya looked at her friends, trying to figure out another argument. But they were right. Even her mom had one of the new apps; her tattoo app was a heart with Maya’s name on it. She didn’t want to tell them that, because it would make her argument weaker. Nearly everyone was connected now. If you wanted to send a message, you just did it in your mind. If you wanted to send that inspiring picture with the great quote, you just thought it, and whoosh, it was sent from one mind to another.

Caleb had already disengaged and was probably back watching whatever episode he was on in Season Five. Jackson was wearing his cool, practiced smile, looking right at her. Maya could tell that he was busy doing something else in his mind; probably on Mindbook, most likely stalking some high school girl.

“So, Maya. No more arguments?” Nicole asked, fully focused on her friend.

“Well, thanks for paying attention while I contemplate the most important decision of my life,” said Maya with a smile.