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"And she had.Donna has her own room at Chip's, used on her monthly girls' nights out.Chip lets other friends sleep there too, but only she and Donna knowwhere to find the key to the wardrobe where she keeps her girl-timeclothes. After blasting off Sonia's disdain with scorching water andbillowing steam she brushes fingers over her dresses and skirts andwonders which of them will bring her peace.Nearby, in the kitchen, Chip sings to herself as she pours Doritos into abowl; beer bottles pop and fizz as she opens them. This is not the timefor glitter and slap, to tape her bits, or to add falsies; Donna keepsthings simple with her hair loose, a black USS Sulacco T-shirt, thicktights and an A-line, stone washed, denim skirt.Chip hands her a beer, dewed and wonderfully chilled, achingly soothingwhen she presses it to her glowing brow. Smoothing her skirt she foldsher legs under her and lets her weight onto them. Chip pats her ankleaffectionately, like a cat; she's wearing a chunky,. "I never met a colored person like you before."Hanson slapped his thigh and looked slyly at her. "That's what an education'll do for a black man." Gosh!" Billie felt almost as if Hanson were working a spell on her or something. It was mostly the warm way she felt talking with him. "I bet college is tough." Nothin' to it." He leaned back against the tree again and gazed up into the thick leaves. "All you need is a little natural rhythm and a good ear."While Hanson chuckled quietly, Billie-Ann considered what he had said. She was still wondering if she might have natural rhythm when he put his book down and stood up."Let's take a swim and cool off... what do you say?"Billie felt herself stiffen. Already Hanson had grabbed the bottom of his jersey with both hands and was skinning it up over his head."Maybe I'd b-b-better not," she said. "I don't have anything to wear."Hanson hung the jersey on a tree branch and reached for the buckle of his blue jeans. "Okay, but it's mighty hot to sit.
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I did that a lot - trying to get more shelf space for our product. Self-promoting and advertising was a lot of my work these days. When I took over for my dad, I had thought crafting wines was the biggest part of my job - how naïve.I had lunch at the Back Street Café. As usual, the crab cake and eggs with citrus beurre blanc was wonderful. The café was bustling with people, loud with the shouts of cooks in the kitchen and the clatter of plates. I found my thoughts wandering, thinking of the lady in blue. Eating here with her - sipping wine - laughing together. I shook my head. That was way premature. I didn't even know her name. I finished lunch and in an hour later, I was back on the road home.The afternoon passed in a blur of people and tasks. There is always more to do at the vineyard than there are hands. Somehow, I still managed to find myself thinking about her. I was reviewing an analysis on the latest batch of fermentation when Stan tapped me on the shoulder, startling me so.

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