Chapter 14: Schloss Execs Exposed
The group stepped into the expansive bottling room. Sammy closed the door behind them, and Jeremy once again was in command. He led them across the quiet, echoing room that during the day was filled with the deafening, rhythmic noise of the automated bottling line – the line that spewed out thousands of cases of wine each year bearing phony labels.
With purpose Jeremy stepped toward a door at the opposite end of the room. Not the door opening upon a long hallway leading to the other wing of the winery, the restaurant, and that night’s festivities, but rather the door he knew from the map Sammy had drawn earlier that week. The door Sammy had taped the jam of earlier that evening. The supposedly locked door to the storeroom that held, in carefully arranged boxes, every phony label Schloss glued on its wines.
As Jeremy approached the storeroom, he thought about how he would handle the situation if he found the door could be opened. He had no speech planned; he figured he would wing it. He didn’t know a speech wouldn’t be needed, for behind the door were two unexpected surprises, Ms. PR and the GM, both in the final moments of passion before they were to reach a mutual, cocaine-intensified orgasm.
Jeremy burst into the dark room and stopped, acting out his apparent mistake. Reggie bumped into Jeremy and a chain reaction, a human pile-up, followed. Jeremy reached over to the wall, and there, as he had been told, was the light switch. He flipped it on.
Heath was the first to spot the action and spoke, “And what have we here?”
“Mr. Heath! And Mr. Barnes!” the GM exclaimed.
“Right so far,” Heath shot back at the pair. “And whom might I say are you?”
“Ah, yes, Mr. Heath. I’m Gerald Martin, General Manager of Schloss Cellars.”
“And she is?” Heath enquired, continuing the interrogation.
“And this is Paula Robbins, head of public relations and marketing for Schloss.”
For once Ms. PR had nothing to say.
Jeremy put his hand to his forehead and bit his lower lip. This was true improvisation. And here were a couple of four-star generals for the other side captured in a compromising position – all behind enemy lines. In their attempt to maintain corporate decorum, the pair came off even more comical than they appeared. Here was Ms. PR, sitting on three large boxes of phony wine labels, her dress hiked up over her waist, her bare legs wrapped around the equally bare ass of the GM. Gerald Martin, for his part, tried to keep his composure, despite the fact that his European cut pants and underwear were pooled around his ankles. He did have the savvy to know that it would be hard – very, very hard – to withdraw from Ms. PR and maintain his dignity. Jeremy couldn’t resist the opportunity to comment.
“If you two will excuse us, we’ll let you get back to your discussion of how you’ll screw the consumer with your latest phony wine.”
With that said, Jeremy turned on his heels, and with his tour group in tow, stepped out of the door, flipping off the light switch as they left. The group was through the proper exit and into the hallway when, of all people, Stephanie spoke.
“You know, Reggie, this really is a fun place.”
“I concur with you, child. Jeremy, this evening has held too much excitement for me. If you don’t mind calling for our ride to the inn, I’ll just stop into the party long enough to greet my colleagues and sample a wine or two. I’ll explain to Mr. Delaney I’m not feeling well – that I’m exhausted from my flight.”
“That’s fine with me, Reggie.”
Thirty minutes later Gilberto arrived in another land yacht of Jeremy’s fleet, a 1938 Lincoln, to ferry the party out to the Happy Trails Inn on The River. Gilberto had been awaiting Jeremy’s call, having already retrieved the baggage from the Rolls. The ride out to the inn was much more pleasant than their previous trip. Pete and Reggie and Jeremy were having a good laugh about surprising two members of the Schloss royal court having a tryst in a secret corner of their corporate castle. Pete’s graphic account of the replay even had Gilberto suppressing a smile.
The Lincoln finally pulled into the driveway of the isolated inn. Jeremy noticed a group of motorcycles and a stretch Caddy parked out front, and a large paper banner hung across the entire second story of the cute gingerbread house. The sign said, “Maneuvers.” Strobe lights and music blared from inside the house. Two motorcycles roared across the lawn, and Jeremy thought he saw, in the blur, a young man wearing a pair of black leather chaps on the back of one of the bikes. Just a pair of chaps.
About that time a figure peered out of a downstairs window, and the door opened. A soldier, or what Jeremy thought was a soldier, approached the car. Jeremy knew when the young man addressed Reggie that he was only pretending to be a soldier; besides, a real soldier wouldn’t come out of a gingerbread house dressed for combat. Everyone disembarked from the black Lincoln, and Gilberto removed the bags from the trunk. Two couples, including a pair of women dressed in skydiving gear – quite an unusual sight at night – approached. From their banter with Alex and Stephanie, it was apparent to Jeremy that they all knew one another, and that a party, with Reggie’s group as guests of honor, was in progress inside. Jeremy bade farewell to Reggie.
“I hope you have a good weekend. What time do you want me to pick you up for the airport on Monday morning?”
“About nine, Jeremy. Thank you for a fascinating evening. I just hope I’m up for the remainder of our stay. Goodnight.”
Jeremy, feeling somewhat relieved that the first step in his act of revenge was over, hopped into the car with Gilberto. His hopes for his plan were momentarily dashed when he heard agonizing screams coming from the row of cabins adjacent to the Happy Trails Inn. As they drove off, Jeremy silently wondered if Reggie’s weekend hadn’t only just begun.
