FAIR, NOT FAIR by Janet Cipolli

For their 25th wedding anniversary, Beth and Walter Chester decided to drive cross-country from their hometown in Massachusetts to Los Angeles, CA. Walt had always wanted to visit the West Coast and Beth had always wanted to go to Disneyland but both were afraid of airplanes. This is the one thing they agreed upon—everything else was up for grabs.
     You see, Walter is a stubborn man, always has been. In fact, on their wedding day he decided to stop off for a quick beer with his best man before heading over to the Church. His best man didn't think it was a good idea and protested until finally giving up. That's what most people do around Walter—he runs you down until it's easier to just give up.
     This car trip was proving to be no exception.
     Beth, the sensible half of this duo, made sure the couple had every map of every state they would be passing through and had the GPS navigation system checked and double-checked by their friendly mechanic. So, after three days on the road, why were they still in Pennsylvania? You got it. Walter was being Walter.
     “There’s a truck stop Walt, pull over.”
     Passing the truck stop, “Truckers…all they know is where the best food is and we just ate.”
     “Maybe they can help us with the GPS? They must have one in their trucks, they travel all over creation.”
     “Don’t need the GPS. That’s what got us lost in the first place.”
     “No it’s not.” Beth reaches into the back seat and grabs a pile of maps. “You haven’t looked at one of these since we left. That’s what got us lost!”
     “Don’t need to. I know how to drive west. Besides, as the driver it is my sole responsibility to get us to our destination.”
     “Well, that’s not fair. I do have a brain you know.”
     “Is too fair and I didn’t say that you don’t have a brain. You just need to use it for things other than nagging me.”
     “Nagging you? We’ve traveled less than 400 miles in three days! At this rate we’ll get to California just in time to see Justin Bieber sworn in as Governor.”
     “Ha ha. Funny lady. Pour me another cup of coffee will you sweetie?”
     “You’re unbelievable,” shaking her head. “I’m getting really frustrated with you. I think I should take the wheel for awhile—pull over.”
     “I’m the man, I drive--you pour.”
     “This is not fair!!”
     Walter points to the right side of the road, “See that sign?”
     Beth follows her husband’s finger to a huge sign that reads FAIR.
     “Enough said.” Walter smirks.
     “Oh, yeah?” holding up her finger, “See this sign?”
     The domestic bantering continued for the next 2-1/2 weeks until they finally saw the words “Welcome to Kentucky”. Beth and Walter Chester will always remember their 25th anniversary as the year they both got over their fear of flying.
     “Pass me the peanuts sweetie…”

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Copyright 2010 by Janet Cipolli. All Rights Reserved.

HAUNTING MANORVILLE by Janet Cipolli

     “I don’t believe in ghosts."
     “It doesn’t matter what you believe or don’t believe,” countered Wilhelmina, “what matters is three days ago I inventoried 250 bottles of Sauvignon Blanc and now there’s only 226.”
     Just seconds away from Halloween, Wilhelmina and her older sister Ruth tiptoed through the stone corridor of The Manorville Winery, each of them holding a flashlight. Wilhelmina led the midnight convoy as her sister followed too close at her heels.
     “Will you back off?”
     “I’m sorry,” stepping on the back of Willy’s shoe for the twelfth time. “I can’t see with you in the way.”
     The pair traveled along the winding corridor until they reached the massive oak doors of the underground wine cellar.
     “I hope you brought the key” said Ruth to her sister.
     Willy turned holding the brass key in her hand. It had been at the very top of her to-do-list that day.

Henri and Louis Gasteau were brothers and proprietors of The Manorville Winery, a family-owned business since the early 1950’s. Their father had moved the Gasteau family from Bordeaux, France to California after World War II. He purchased 500 acres of land and began the vineyard, which steadfastly grew to be one of Napa Valley’s finest winemaking establishments.
     From the first day that the brothers took over operation of the business, they disagreed about everything—from grape variety to product cost. Unlike Louis, who was a penny-pincher, Henri enjoyed the good life—sparing no expense when it came to cars, women and promoting his wine. He would organize and host extravagant wine-tasting parties on the weekends, offering caviar and truffle-laced delicacies prepared by chefs he had flown in from Provence.
     Louis Gasteau, on the other hand, drove a pickup truck to work each day and carried his lunch in a brown bag. Always looking to cut operating costs, he would argue constantly with Henri about money.
     “We need to charge people to taste our wine—$75 for brunch and the wine sampling,” Louis would adamantly argue.
     Henri would throw up his hands, “You are a fool! People want to come and taste life! Not just food and wine. They want to be pampered, they want to be courted—just like a lover—and then they will buy whatever you put in front of them.”
     “You’re an idiot! By the time we finish filling them with your fancy hors d’oeuvres and our Gold Label wines they would have to buy the entire vineyard for us to just break even!”
     Each morning the same argument and every afternoon the brothers would retire to separate corners of the winery. Henri, in a cloud of his favorite cologne, would stroll off to the Wine Shop to offer visitors free glasses of sparkling wine and chocolate-covered strawberries while Louis stomped down to the wine cellar where he would obsess over the declining inventory.
     In mid-November of 2006, the Manorville staff was informed of the sudden and unexpected passing of Henri Gasteau. Louis didn’t offer any details of his brother’s untimely death but suggested that staffers make an extra effort to promote sales of Henri’s favorite Gold Label Sauvignon Blanc in lieu of any flowers or sympathy cards.
     “It would make Henri very happy,” Louis said.
     How odd, Wilhelmina thought, Henri hated Sauvignon Blanc. As the staff dispersed, she walked over to her boss.
     “I’m very sorry Louis.” offering her condolence, “Didn’t you mean the Cabernet Sauvignon? That was Henri’s personal favorite, wasn’t it?”
     Louis stared at her and for a split second Willy thought she saw anger flash across his eyes.
     “No, it wasn’t.” His voice retained its sternness as his eyes relaxed. “I’m putting you in charge of the wine cellar stock. It will be your job to monitor our inventory and keep me abreast of the count on a twice-weekly basis.”
     With that he went back into his office and closed the door quietly in her face.

Wilhelmina turned the key and pushed open the heavy door. Ruth’s hands were on Willy’s back as they entered the heart of the winery.
     “You really need to get a grip—turn on the light will you? Please?”
     Ruth scuttled along the wall until she found the light switch. The cellar lit up but not too brightly. There were filigree sconces on the walls fitted with low-watt bulbs from Wal-Mart.
     “Oh my, what an impressive painting!” Ruth said admiringly.
     Wilhelmina turned. “The Gasteau brothers. Henri had it commissioned by some French artist. Louis always hated it until an appraiser told him that it was worth a small fortune. Now it’s welded to the wall. Come on,” Willy waved for Ruth to follow, “and watch your step. There’s an open well up here with a 40-foot-drop.”
     “Oh great!”
     “Don’t worry, it’s covered with a plank—just be careful.”
     They walked passed the barrels and to the left, down the narrow path to the storage racks. They got about twenty feet when Willy stopped, holding her arm out to shield Ruth.
     “What?” Ruth couldn’t hold back her giggle, “Flying grapes?”
     “Don’t you smell it?”
     Ruth walked around to stand beside her and sniffed the air.
     “It smells like a wine cellar,” she shrugged.
     “It smells like Sauvignon Blanc!” Willy darted around looking between the aisles of barrels for a leak or broken bottle—anything that would explain the strong aroma that shouldn’t be there.
     “I’m getting tired Willy. I'm not having fun anymore," Ruth appropriately whined.
     Wilhelmina spun around pointing her index finger.
     “You promised to come down here and help me count these bottles! If I can’t explain why twenty-four bottles of Manorville’s finest wine have disappeared…”
     “Alright already! Geez, it’s not like you were ever good at Math—you probably just miscounted, Sherlock.” Ruth looked around, “Where are they?”
     She followed Willy another twenty feet to a row of racks labeled Manorville Gold Label Sauvignon Blanc 2006. Ruth perused the racks—anxious to be done and back home in her warm, cozy bed.
     “So, how do we do this?”
     “I’ll start here with this rack and you go down that end,” Wilhelmina ordered, pulling a small notebook and pencil from her jacket pocket, “we’ll meet at the middle rack and add it all together.”
     About ten minutes later, Ruth announced, “112.”
     Willy scratched at her notebook then shot a look of horror at her sister.
     “What?” demanded Ruth, her nerves wearing thin by now.
     “I counted 104 and with the six in the middle,” her eyes grew wider as she spoke, “now there’s only 222!”
     “Well that can’t be.”
     “Well, it be!” Wilhelmina was beside herself. “Count them again.”
     Ruth and Willy counted the Gold Label Sauvignon Blanc ten more times—and got ten different totals.
     “221 bottles.”
     “218 bottles.”
     “216 bottles.”
     “211 bottles.”
     After the tenth count, the two sisters hurriedly vacated the wine cellar, trying not to trip over each other.

Halloween morning, as the staff gathered in Louis’ office to discuss that afternoon’s wine-tasting party, Wilhelmina sat nervously awaiting her boss’s arrival. Since it had been impossible for her to sleep, she had spent the last several hours rehearsing what she would say to him.
     “Good morning folks,” Louis smiled as he entered and walked to his big oak desk, “is everyone ready for today’s event?”
     Nods and affirmations abounded throughout the room. Louis looked very pleased as he sat down. Wilhelmina began to shake as she raised her hand.
     “Uh, Louis? Can I have a word with you—out there?” pointing to the outer hallway.
     “Why?” Louis asked.
     Willy wrung her hands together as her carefully rehearsed story flew out the window.
     “It appears we have a slight problem…”

Louis stormed into the wine cellar, whacking the light switch on his way to the storage racks. When he reached the Gold Label Sauvignon Blanc his jaw dropped. It didn’t take long to count.
     “60 bottles??"
     Before he could even begin to process, he was startled by a loud crashing sound at the other end of the cellar.
     “What the…?”
     He briskly walked towards the direction of the noise but found nothing. As he started back—BANG! He spun around again, this time witnessing the heavily framed painting of he and Henri go crashing to the floor. As he suspiciously scanned the area, an all-too-familiar scent enveloped him. Could it be?
     “Henri, is that you?” He slowly walked up and down the aisles of barrels. “You have come back to ruin me?” Louis asked sarcastically. “You are as stupid dead as you were alive!”
     Louis watched and listened as he crept back towards his wine bottles. Turning the corner, he gasped in disbelief. The all-but-empty rack held just three remaining bottles. He threw his arms up to form a cross.
     “You’re not welcome here anymore! Now get out!” Louis shouted.
     As if on cue, the low-watt bulbs from Wal-Mart flew out of their sconces, hitting him in the head--one by one. He probably would have left skid marks if he could only have seen where he was going. Oops! Who removed the covering to the well?
     As the guests began to arrive, Henri emptied the last remaining bottle of his brother's wine--and poured a glass of his favorite Cabernet.
     A la bonne vie ! he toasted. To the good life!

WISHING EVERYONE A SAFE AND HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

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Copyright 2010 by Janet Cipolli. All Rights Reserved.