Free Nowhere but Here by Renee Carlino

vineyards, making wine and perfecting his craft.”
    Guillermo, a small man of maybe fifty, gave Jamie a guylike half-handshake, half-hug. “J, get your ass out there, it’s still crush season.”
    Jamie laughed and then turned to face me. “Enjoy the tour, I’ll catch up with you later.” Still holding my gaze, he said to Guillermo, “This is Katy. Bring her back in one piece, okay man?” Guillermo chuckled.
    When Jamie left, I said, “It’s nice to meet you, Guillermo.” He shook my hand. “And by the way, what is crush season?”
    “It means we’re still picking the grapes, mija . Let’s go see how we make this stuff.” We walked side by side into the vast sea of vines. “The first thing you need to know is that it’s about the fruit, the grapes. These are not the grapes you’re used to.”
    He stopped at a cluster of dull-looking grapes hanging from a vine.
    “See, dear, these are Pinot Noir grapes. They have less color.”
    “They look bad.”
    He shook his head. “These are excellent grapes. It has taken us ten years to perfect the Pinot Noir grape on this property, something they have been doing in France for years.” He pulled one from the bunch and handed it to me. I popped it into my mouth.
    “Wow, that’s not what I expected at all.”
    “Juicy, right? Juicier than the grapes you eat?”
    “Yes, and very, very sweet, but it tastes nothing like Pinot Noir.”
    He chuckled. “Well, you see, much of that flavor is coming from the skin. The skin is a bit bitterer and much thicker than, say, a Thompson seedless grape, and that’s why these grapes are not as enjoyable to eat. But they do make a magnificent wine, don’t they?”
    “I have to ask, if you’ve been here so long, why is it only now, since Lawson has taken over, that the wines have done so well?”
    “He sent me to France.” Pausing, he arched his eyebrows. “He paid for the whole thing. Let me spend a month there. I learned a lot, but mostly things I already knew and just needed to be reminded of. Lawson gave me the resources and space. Pinot Noir grapes have a low yield. When I got back, we focused on that specific wine here on the estate and set aside more acres to grow this grape.”
    “Why was Lawson so set on Pinot Noir?”
    He popped his shoulders up into a shrug. “Hopeless romantic, I guess.”
    “I doubt that.”
    “No, truthfully, he said he wanted to make Pinot Noir because it’s a sexy wine.” He laughed loudly, like he thought that was ludicrous.
    I instantly remembered a quote from a Vanity Fair article describing Pinot as the most romantic of wines, with so voluptuous a perfume, so sweet an edge, and so powerful a punch that, like falling in love, they make the blood run hot and the soul wax embarrassingly poetic.
    “I guess that kind of makes sense because he’s a”— chauvinistic pig , I thought — “Because he’s trying to sell wine.”
    “Who knows. Let’s move on, mija .”
    As we walked down a row of vines toward the big warehouse-looking structure, I decided to take the time to get to know Guillermo.
    “Do you have family?”
    “I do. We live down the road. My wife, Patricia, works here at the front desk in the lodge. I have two daughters. They’re both in college—one at Berkeley and the other at the University of Arizona.”
    “Wow, and you can afford that on your pay here?” He turned toward me, looking affronted. “I didn’t mean any offense, I’m sorry. You must work tirelessly here for R.J. Does he provide you with proper breaks and benefits?”
    He hesitated and spoke in a quieter, more apprehensive voice. “Yes, I do . . . he does. He’s putting both of my daughters through school. He’s like a son to me, but he has taken care of me, too.” I was shocked. R.J. was either a complete contradiction, acting like a douche while doing good things for the people around him, or he really did have it out for the media and his little tantrum was just to throw me off of his true