Sunday's Child: Love, Loss & Redemption in a Texas Wine Bar

By Anne Hollander

A small town stuck between history and progress. Its citizens caught between local parades and international events. And for a cozy wine bar, an intimate setting to discover the true facets of love, loss and redemption. Set in the town of Grapevine are seven short stories of life and death, love and loss, politics and culture, all within the walls of a blues cafe and wine bar.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Anne Hollander
• Release date: Jan 3, 2010
• ISBN: 9780557265602

Anne Hollander

I was born, it was the best of times, it was the worst of times and from there, we’ll fast-forward nearly thirty years (yikes!). I take pride in the fact that I’m one smart cookie, traveled and worked throughout the world, and have absolutely no idea where life will take me. I’ll figure that out tomorrow and until then be assured I’m gonna change my mind.Want to contact me? Email me, Tweet at me, or Facebook message me!—Current Projects* Sunday’s Child: A Several Storied Affair in a Texas Wine Bar = A small town stuck between history and progress. Its citizens caught between local parades and international events. And for a cozy wine bar, an intimate setting to discover the true facets of love, loss and redemption.Set in the town of Grapevine, Texas are Anne Hollander’s breakout seven short stories of life and death, love and loss, politics and culture, all within the walls of a blues cafe and wine bar. Enjoy the laughter, tears, indignation, daily struggles, and interactions between the illuminating folks bellying up to a bar in effort to experience something new, something old, borrowed time, and the blues.* Travels with Molly: One Gal’s Escape from the City and Into the Rest of Her Life = a forthcoming novel on the adventures of a twenty-something female unwilling to settle for less than she expects – and in the process, steals a car, finds a dog, and takes off on a whirlwind trip to figure out just what, exactly, will fulfill her dreams. Expected publication in 2010.

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Sunday’s Child: Love, Loss and Redemption at a Texas Wine Bar

by Anne Hollander

Published by Anne Hollander at Smashwords

Copyright 2010 Anne Hollander

Licensing Notes, Electronic Edition: This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be resold, published or distributed to other people or entities without express consent from the author. If you would like to share this book with another person or entity, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. Feel free to contact the author at any time regarding additional licensing rights and restrictions - she's friendly and would love to hear from you.

And thank you for your support!

Discover other works and titles by Anne Hollander at www.annehollander.com

*****

Dedications

To those who actively accepted and supported me the whole way through, inception through publication, and never doubted that I could do it.

Acknowledgments

None of this would have been possible without the people. Doesn’t matter who you are, if you’ve ever stepped over the threshold and stopped to talk to the girl on her own in the bar, you’ve become an integral part of the continuing story.

And so I thank you, humbly, from the heart.

None of this would have been actualized without my alphabet staff of baristas keeping me fully caffeinated, fully inspired and fully confident, day in and day out.

And so I thank you, appreciatively, from the heart.

None of this would have seen the light of day without my brilliant reviewers, Mark Curnow, Louis Gambertoglio, Jr., Shannon Farrington, and David Scott, all of whom supported this small town girl with a big city dream.

And so I thank you, lovingly, from the heart.

*****

Preface

Monday’s Child is fair of face;

Tuesday’s Child is full of grace.

Wednesday’s Child is full of woe;

Thursday’s Child has far to go.

Friday’s Child is loving and giving;

Saturday’s Child works hard for a living.

But the child who is born on the Sabbath Day

Is bonny and blithe, merry and gay.

A medieval fortune describing the life-long luck one should have by the day of the week one was born illuminates the days within the walls of a small-town Texas wine bar. Each day tells its own story from its own voice and its own set of characters, and though the women are strong and men good-looking, it is nothing but love - in all its forms, uses, and definitions - which bind these stories together, from passionate inception through peaceful retirement.

*****

Chapter One: Monday - Fair of Face

Awwww, you're so cute and young. Idealistic. Someday you'll see, you'll understand exactly what we're talking about and telling you right now.

I protested against this designation. Cute? A lazy word to describe a multitude of characteristics. Young? I was in my mid-twenties, studied in England, had seen the best and worst life had to offer. I was smart, educated, witty, compelling, and yes, idealistic I could begrudge. But cute and young? Hardly.

I was met with blank faces. No cute? the faces said. Sacrilege. We sat in silence then, we six women, each of us politely sipping our wine. It was three o'clock in the afternoon.

Well, if no one else is going to say it I will, finally stated Janet, the queenly matriarch of the group. It's clear this girl needs our help, and I'll be the one to start. She pointed directly at me, her eyes hawkish. If there is one thing, above all else, you need to know, looking through her sleek glasses and down her nose, it's this: diamonds before hearts. It's true in cards, it's true in business, and it's true in love. Get the diamonds before giving your heart.

She sat back satisfied with this advice as the other women nodded in agreement. Their faces had changed, ranging from sympathy to pity. I wondered if she'd always held this philosophy. Her hands and wrists glittered with stones as they laid placidly on the bar top. As she spoke, these diamonds would find the smallest trace of light in the otherwise shadowy bar, blinding me. The other women were accustomed to this abuse, either from their own hands or their constant company.

And always have a good bottle of wine on hand. Lubricates everything in life, from the good to the bad and everywhere in between. No matter if you have the best guy or the worst, a glass of wine opens up the heart to all affections no matter how terribly placed or timed they may be, said Andrea with a slight wink and playful tone in her voice.

And a number in your speed dial, a guy you can talk to no matter the circumstances: a therapist, a lawyer, the lawn boy, whomever - male and can help you through the situation - no matter the charge or fee, said Alexandra, her tone a direct contrast with that of her sister.

Keep up with your looks as much as possible. You may think it's over when you get married, but trust me, it's just starting. His eye will always drift, and the less you look like the day you met, the higher likelihood more than his eye will wander, said Kimberly. My doctor always says it's the 'boob-ass rule' - that your boobs should match your ass, tight and proportional, counterbalancing your figure, no matter what.

And when in doubt, Jennifer said with bitterness, remember that plenty of women have gone through whatever you're experiencing. The best thing you can do for yourself is prepare for the worst, whatever it may be, even if the worst is staying married. She added an afterthought. And keep your friends, even if he hates them or demeans them or any number of things. You'll know they're your friends when they don't take his side.

How had I come into all this advice, I'd wondered. They'd simply asked about a ring I wore on my hand, just a wide platinum band; I'd responded that I was recently engaged and met with congratulations. It must have been a look on my face, I reasoned, something that questioned my own status. And now, apparently, I was to spend my afternoon relearning the ins and outs of relationships. Just as I had so many other Mondays previous. Six women, all well-spoken, all politely opinionated on the ways of life and love, were set into motion this particular afternoon.

#

Goodness, you just whipped my poor little butt today out there. Glad you took me to lunch - I have nothing left in me! Kimberly and Jennifer, walking through the door with fresh air and sunshine, their serene voices unmistakable, kept a standing date for a Monday late morning game of tennis after the kids were dropped off at school in Lakeville, then a wine-soaked lunch across the highway on Main Street.

I've been working with that new pro guy - you know, the blonde one with the incredible arms and those pretty blue eyes. Amazing that he can even swing a racquet with those arms.

I bet you've been working with him. You and that backhand. Looks like your arms are stronger too, little more tone there.

You should try him out, see what he can do for your serve. If anything, it's an hour or so hitting balls around. A little intimidating at first, but then you just want to show him up.

What's his name? The women settled midway down the bar as I looked on from my usual corner spot, my back to the door.

She picked up her purse from the chair next to her. Ummmmm...I have his card...somewhere in here... as she shuffled through her purse, big enough to hold all the treasures and secrets of her little world.

Oh, it's here, stuck to my waterbottle. Nyman.

What kind of name is that?

One where you call him something else.

She laughed audibly, a strong smile across her structured cheekbones. Funny, funny! I'm willing to try anything at least once, if you know what I mean.

Both women giggled at the innuendo as I sighed to myself. Gearing up for another sex-talk Monday I assumed.

I hadn't worked with anyone since I was Jessica's age. She's a junior now, right? Kimberly fumbled through her purse, ready for the onslaught provoked by her question.

Yep. Jennifer sighed. Her father and I have been talking about getting her a car, but we argue all the time about it. I'm sick of driving her around and the idea of her riding with her friends scares me too much to think about. But she's...you know how you were back then. Not completely responsible. And we don't want to make a huge investment in a car for her if she's not going to grow up a little.

What kind of car were you thinking? Kimberly continued to shuffle through her purse, now pulling out small baubles, strewing them across the bar.

Nothing out of the ordinary. Maybe one of those small SUVs. The owner of that new Lexus place, over off the highway, they live down the street, and his wife always drives a different car. Beautiful woman, I don't think she's even had any work done yet. They've got this really cute baby blue little SUV that I think would be perfect for Jessica - though, obviously, it would have to be a different color. White, maybe. I just want something to keep her safe in the event of an accident.

You know, I was talking with my husband, maybe a week ago, about a car for Travis. He's only a freshman, but already he's talking about one of those huge trucks. How did I raise a redneck? He wants one of those big growling things, and wants an old one he can work on and stuff he says, as Kimberly rolled her eyes in dramatic fashion, her hands paused. I won't have it in my driveway, I'll tell you that now. A new one, maybe. But so much rather him in a smaller, safer car. You know what I mean?

Oh, but here's something to think about - if he's working on it in your driveway, all his friends will show up at your house. At least you'd know what they were up to when they were there.

A good point, hadn't thought about it. Though they'd eat me out of house and home. Already my grocery bill is astronomical. How could I be spending nearly a thousand a month at the store to feed three people? It's not as though I’m cooking - or anyone else is cooking - all the time! Kimberly resumed her search, face lighting once her fingers found their desired treasure: a tube of berry-colored lipstick. She set the tube on the bar, then, one by one, returned the strewn contents back into the ether of the large bag.

Ours is similar to that, what with feeding John and Justin, though we're shopping at the new place - you know, that organic one that opened a couple months ago. I love their salad bar and they have fresh sushi and gelato!

We shop there too. Did you know they're giving money back to the schools? I think the organic thing is great - remember what we used to eat when we were kids - though it's all about the kids and their health and supporting the school. And it's a shocking amount they're giving to the education foundation. Those owners have hit a goldmine, no doubt.

No doubt. Are you going to do the same thing for lunch?

Nono, not this time. I want whatever’s on special. You know it just makes Wayne's day when we order whatever he and his chef have created for the day.

K, well, I'm gonna have my normal. If Wayne comes by, will you order for me? I'm gonna run to the ladies for a second, put on some lipstick.

I should do the same. We both have a healthy flush, but color isn't a bad thing. Texas women need color on their lips and cheeks, always, to accent the tan. You know?

Absolutely. Back in a sec.

Kimberly slipped out of her stool, her lithe figure an advertiser's ideal, her hair perfectly glazed several shades of blonde, her skin pulled slightly across her face, her diamonds and pearls shining brightly. Even in her mid-forties, she was a neck-breaker, perfectly proportioned, perfectly coifed. Jennifer sat alone, waiting silently, fiddling with her wedding band. I studied her face, serious, as she looked at her hand after slipping the rings off her finger. Then back. Then off again. Then back. She didn't speak to me and no one disturbed her thoughts. I continued to watch and sip my wine, casually scanning the local paper, looking for the section with the comic strips.

By the time Kimberly returned, Jennifer excused herself, carrying her smaller, but more fashionable purse with her. Wayne had come through the kitchen, meeting Jennifer on her way, hugging and kissing her cheek before taking several steps toward the bar. He hugged and kissed Kimberly in a similar fashion, automatically, asking how she was. He lacked interest in her answers as she started into a litany of her activities even as he gazed at her face. They were all the same as any other day, and I sympathized with Wayne's attempt at attention.

You ladies need wine, he finally interjected, his voice questioning yet already pulling a bottle from the glass-front fridge below the bar. Kimberly nodded, distracted by her ringing phone. She answered there in the bar, a finger in one ear, her phone at the other. Neither I nor Wayne were interested in the conversation, giving one another an annoyed glance. It was just the three of us in the bar this afternoon, but I knew the crowd would grow. It was only a matter of time before the rest of the women showed their perfectly symmetric faces, beautifully streaked hair, and flighty personalities.

It was Janet, telling me she was running late, said Kimberly gaily. She's with the twins, they're coming in from some social lunch thing with the church. Will be here shortly. She continued, looking toward Wayne with soft blue eyes, carefully accented with brown eyeliner. Wayne, darling, could we go ahead and order lunch? Without waiting for an answer, she ordered Jennifer's special and her usual meal, made specially for her. And, really, the smallest piece of salmon you have and just a few pieces of steamed asparagus, no butter just lemon, that'd be perfect, she asked, fluttering her dark eyelashes. No one could resist Kimberly and her charms; even I was jealous at such a garish display of power.

You got it, honey, Wayne stated after pouring each of the glasses nearly full of wine. He moved back to me silently, grabbing a different bottle from the shelf and pouring several splashes of a lightly colored pinot noir into my glass. I silently thanked him in return. His personality was muted today likely due to the lack of diversity in the bar. A few hours would change this, I thought, as the women would gather later into the afternoon before meeting their husbands and children for dinner in their privileged homes in Lakeville.

Jennifer returned remarking on the new murals in the bathroom, her face matte yet full of color. I'd noticed lines crossing her forehead weeks ago; today they had been erased. The three of us sat at the bar in silence for a bit, then Kimberly spoke. To me. She introduced herself, waving and smiling. Asked how I was. Asked what I was up to on this Monday afternoon. And then, confusingly, how old I was.

Twenty-six, I said.

Ahhh, I remember those carefree days though I was married by then. So you're not working today? What is it you do?

The onslaught of questions I was used to, but not from these women. While I had a unique presence in the bar, I had been introduced nearly four months previous. I'm an artist. I should be working today, planning out my next installment, but can't find the inspiration to do so. I shrugged. The past several months had been like this, looking for inspiration at the bottom of a wine glass.

Oh, interesting. What medium?

Performance art.

Like theatre?

I shrugged again. Not exactly. I like impromptu performances - much like street performers, but done in galleries, or at least on the high end, and much like improv comedy where you're interacting with multiple variables, such as a crowd or props or any number of other things. Its the theatricality I crave.

Interesting. Kimberly paused, almost unsure of the next question whether from courtesy or confusion. Jennifer was expressionless, listening yet uninterested in my work.

So...how does one get into performance art, exactly?

I studied art history and theater and merged the two. I could hear my voice take an uncharacteristic shake. But I was always fascinated by street art - mimes and caricature artists and public oratory and subway performers and magicians. That kind of thing. I was satisfied with my answer.

Again Kimberly paused to take in this information. So do you work on tips, then, or how is it that you can make money doing this? I've seen you in here before and you're drinking wine so you must be doing alright?

I laughed, not from joy but from irony. Depends, really. I help curate a small private collection for an investor in Fort Worth and it gives me the freedom to travel and perform. I apply for arts grants which I occasionally receive. It's easier with the help of a university or benefactor though I'm not willing to submit my art to their demands. Somehow these last words came from my mouth without much care or foresight. I came to regret them later as I played with the shiny band on my left hand.

Jennifer chuckled. Should be a starving artist yet you have some flesh on your bones - you must be excellent at performance art then.

I didn't have the opportunity to respond as Kimberly fired her next question at me.

So what do you think of the artwork here?

I was treading in dangerous territory and decided to go with a diplomatic answer. I study a completely different type of art. I really can't say much about this.

Okay, but surely you have an opinion. You curate art - am I using the word correctly - for someone, you should have a broad knowledge, right? Her voice was insistent, lacking innocent curiosity and instead needing a sound bite for future conversation.

Surely I do, but I'd need some time with the artwork before I could begin to form one. Two explosive mines dodged.

Well, sit and drink your wine. Let me know when you're ready. I'd love to hear your opinion, especially on those, pointing to silkscreens of butterflies. I find them interesting.

Interesting again. A dull word to convey a complete lack of opinion.

Voices from the front door caught our attention as I swiveled around in my chair and Kimberly broke into a bright grin.

"This place is always so cute! Oh, look at these stools, I'd never noticed! They're faces! It's like I'm sitting