Chapter 14 of the R.M. Dolin novel, "Trophic Cascade"
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Far from healed and less than rested, it’s an hour before Emelia’s cell phone version of La Marseillaise begins its refrain, as performed by the staff and guests from Rick’s Café American in Casablanca, Jake lays in bed cycling through his mental list of the many things needing to be done. Today marks the start of New Mexico wine fiesta season and while it’s cold now, by noon it’ll be blistering hot. That’s how it is in the late May desert and what gives rise to the whole Southwest siesta culture. Another aspect of late May fiesta’s is that the Santa Annas are almost certain to have something to say in some dramatic way at some point during the next three days.
Chance went to great lengths last night as they loaded the trailer with over two-hundred cases of wine and Port to explain today’s probable weather. A significant storm cell along the California Baja that’s been stalled in the Sea of Cortez is gathering strength, by his estimate, as the sea cell moves up the California coast it’ll create a depression over Arizona resulting in a proverbial ‘calm before the storm’ day in Albuquerque. By Sunday though, today’s calm gives way to seasonal winds, returning with mucho gusto. While Jake disputes Chance’s claim that Sunday morning will start out windy, he’s mostly okay with the prognosis. If there’s going to be a calm day, he’d rather it be the first day of a festival, that allows him the opportunity to set up banners and get the six-station serving line operational in good weather before having to deal with the chaos high winds cause.
It’s a two-hour drive to Albuquerque towing the heavily weighted trailer. If they stop for breakfast at San Filipe Pueblo, the trip really stretches into three. Given that they need at least two hours to unload and set up, and put the white wines on ice in time to chill before Fiesta gates open, they need to be on the road no later than six. Jake bounces out of bed with the happy eagerness fiesta season demands forgetting he’s still on the mend, until his first somewhat dizzy step that is. It’s hard not to be excited about fiestas even though no one relishes the grueling grind of three intense days on your feet. The hardest part is constantly being nice to people who, by late afternoon and too much wine, exude rude and ridiculous behavior. However, the money generated more than compensates. On his way to the bathroom Jake looks out the bedroom window to the casita where light leaks out the wall of curtains confirming Chance is awake. He really oughta get better window covers, ‘after the fiesta,’ he tells himself while climbing into the shower.
Jake ambles down the hallway toward the kitchen greeted with the pleasant aroma of piñon coffee and the surprise of finding out he’s the last one ready. Chance is sitting at the table enjoying a cup of coffee as he reads the newspaper. What Jake doesn’t know is that Chance and Sympatico negotiated a deal where they’d take turns beating Jake to the kitchen each morning to avoid losing their opportunity to get a decent cup of coffee. “Good morning, all,” Jake enthusiastically sings with eager anticipation for what the day holds in store and somewhat enjoying the fact that his two naive apprentices have no idea the way they’re about to suffer.
Sympatico smiles warmly bringing Jake a cup. “I made coffee and empanadas.” She puts a plate of pastries in front of Jake. “One is apple,” she confidently commands. “The other’s ham and cheese.”
“Gracias,” Jake says eagerly grabbing his coffee appreciating already the satisfaction one finds in morning’s first sip. “These are amazing empanadas, I’m excited to see how they’re different than local ones.” While it’s true her empanadas look and smell amazing, Jake’s a bit disappointed because he was looking forward to a big plate of huevos on Indian fry bread at the Pueblo truck stop. It’s become a fiesta tradition with he and Dario, and it’s one of the few times he orders his huevos Christmas. He’s an old school bacon-red guy, but on fiesta mornings, he orders huevos with both red and green chili because, well because that’s festive. That being said, Sympatico’s empanadas could compel a man to set aside certain Christmas traditions.
“I was right,” Chance asserts putting the paper down, exposing his empty plate of empanada crumbs. “According to the National Weather Service, it’s going to be calm today but windy tomorrow.”
“Thought you said they always get it wrong,” Jake teases.
“Even a blind squirrel finds an acorn every once in a while,” Chance enjoys using one of his dad’s favorite expressions.
“How hot’s it gonna get?”
“They say mid-nineties by late afternoon.”
“Then I say you’re both over-dressed.” Jake offers his assessment without embellishment. He focuses on Dario’s headlights piercing the predawn darkness as he begins his ascent up the driveway. Simultaneously his cell phone pings, Dominic’s security App has a function to alert him when an intruder penetrates the property’s exterior boundary. Sympatico abruptly stops what she’s doing, knowing the alarm means danger, and with each note, her sense of terror amplifies. She rushes with a slight limp to the window without even realizing that along the way she grabs a carving knife. Peering secretively out the window she completely forgets that Jake and Chance are calmly sitting at the table watching her.
“It’s just Dario,” Jake offers intently watching Sympatico tighten her grip on the knife. “I recognize that rust bucket a mile away.”
Sympatico’s instantly relieved; Dario’s her protector and knowing it’s him helps her feel safe again. Not that she doesn’t feel safe with Jake or Chance it’s just that with Dario there’s a confident extra measure. Realizing she’s holding a knife, and without surprise or embarrassment, she walks the knife back to its previous position on the counter making a mental note of where it is.
The inference knowledge base Dominic developed for his App has already learned how to identify Dario’s truck, which confirms it is, who Jake thought it was. It probably would have been useful to tell Sympatico, but that thought never occurs to him. A few keystrokes later though, he has the alarm silenced and sets his phone on the table. Chance, whose back was to Sympatico when she dashed to the window, missed seeing her initial terrified reaction. He did, however, notice her returning the knife to the counter. “As I was saying,” Jake restarts. “You have to dress for the event.” He looks Chance over and smirks at his light sweater and long jeans with frayed tennis shoes before giving Sympatico and her long tan colored southwest style skirt with red leather boots and a heavy long sleeve white blouse a once over.
“I’ve got layers.” Chance counters revealing a dark blue T-shirt under his sweater.
“You may want shorts,” Jake responds dismissing Chance’s wardrobe selections.
“No way dude, these bad boys don’t show themselves to daylight.” He adds slapping his thighs.
“Suit yourself.” Jake turns to Sympatico. “You’re not dressed properly either.”
“This is what I picked out.” Sympatico replies in a tone suggesting her statement needs no further elaboration. She walks from the kitchen with a pot of coffee to top off their cups.
“You look great, don’t get me wrong, but trust me, after standing on your feet for eight hours in blistering heat, you’ll wish you wore more sensible clothes. And while your skirt has sophisticated elegance, you’re going to be doing a lot of dashing back and forth in the tent grabbing bottles and making sales. Clothes like that get cumbersome. Also, you’ll want to wear a dark colored top; by the end of the day, you’ll be covered in wine stains and will want to hide them as best you can.”
Sympatico considers Jake’s logical well-reasoned wisdom and, as convincing as he is, the one overriding factor he doesn’t account for is that this ensemble was painstakingly pieced together. The thing Jake does not know and what would take hours to explain is that today is the first time in years Sympatico wants to feel pretty. Not in an outward way for people to notice, but inward as a self-expression of her rapidly evolving outlook. For too long clothes have been something to help her hide who she is; if anything, to diminish anyone from looking at her in any way that could be construed as desirous. Since being rescued though, her perspective is turning. Since Jake informed her about attending the fiesta, she’s been unable to think of anything else; first she was terrified at the thought of being in public, then she worried she wouldn’t be good enough, that eventually folds over into anticipation. To be at a festival, the sights, the sounds, the mood, all of that is what helped her get over the initial shock of going at all. From all the way back to when she was a child, she’s enjoyed festivals. In Bolivia, they’re the best part of summer and fall. She’s eagerly ready to re-experience what it’s like to be free and alive – without worry or fear; just like when she was an innocent girl flourishing in the safe security of her family’s consummate love.
She has much to celebrate in her life at this moment. She’s away from her captors, has found strong and brave men to keep her safe, is starting to feel a sense of hope and optimism for the first time since that night so long ago when she was taken from her home only to eventually wind up in New Mexico doing what she’s been forced to do. What Jake doesn’t appreciate with his wardrobe wisdom is she pieced her outfit together not because each item went well with the rest of the ensemble, but because together her outfit makes a statement about her desire to begin to celebrate once again who she is and how she wants to live. Her ensemble is an affirmation of a returning belief in the inherent goodness of the world, a way to embrace the spirit of a festival. Even the false alarm of the last few moments won’t scare her off course, not today. “I desire to wear this.” She asserts, content to let it go at that.
Jake’s long ago learned there’s no moving a woman off wardrobe choices, especially using logic as your argument. The only way to get Sympatico to wear something else is to tell her she doesn’t look good, and Jake’s never been that good at lying. Not only does she look spectacular, but there’s something beyond clothes that makes her seems so, well for lack of a better word, festive. Jake is about to comment when Dario saunters into the kitchen with a backpack full of fiesta gear draped over his powerful shoulders. As usual on morning visits, he also has and a Grande size cup of convenience store coffee.
“Morning all,” Dario sings with predawn cheer walking from the tasting room into the kitchen. He drops his backpack on the floor and is in the process of sitting down next to Chance when Sympatico brings him a plate of empanadas and a cup of coffee. “Wow!” Dario says without thinking, “you look amazing.” As soon as he says it, he’s embarrassed. “I mean thanks, these empanadas look amazing?”
“Gracias,” Sympatico says through her smile, happy to be both receiving and accepting his dual compliment.
“And they smell amazing,” Dario over-talks to cover his awkwardness. “It’s been a while since I’ve had empanadas. My Mom used to make them all the time when I was a kid.” He takes an over-sized bite of the apple pastry in an attempt to conceal his embarrassment. “The apple is amazing.” He shouts past his full mouth to Sympatico in the kitchen.
“Dude,” Chances points out enjoying the tease, “that’s the same thing you told her about her clothes.”
“I may not have your smooth tongue, or Doc’s college educated vocabulary,” Dario snaps back, “but what I say I mean.” He looks at Sympatico whose returning from the kitchen with the coffee pot, “you’re amazing, the empanadas are amazing, everything’s amazing. It’s going to be an amazing fiesta.”
“I am looking forward to it.” Sympatico chimes in with equal excitement.
Dario’s so distracted by being put on the spot he accidentally takes a drink of coffee from the cup Sympatico poured. “Hell, even the coffee’s amazing,” He looks at Jake without thinking. “Clearly you didn’t make it.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You know I have your back Doc,” Dario teases unconcerned if Jake’s offended, “but your coffee sucks. I don’t mean truck stop sucks. I’m talking about way beyond the edge of undrinkable.”
“Well,” Jake fires back clearly offended, “that’s one man’s opinion.”
“Guys,” Dario says looking to Chance and Sympatico for support. “Back me up here. There are Mexicans at this moment sneaking south over the Rio just to avoid having to drink Jake’s warmed-over road tar, am I right?” Both Chance and Sympatico try to look occupied to avoid having to respond.
“Well?” Jake challenges them to pick a side.
“It is an acquired taste,” Chance begrudgingly offers in his most diplomatic way.
“And you?” Jake says to Sympatico knowing he’s already lost the battle.
Sympatico doesn’t want to answer, out of respect alone she knows she shouldn’t answer. She also knows from the unyielding way Jake’s looking at her he’s not going let this go. “Coffee to me is like I hear you explain wine to customers,” Sympatico finally offers to dodge the question. “Everyone has their preference.”
“But?” Jake persists knowing she’s his best shot at vindication so isn’t about to let her off easy.
There’s a prolonged silence as Sympatico futilely attempts to come up with a response that won’t hurt his feelings. She looks at him smiling softly while her search goes on in vain. When the silence passes the point where it screams for something she decides the truth is all she’s got, as painful as it may be. She draws an unsettled breath and just as she’s about to start, Dario jumps in once again to rescue her.
“Your coffee is to caffeinated beverages,” Dario interjects flatly between bites, “what Scotch is to Whiskey.” And there it is, Dario going with the nuclear option. He knows it and he knows that Jake knows that he knows it, which he knows will temper Jake’s response. Dario accepts that as the guy who opened this Pandora’s Box it’s on him to get it closed. Going nuclear is probably the only way and there’s no point dragging Sympatico down with him. Besides, he knows better than anyone how to handle Jake in situations like this; you hit him hard without emotion, otherwise he’ll find an opening and before you know what’s happened, he’s turned the argument to his advantage.
“What scotch is to whiskey! Jeeze dude, that’s cold. Completely below the belt.”
“Sorry Doc,” Dario says as he finishes his apple empanada, “but someone needed to say it.” Dario responds without emotion as he immediately transitions to the ham and cheese.
“See if I ever offer you another cup.” Jake laughs while trying to feign anger.
“Haven’t you noticed I always come with my own?” Dario says holding up his convenience store coffee cup. “It’s not by accident I drink this crap.”
“I’ve noticed,” Jake belligerently answers, “just assumed you like all that frilly flavor garbage convenience stores offer.
“After six years on board a cruiser, I can assure you, I learned to drink coffee like men are supposed to.” Dario finishes his empanada and sits back. “Again,” he says looking at Sympatico, “these empanadas are amazing.
Jake appreciates the chance to change subjects and jumps on it. “I was just telling her; she might want to consider wearing something more practical.”
“Why?” Dario says without thinking. “She looks incredible.”
“Wow,” Chance teases, “Would’ve put money on you saying amazing.” Dario shoots Chance a stern stoic stare.
“Gracias,” Sympatico says as she takes his plate. A week ago, she would have been offended by comments about her appearance but today it’s appreciated. Today is Fiesta Day and fiestas demand joyful moods.
“She’s the only one on this crew who looks festive.” Dario raises his tone so he’s sure she hears him from the kitchen, “Of course the boys’ll be lined up a hundred deep to have her pour their wine. We’ll all be standing around with nothing to do.”
“You’ll still get your usual share of honeys.” Jake teases. “Especially by late afternoon when silly season kicks in.”
Dario lowers his voice so Sympatico won’t think less of him. “My goal is seven phone numbers and three ‘meet ya laters.’”
“I think I’m going to like wine fiestas,” Chance slyly adds seeing his day from a whole new perspective.
“Dude,” Dario says with experiential knowledge, “wait until you see the Albuquerque Latinas with their long black hair, low cut sun dresses, and big flop hats, all decked out with silver and turquoise; it’s a glimpse of what God has waiting for us in heaven. Am I right Doc?”
“Indeed, you are,” Jake confirms. “But I have to say, there’s got to be better ways to meet girls. You’ll work your ass off between now and sundown.”
“By the way, I decided to drive myself,” Dario informs Jake. “If you need anything hauled down, we can load my truck.”
“I’m good.” Jake answers. He takes a sip of coffee and suggests to himself that perhaps the critics have a point, and he should consider modifying his recipe. “You know you’re welcome to use my truck at night.”
“Thanks, but Chance might want it. I figure I’ll find a card game at either Sandia or Isleta.”
“Not getting enough poker at Wind River?” Chance teases.
“You know,” Dario answers with an awkward uneasiness that comes from being less than truthful. “New fishes.”
“You got banned again, didn’t you?” Jake sternly asserts.
Dario lowers his head in shame. “Two weeks.”
“Damn dude, you’re running out of Pueblos. You got to stop fighting every time you play.”
“It wasn’t my fault, Doc. This guy calls me a wuss because I won’t stay in to see his cards. I ain’t no wuss, I just had a bad hand.”
“You got in a fight over that!”
I told him like twice to drop it, but he keeps on me, I had to pop him, it’s about respect.”
“You have to learn to walk away, I mean was it worth it? Popping him for a two-week suspension?”
Dario thinks about Jake’s question in the complex context only someone raised in Northern New Mexico can understand. Yes, getting banned sucks. But there’s bigger issues at play, like a man’s need to stand up for himself, his reputation at the table with the other players, how can he be taken seriously if he allows something like that to go unchallenged. And yes, there was the pretty woman at the table they were both trying to impress. What would she had thought of him if he ‘walked away?’ “Damn straight it was,” Dario answers after a review of the facts in their necessary context. “I have a right to defend myself and I always will. Plus, guys like him need to be taught they can’t push people around.”
“Alrighty then,” Jake surmises. “You got to make your point and for the next two weeks while you’re looking for games in Albuquerque, he’ll be playing in your chair hitting on whatever honey you were trying to impress. Tell me, who do you think won?”
“It’s not about winning, Doc; it’s about doing what’s right, you know that as much as anyone. And how did you know a woman was involved?”
“There’s a woman behind all stupid things men do,” Chance contributes with certainty.
“They make us better, that’s for sure,” Jake says smiling at Sympatico. “Or crazy,” he adds in a lower voice.
“You’d think men would learn,” Chance adds, “but sadly, no, it is not possible.”
“You’re right about that,” Dario concludes laughing to himself while thinking about the numerous times he’s proven that theorem. “Which is the main reason why fiestas are amazing.”
