Corked by Cabernet Page 3

  TO CLARIFY BUTTER

  In a heavy saucepan melt butter over low heat. Remove pan from heat and let butter stand 3 minutes. Skim froth and strain butter through a sieve lined with a double thickness of rinsed and squeezed cheesecloth into a bowl, leaving milky solids in bottom of pan. Pour clarified butter into a jar or crock and chill, covered. Butter keeps, covered and chilled, indefinitely. When clarified, butter loses about ¼ its original volume.

  When ready to cook pork, drain marinade and add ¼ cup red wine into a small saucepan and boil over moderate heat, stirring occasionally, until reduced to about ½ cup, about 5 minutes. Pour glaze through a fine sieve into a small bowl, discarding thyme, and reserve. In another small bowl stir together 2 tbsp reserved glaze and 2 tbsp clarified butter.

  In a saucepan of boiling salted water, blanch onions 3 minutes. Drain onions and peel.

  Heat a flameproof roasting pan, 15 by 10 by 2 inches, in oven 10 minutes at 350°. In the heated pan, toss onions with remaining tbsp clarified butter, and salt and pepper to taste and roast in upper third of oven, stirring occasionally, about 15 minutes. Take onions out.

  While onions are roasting, prepare pork loin. Brush pork loin with about ⅓ glaze-butter mixture.

  Roast pork loin for 15 minutes at 350°. Add grapes and onions to the roasting pan. Arrange pork loin over onions and grapes, and roast 15 minutes. Turn pork loin over and baste with about half of remaining glaze-butter mixture. Roast pork loin, basting with remaining glaze-butter mixture, 10 minutes more.

  Transfer to a platter. Arrange grapes and onions around pork loin.

  To pan, add reserved glaze and on stovetop boil over high heat 5 minutes, or until thickened and reduced to about ½ cup. Season sauce with salt and pepper and drizzle over pork loin.

  Two

  ONE week later, Nikki thought she’d turned into Linda Blair from The Exorcist.

  Surely her head was doing three-sixties at two hundred miles an hour and she felt like puking up anything she tried to eat. This all started after she and Simon had had it out earlier over the fact that she’d placed calla lilies and tuberose in each guest’s room.

  “No, no, no. We talked about this, Snow White, and I told you that I wanted freesia and gardenias.” He did that hand-on-hip-jutted-out thing he does so well.

  Simon buzzed around her like one of those giant flies that never stopped long enough to be swatted (and he was grating on her nerves in the same manner) while she placed candles in all the votives inside the front lobby of the hotel. Everything about the hotel had a Tuscan feel to it, from the butter and dusky peach colors to the oversized chairs and sofas in gold and rust, to the pavers on the floor and the arches leading in and out to the gardens, café, spa, and restaurant. Plus there were the candles—lots and lots of candles, which Nikki typically found beautiful, especially in the evening when they were lit. But right now with Simon the fly on speed, rambling on, and several more details to contend with, she did not find the bazillion candles quite so charming.

  She stopped long enough to give him a piece of her mind. “I’m not sure that you’re super clear on this, but here’s the thing. Have you ever done gardenias in an arrangement?” He didn’t respond. “I didn’t think so, because guess what? That is exactly what the florist asked me. After she chewed me out because apparently someone sent back the rose arrangements we ordered for the café yesterday.” Now it was her turn to do the hand-on-hip thing.

  He frowned. “I had to. The roses didn’t smell strong enough. They’re roses, and I’m sorry but when you walk into a room with a couple dozen roses, I would think that their scent would be permeating the air so strong that bees would be buzzing around.”

  “More like flies. A big one,” she muttered.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. Now, come on, drama queen. You said that you’d work with me on this and gardenias brown at human touch. The only way we can do them is in a potted plant.”

  “Oh puhleeze. Isn’t that what a florist does? Make arrangements? Gardenia or not? I would think an expert could have handled it.” Nikki growled at Simon’s words. “Oh no, no you don’t. Don’t go all she-cat on me.”

  She shook a finger at him. “You know, you told Marco, your brother, and me that you’d support me with this thing you dumped into my lap. Instead, you’ve given me nothing but grief by sending back the flowers, complaining about the menus, and demanding a rush shipment on that essential oil from Maui. An expense, by the way, your brother is going to probably shoot you for.” She grabbed Simon’s shoulders. “I need you to stop the nonsense.”

  “I’m sorry,” Simon whined.

  “Simon!” One of the housekeepers walked past with a stack of towels in her arms and turned at Nikki’s raised voice. “You have no idea how hard this has been, do you?”

  “Yes I do. I’m working, too.” He rolled his eyes while wiggling his shoulders up and down, like a seesaw. A sure sign he was getting nervous with this conversation and she was gaining the upper hand.

  “Here’s the deal. I need you to stop bitching and do what I tell you if you want your guru and his pals to be happy. Or else, I’m walking and this will all be on your shoulders.”

  “Well, okay, fine. Whatever you want.” He stormed off with a wave of his hand in the air and a dramatic sigh, as if she were the difficult one.

  An hour later, he sidled up to her with a hot carne asada burrito from Roberto’s in town. “Your favorite,” he said with a chagrin smile crossing his face.

  “Peace offering or ass kiss?”

  “A little of both. I’m not ashamed to admit that maybe I could be a little more grateful.”

  She took the burrito. “I accept. Call the florist and apologize.”

  “I brought you a Diet Coke, too. Could you call them? You’re so good with people.”

  “Call the florist,” Nikki ordered.

  He jutted out his lower lip. “Okay.”

  She tried to eat the burrito, which was usually her absolute favorite, but there was no way. Her stomach was tied up in knots because she knew guests would be arriving in less than an hour and the numerous problems hadn’t ceased. The wrong wine had been pulled from the warehouse for the guests’ arrival. The towel delivery service claimed the spa wasn’t scheduled for that day. And instead of oyster mushrooms being delivered from their distributor, shiitakes had arrived and the chef was having a fit over being stuck with the apparently unsuitable mushrooms.

  Derek popped in to check on things. He’d been wrapping up the business with the unhappy clients and needed to get his things packed to leave that evening. He put his arms around her waist. “How’s it going?”

  She frowned. “A little bit stressful, but I’m handling it.”

  “You always do.” He looked around. No one was in the lobby, so he kissed her. Everyone who worked at Malveaux knew they were an item, but they still needed to keep things professional while at work. Not always easy. “You look beautiful today. I’m sorry that I won’t be here to help you out more.”

  After his kiss and compliment, she had no complaints. “You’re forgiven.”

  He kissed her again.

  They were interrupted by someone clearing their throat. Pulling away from each other, Nikki felt her cheeks blush. She immediately put on her best Vanna White smile and an “Oh yes, Napa Valley truly is heaven on earth attitude.”

  She wished she were still kissing Derek as a squatty middle-aged woman who looked like she’d sucked on a few lemons in her life stared at them. “I’m Rose Pearlman. My husband . . .” She turned around. “Rube! Ruben! Oh God. Where is he? I told him to leave the bags in the rental car and that someone would get them.” She gave Derek a once-over. “Do you think you could do that? Go see if my husband is out front with the bags. Or are you too busy with your girlfriend here?” She clucked her tongue and shook her head. “I wonder what your boss would say if he knew what you two were up to.”

  He smiled. “Yeah, I suppose that could be a problem. I’m
sorry about that, Mrs. Pearlman. I’ll go check on your husband.”

  “Thank you.”

  Nikki was holding back her laughter. If the lady only knew.

  She turned back toward Nikki with a narrowing of her eyes. “You do wash your sheets and towels with lavender essential oils, right? And they are organic? That’s what your website said.”

  “Yes we do. Absolutely,” Nikki replied.

  “Uh-huh, well, I called two days ago, and I requested that my husband and my sheets and towels be washed in rosewater. Ruben doesn’t care for lavender.”

  Nikki didn’t skip a beat. “I remember your request, Mrs. Pearlman.” In reality, she had no recollection of the woman’s call. “I’m certain you’ll be pleased to know that the staff has taken care of it.”

  “Wait a minute, I don’t mind lavender at all. I like all scents. Come on, Rosie,” a gray-haired gentleman with one honker of a nose and nice blue eyes—obviously the Mr. to the Mrs.—said as he smacked his wife on her rear.

  Derek came back inside with two suitcases in hand.

  “That’s not all my bags,” Mrs. Pearlman said.

  Derek nodded. “Yes, ma’am, I’m aware. I need to get a roller for the bags.”

  “Rose, quit giving these kids a hard time.”

  Kids? Nikki liked the sound of that. At thirty-seven, she hardly thought of herself as a kid any longer.

  Rose’s eyes bugged out. “Ruben. Go sit down. Weren’t you going to check out the place?”

  “I was waiting for you, dear. Look, they have appetizers set out already. This is wonderful. I tell you, when Alan Sansi puts something together, it’s always first class.”

  Nikki cringed. Alan Sansi had not put a damn thing together. She still had yet to meet the wonderful guru.

  Ruben walked over to the console where the appetizers were. Alyssa, who worked at Malveaux, walked in on cue with a tray of champagne flutes and handed one to Mr. Pearlman.

  He took a second one and came over to Mrs. Pearlman. “Drink this and don’t be such a pain. Can’t you see that these people are doing all they can to make this a nice stay? Jeesh, we are here for further enlightenment.”

  “I don’t need any more enlightenment other than a good glass of plum wine, some pickled herring, and All My Children. Did you know they don’t have TVs in the rooms? I’m going to miss my shows. And please, Rube, you know that I don’t drink champagne.” She shoved it back into his hand.

  Yep, that green puke was right at the bottom of Nikki’s esophagus, just like in The Exorcist. Nikki could feel her neck beginning to turn and her head pound. Not good. “Well, Mrs. Pearlman, we don’t have any plum wine, but I can have someone bring you a very nice glass of Chardonnay.” Get the lady tanked. Maybe she’d pass out. Nikki needed to get someone to redo her room. How to have sheets and towels laundered in rosewater and the room made up in, what, ten minutes?

  “No plum wine? That’s what I like. What kind of winery is this?”

  Derek placed a hand on the woman’s shoulder. She flinched and looked up at him as if this was the first time she actually saw him. Nikki could see the woman’s features soften. Yeah, sister. I know the feeling.

  “Ms. Sands is right, we do a wonderful Chardonnay here and it’ll be on the house. Why don’t you give it a try, and if you don’t like it, we’ll find something else that will suit you.”

  “Fine. I suppose that’ll have to do if that’s all you have. Chardonnay!” She threw her hands up in the air.

  “You two must be hungry. I know that you flew in all the way from New York. My guess is that the food on your flight left something to be desired,” Nikki said.

  “You’re not kidding,” Mr. Pearlman replied.

  “Why don’t you head on through those arches to our outdoor café and I’ll have lunch sent over on the house. Our chef is preparing some excellent specials for today. My personal favorite is the sautéed chicken breasts in a walnut cilantro cream sauce. It’s excellent with a bottle of our best Chardonnay.” Nikki glanced at Derek, who gave her a slight nod of approval.

  Mrs. Pearlman wrinkled up her nose. “I’d really like to get settled into our room first.” She twirled her tennis bracelet around her wrist.

  “We’ll take care of your bags and have you squared away in no time. In fact, since you’re the first guests to arrive, you’re receiving a complimentary couple’s massage treatment,” Derek jumped in.

  “Oh, I like the sound of that.” Mr. Pearlman smiled. “Come on, Rose, live a little. Let’s check out the eats, and the wine, and then a massage. I love this place already.”

  His wife sighed and stared at him for a few seconds before agreeing. “Fine. I suppose I could eat. And I could use a massage.”

  Mr. Pearlman looked back at Nikki and winked. His wife walked on ahead. “Food will get her every time,” he said in a near whisper.

  “Ruben!”

  “Coming, dear.”

  Nikki and Derek looked at each other. “Wow!” they said in unison and started laughing. “I hope she doesn’t tell the boss about us,” Nikki said.

  Derek pulled her to him again. “Let her. I hope the guy fires me.”

  “I better get cracking. She wants the linens washed in rosewater.”

  “Of course she does.” Derek glanced at his watch. “I hate to leave, but I need to head back over to my office. I expect Alan Sansi to arrive shortly. We have a meeting set up in an hour.”

  “You want me to bring him over to you?”

  “That’s okay. Simon and Marco have eagerly volunteered.”

  “Of course. They must be primping. I haven’t seen either of them in a while.”

  “I’m sure you’ll see them soon.” He kissed her cheek. “Better take care of queenie.”

  She watched him walk out of the lobby and sighed. Life was pretty good. Then she glanced down at her notes, full of unfinished business for the day. She picked up the phone and called Housekeeping, asking them to redo sheets and towels in room twenty-two. Marie from Housekeeping complained that the room was finished and ready for the new guests. “Just do it!” Nikki hated being demanding, but she had no time to explain. She slammed the phone down and started reading off her notes.

  “Breathe. Just breathe.”

  Nikki looked up from her papers to see a balding gentleman standing opposite her. A pleasant smile (that struck Nikki as a permanent feature of his face) and the kindest-looking, almost turquoise-colored eyes reminded Nikki of what Santa Claus might look like sans the hair and beard, and with fewer pounds. She blinked several times. The smile was still there. Was there a glow around this guy? Behind him stood an entourage of people, but she couldn’t take her focus off him. “Excuse me?” she finally mustered.

  He reached out a hand. “Alan Sansi, and you are Ms. Sands. Simon and Marco have told me wonderful things about you. It’s so nice to finally meet you. But you really must take some time to breathe.” He elongated the word, and then took a deep breath in himself for several beats and let it out. “Try it with me. No one or nothing is worth being stressed over. Life happens as it should. But you have to keep breathing for it to happen, and if you allow the stress to get to you—which is all a façade anyway, because there really is no stress—you will die. That is a fact. It is all in your hands and it is all your own creation.” He took another long breath. “See, four beats in, four held, and four on the exhale.”

  The luster wore off as Nikki realized she was in the presence of Mr. New Age shyster himself. “Mr. Sansi. Nice to meet you, too.”

  “Sansibaba.” Simon and Marco appeared from off the outside patio. Simon’s arms spread wide as if he were ready to take a curtain bow. He wore one of his designer T-shirts in his favorite color of lavender and a pair of yoga pants. Marco followed behind, always willing to let Simon be the center of attention. Marco was the opposite of Simon’s golden boy, blond image. He was dark, Italian, and the kind of man who was simply so gorgeous that it really should have been a crime. He also had more
fashion sense than the yogin next to him, dressed tastefully in a pair of black jeans and white button-down. Nikki had coined them “the boys of summer” one summer a couple years ago and that was now the only way she could think of them—two boys, having way too much fun for their own good. This Alan Sansi character was another one of their indulgences, as far as she was concerned.

  “Hello, Simon and Marco. You can call me Alan, remember?”

  Was Simon blushing? “You two have perfect timing,” Nikki said, wondering if the boys hadn’t been lurking around the corner.

  “Everything is already in perfect alignment. There is nothing out of balance,” Alan commented, folding his arms across his chest.

  Oh boy.

  “Of course you’re right.” Simon clapped his hands.

  “We’re all right. All right?”

  The group behind Alan Sansi started laughing almost on cue when he laughed.

  Was this a sitcom Nikki was watching? She cleared her throat. “I have everyone’s rooms set. If you would step forward or have a representative of the group give me the names, I can direct you to your rooms. I have an itinerary that I worked on with Hayden.”

  “Of course, I couldn’t do anything that I do without my Hayden.” He turned and motioned for a young woman in a light pink knit suit—very Chanel, very springy. Nikki wanted it. She was surprised at the woman’s appearance. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but Hayden Sansi was Alan’s daughter. Again, the family appearance didn’t fit the original image she’d had in her mind. What had she expected? A group in Birkenstocks and white robes, maybe some dreadlocks? A little Bob Marley playing in the background? Patchouli flowing through their auras or chakras, or whatever they were called? Not this, though. This was a total surprise. Here was Alan Sansi, polo shirted out, and his daughter, looking as if she’d just walked out of a store on Rodeo Drive with her light brown hair stylishly cut into a layered bob, and her makeup looking as if it had been applied by a professional.