Edward Riche - Easy to Like

IN THE MOUTH, Elliot said. Feel it. Its weight, its heat.

When are we going to drink someAmerican wine? Robin asked.

Elliot had first heard Robin described,by Veronica, as my extremist gal pal. Doubtful that one of the many Islamistsreported crowding the shadows would attend a wine tasting in Bel Air, Elliotassumed Robin to be a former dabbler in, or groupie-come-concubine of, theWeather Underground or the Panthers or the Symbionese Liberation Army or thelike. (You met those people in Los Angeles, hostages and their takers togetheragain on the same talk show.) On further learning that Robin just one hundredand ten percent had to come to the tasting, Elliot gathered that Veronica meantthat Robin was her extreme-est gal pal.

The friends were eerily similar inappearance, like fraternal twins, though they probably shared a trainer or asurgeon rather than a womb. They were both a hay blond, with thrust pneumaticboobs. Their eyes were differing blues, Veronicas Aegean, Robins a colder,deeper sea, each equally improbable. Repeated injections of botulism made theirfaces taut but leathery and shiny, like the hide on a well-played drum. Theywere such stalwart defenders of a certain clich of Southern Californianwomanhood that they surpassed it, attained something higher, were masters oftheir practice, priestesses. These were not the post-age-of-ironyspending-for-democracy porn-positive Barbies one saw nowadays; they were purer,and, like their hometown, of irony they simply knew not.

If we did this again I could take youthrough some better examples of what Californias self-styled Rhone Rangershave on offer, Elliot answered.

Good, said Robin. CabernetSauvignon, I like that. She was proud of this knowledge, however erroneous.

Well, actually, no, said Elliot,they dont use any Cab, thats more of a Napa and Sonoma thing, these vintners

Fred Hanover has the most beautifulranchy thing in Napa Valley, not far from St. Helena, Robin cut in.

He has this barbecue, said Veronica,every year. There are always a lot of celebrities there, A-list people too. Ihate it when its B-list. I get depressed by B. And C, Jerry keeps tellingme, is for cancelled. Freds is fun. Its for a charity...cant remember which one. Is it a childhood cancer?

I think its for animals. Animals inAfrica, I think. Can animals be displaced by a conflict? Something wasdisplaced, anyway, said Robin. Janice Everston was there last yearand... who is that guy on MurderSquad ?

Kevin Stewart, said Veronica.

Do you know about Freds barbecue?Robin asked, remembering that Elliot was sitting across from her.

I was there last year.

You WERE? Veronica warmed to Elliotfor the first time that afternoon.

Yes.

Did you see Janice Everston? askedRobin.

No. Though I wrote something she wasin, years ago, for television. It was a pilot for a Mannix remake that never went. This was before Janice Everston wason any list, A or otherwise.

So, you know her? asked Veronica.

Weve never met. Now, this Chianti

Who else was there? asked Robin.That we would know.

When Elliot agreed to direct thistasting, as a favour for Jerry Borstein, he never imagined it would prove such atrial. Veronica was Jerrys trophy wife, one of such high shine as to requireconstant polishing. She was, Jerry told Elliot, trying to improve her skills asa hostess and learning all she could, which was very little, about food andwine. There was a new (and to be short-lived, Elliot prayed) fashion inHollywood for seriously themed dinner parties in honour of an invited guest, athinker or humanitarian, who could expound on his or her area of expertise overa (typically catered) gourmet meal. Jerry had hosted one such soiree for YuriSmeltlotov, a Russian scholar who was to speak about the crisis in the Caucasus,real estate from which Jerrys ancestors were long ago chased. Elliot suppliedthe wines, starting with a freakish sparkler from Georgia and finishing with anintensely sweet Tocay Yuzhnoberezhny from the Massandra Collection in theCrimea. It was a wine, made for a czar, that survived the Nazi occupation ofYalta by being shipped to Tbilisi, a singular and treasured wine that seemed toimpress nobody but Elliot himself.

That fete exposed Veronicas need fortutelage. Near the end of the evening, with regard to the situation in Georgia,shed given the Yellow Jackets even odds for the Gator Bowl.

She posed another question. Thats awinery, right, Freds place in Napa? I think he served his own wine at thebarbecue.

Yes. He produces a CabernetSauvignonbased wine there. Its a large, extracted wine, excellent with, or as,barbecue sauce.

Lot of fruit? Veronica parrotedsomething shed once heard said about wines.

Very much so. Fruit bombs they usedto call them. Theyre easy to enjoy.

I thought so, said Veronica. Iremember loving the label.

Yes, said Elliot, Fred produces oneof the better labels in California. Features a horse, if Im not mistaken?

I think it does, youre right. It was very western.

Elliot had not been able to refuseJerry Borstein this favour. Jerry regularly hired Elliot to rewrite or beatscripts and to give his more nebulous ideas some semblance of order on the pagein the form of an outline or a treatment. An outline penned by Elliot, for Goldies Piece , was part of insider Hollywood lore forbeing only five words in length: Guy with the biggest gun. A treatmentcredited to Jerry but of Elliots hand went on to become The Nevada Girl , another success, and Elliot knew for a fact thathis The Invader was the source for Total Conquest on which Jerryd made more than a fewshekels. As a rule, Elliot never brought up his part in these authorships. Heknew that Jerry knew that he knew, and that some adjustments would be made. LetJerry have the glory. (Sure enough, in the end, Jerry gave him one of sixproducer credits on Conquest a nice gesture, as itcame with fees.)