Vintner
by
Graham Godfrey

 

My inheritance – from a father of coldness and complete indifference to anything other than business: the largest red wine vintners in Europe. Here I am in New York; set up in a penthouse office suite, about to conquer the US market. Father has instilled in me the course for my existence.

‘Business is your life blood.’
‘Discipline, order and timing.’
‘Never be afraid.’

Fear has never been in my vocabulary. No ghosts or demons as a child. Never without or wanting. Father taught me well. ‘Fear Nothing’ was the family motto. Good and evil were always dismissed as merely the threats of those wishing to usurp our power to feed their own fears.

So I have arrived as the head of the most powerful red wine vintners in the world. I have no emotions. I am ice. Decisions based solely on pure fact.

So why does my brain feel like a computer that has just been attacked by a virus?

Mine to savour, mine to taste: Minsky’s Hotel, the whole of the top floor. What time was that call? 4.10am. For the first time I had not hit the call record button. Maybe her draining me so many times last night had sparked my body so much my brain had disengaged.

She left around three. No, it was 03.05 hours. I never forget a detail.

Doubt! A new experience.

That call. Must remember the exact words…

‘Mr. Steelman. This is your wake up call. Have a very bad day. A really bloody bad day.’

I’m sure I didn’t ask for a wake up call. Some idiot enjoying their limey joke. Should have been ‘Have a nice day’

I am in control. Must remember that when I am negotiating. Always hit with the unexpected. Now just deal with the facts, the obvious. It’s a freaked out jokey junky enjoying their power trip. O.K. Dismissed. Out of my mind.

Raised in a stiff upper lip, do things by numbers household, never leave anything to chance. Always in order.

1. Out of bed.
2. Fold pyjamas. Place on pillow.
3. Bathroom
3.1 Relieve bowels on time. As always, 06.00 hours.

Never looked down there before. Why now?

Contents, colour of a red blooded vintage Vilnay Burgundy wine.

O.K. Analyse the facts. Must have been the meal last night. Get secretary to check menu. An echo of that wake up call repeats in my mind.

3.2 Shower.

Rust red water stains my skin. I scrub hard to remove. Blood comes to the surface. Must ensure I speak to concierge to check plumbing.

3.3 Clean teeth.

Damn. Gums bleeding. First time in my life. O.K. You’re in control, remember?

Secretary to arrange dental appointment.

3.4 Shave.

Always wet with cutthroat razor. Father instilled in me that this was the only way to get under the skin and challenge the hair to withdraw.

Hell! Inch long cut. Pouring blood. Never happened in twenty years of shaving.

‘Have a bad day. A really bloody bad day.’

It’s only coincidence. No wait. I don’t believe in coincidence. That is fear-related. Yet for the first time in my life I can hear my heart beating rapidly, the blood tearing through my veins.

Items 4,5 and 6, and I’m razor-sharp dressed, breakfasted, briefcase meticulously arranged and departing for the office. Doorman hailing taxi. Damn! Forgot to mention shower to concierge. This is a new experience, becoming flustered, excited with adrenalin rush. Go back to desk. O.K. now reported - back in control.

Bellboy ushers me back into the spinning revolving door. Steadying myself me finger is trapped in the edge of the door leaving a blood red trail around the glass.

‘Have a bad day. A bloody bad day.’

Facts. Too fast into door, momentary loss of balance, stabilised myself with my hand. Result: crushed finger. Facts, not emotion.

Usual New York taxi banter. Normally I just switch off and concentrate on contract facts and figures. Stretching out, my hand rests in a warm damp sticky patch on the seat.

‘Hey Mac. You mind sitting on the other side? Some crazy broad just leaped out screaming she’d been stabbed by a stalker. Letting blood like a ruptured leech, she was.’

Out fast. Large bill.

‘Keep the change.’

Did he say it or was that an echo in my mind?

‘Have a bad day. A really bloody bad day.’

Hit my 10th Avenue office. I AM back in control. No, wait. I’m in charge. Never lost control in my life. Ice cold.

Buzz secretary. ‘My office. Tea in five minutes. Post ready? No phone calls.’

Why did I just say no calls?

Heartrate bounding. Panic? is this what I am feeling? Not in my vocabulary.

Concentrate. First letter. Pick up knife. Slice between its milky glued lips. A damn circular: “ Save a Life: Give Blood”

‘Your tea, Sir.'

‘Thanks Samantha.’

Hits the back of my throat. I retch. Hot blood.

No! No! Remain cool, lean back. Close my eyes, relax.

Samantha, touching caressing, now nuzzling my neck reminds me it has always been her voice, as she whispers between two shearing punctures of pain, ‘My Vintner.’

Now my red wine flows to eternal darkness.

And fear? It’s delicious!

‘Have a bad day. A really bad day.’

© Graham Godfrey 2008

 

 

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