Babe Walker Read online

  “I should get you over to the bottling line, Babe. Jo has been waiting for you to arrive.”

  “Graphic designer Jo?”

  “Yeah.”

  “The labels are finally here?”

  “Sure are.”

  For some reason this info gave me a mini panic attack.

  “FUCK!! Are you serious? How do they look? Oh my god, I’m freaking out. Do they look amazing? I bet they look amazing. Actually, don’t answer that. I just want see it and feel it and form my own opinion. Are they already on the bottles? Wait, I’m nervous. Just take me to them. Has Jo seen them? Does Jo love them?”

  “I’ll just take you over there.”

  Ryan proceeded to walk me across the warehouse floor and down a hallway to the back area where the bottling line was. As we entered the room I could see them. The labels were being put onto the bottles. They looked incredible. It was everything I’d hoped for. Jo was standing at the end of the bottling line holding a finished bottle in her hand. She saw me and waved me over to her. It was really insane how tall she was. Like honestly I think something must have been wrong with her pituitary gland because she was forty-eight feet tall.

  “They look great, Babe. Really good job.”

  I grabbed a bottle and inspected the paper. It was definitely worth the wait. No question about it. The tooth was spot on, the color of the ink was gorgeous, the whole thing looked . . . perfect. I felt like I had given birth to this product. I felt like, for the first time ever, I had created something tangible. Was I the Steve Jobs of wine? Perhaps. I carried one bottle out into the parking lot area. There was a small building out in one of the fields that was all white.

  I walked through the rows of grapevines, wine bottle in hand, out to the little barn building. It looked like it was filled with farm tools and equipment, but the back was all white with no door. The light was perfect. I placed the wine bottle on the grass. I then took an incredible photo on my iPhone. The wine looked incredibly delicious. It was so quaint and cute and the white barn wall in the background gave it a homey feel . . .

  Holy shit.

  What was I thinking? This was not the vibe at all. In fact, I hated this picture. It looked like every wine picture from Northern California that you’ve ever seen in your life. I grabbed the bottle, ran back to the main office and upstairs to the little lunch area. I beelined to the fridge. (I don’t think I’ve ever said those words until now.) I emptied out every single thing that was in that refrigerator onto the counter. It was one of the sickest things I’d ever done. I hate touching other people’s food. But I had to suffer for my craft.

  I then placed the single bottle on the shelf of the fridge. It was the only thing in there. I snapped a few shots, threw on my proprietary blend of filter and Lux percentage in Instagram, and posted it with the caption, “Thirsty? Link in Bio.”

  This went on to be my most liked photo in recent history. People freaked the fuck out. Like actually freaked out. I put the winery’s website into my bio on my Instagram profile and the website crashed within five minutes. Jo and I uploaded the picture of the new rosé label to the website and got it up and running so people could order it directly from us. The orders starting coming in immediately.

  I learned later that Emma Roberts, god bless her little soul, had reposted my picture of the wine within minutes of me announcing it. That definitely added fuel to the fire, but even still this thing had legs of its own. I got a text from Mabinty while she was still in the John’s Grocery Store meeting, saying that the wine buyer’s daughter, who is twenty-three, had called him and asked him to buy this new wine for his store. He told Mabinty it was the first time in her life that his daughter had shown the slightest interest in his job. Needless to say, Mabinty sold it into all seven hundred John’s in California.

  By the next morning, everyone was talking about the wine. We had sold thousands of bottles online. I knew that this whole thing was not a joke when the flurry of texts and emails started attacking my inbox, all congratulating me on my new endeavor. All of the attention felt really good.

  First my dear, sweet, angelic dad texted me.

  DAD: Babe . . . darling text me back when you find a minute

  BABE: Hello best dad in the world

  DAD: How are you my love? We miss you here in lonely Bel Air.

  BABE: Oh stop. I’m fucking great and I miss you too.

  DAD: So . . . we need to talk don’t we?

  BABE: Shit

  BABE: Is it your fucking birthday?

  BABE: Goddamnit

  DAD: My birthday is in February and you know that.

  BABE: Right. Yes. Okay what’s happening then. Am I in trouble?

  DAD: Jesus Christ

  DAD: No I’m just messaging to tell you a big congratulations on this wine of yours. It’s wonderful. I just ordered ten cases from that wonderful little website of yours.

  DAD: Proud of you

  BABE: Thank you! I’m proud of you too!

  BABE: For creating me.

  BABE: Love you the most.

  DAD: And I love you more you little shit. Don’t ever tell me you’re not good at business again.

  BABE: I’m really not though. It was all Mabs.

  DAD: That’s probably true.

  DAD: Still proud.

  I mean, is that not soooo sweet it hurts?! You need to meet my dad, he’s soooo good. Of course, my shaman, Steve, texted.

  STEVE: Babe. Saw your instagram. I knew you would flow into the future with grace and dignity. LOVE LOVE LOVE is the only river that flows in the direction life. Seeds are stories and stories have the spirit of seeds. Grow, my little seed. Grow and spread and find mountainsides large enough for the supreme potential of your crop.

  BABE: Thx!

  Genevieve and Roman texted me in our group chat, which is called: IDIOTS

  ROMAN: The bottle looks amazing.

  ROMAN: I’m mad that I didn’t come up with it. Send me some and I’ll insta it.

  GEN: What bottle?

  GEN: Oh just saw the post.

  GEN: CHIC

  BABE: Thanks sluts

  Obviously my stepmom, Lizbeth, texted me with her positive-as-fuck attitude.

  LIZBETH: BABE!!!

  LIZBETH: You are a GODDESS!

  I never texted Lizbeth back by mistake. There were also a few random texts from people I don’t really know/people I definitely know but haven’t spoken to in over three months, which means I don’t actually know them or care about them.

  CHRISSY TEIGEN: Babe. Send me some of that shit. I tried to order off of your site but I think it’s sold out?! Mommy thirsty!

  BABE: I don’t know you.

  RYAN (GUY AT JUICEGENERATION U FUCKED): Congrats my fave babe. That pink grape juice looks deeeeelish! Wouldn’t mind having another sip of your juice sometime

  BABE: Nope.

  MAGGIE (BERLIN DEALER): Babe it’s cute and great! Love the wine! Miss you baby

  BABE: I don’t know you, Maggie.

  BETHENNY F: This is a big mistake.

  BABE: Omg Bethenny, hey! Miss you. Call me x

  It was a good day.

  nine

  “HELLO?”

  Without looking at who was calling, I’d grabbed my buzzing phone out of my Saint Laurent bag, which sat next to me while I did a casual afternoon yoga practice. I held it up to my ear with my free hand while the other held me up in a gorgeous, core-heavy side plank. BTW and FYI and LOL: I hate yoga and sweating and “peace” in general, but the emotional highs and lows of this wine thing had brought me to a place of such anxiety that I’d become really annoying with the yoga and the stretching. Even to myself. Napa Babe was annoying and that was just that.

  “Babe, it’s Knox. Can you hear me?” said the angelic voice through the iPhone.

  “Knox! My
love, my joy, my purpose, my queen!” I shouted.

  Knox, for those of you who don’t already know (shame on you), is my half brother. Long story short is this: my batshit estranged mother, former supermodel and ironically an idol of mine who is still somehow relevant in the fashion world, Donna Valeo, strategically made sure the world wasn’t aware of the fact that not only did she have a son, but he was being raised by her sister under the impression that his aunt was his mother. So fucking messy. I didn’t know about any of this until last summer when I figured it out myself. I’d gone my entire short life without meeting my mom’s side of the family, which obviously includes sweet angel, Knoxie. But once I did meet him at our grandfather’s ninetieth birthday bash in Maryland (so random!), I knew we had to be more than just cousins. He was the ten-year-old-boy version of me. It was like looking in a fucking mirror. So, I obvs did a deepdive and as per usual was right AF. Like she did to me, my mom left him to other people to be raised and went off on her own selfish model journey. If it weren’t so entirely chic and out of control, I’d be mad at her for abandoning not only me, but also poor li’l Knox. But I’m not. It’s fine. She’s too chic! Horrible, horrible, horrible mother, but a very chic woman.

  I put the phone on speaker and folded myself into half-pigeon.

  “How are you, my love? I saw your posts about the wine company or something? That’s so cool. I’ve tried rosé before and I think it tastes like pee but the bottle you made is so chic and good. Are you so tired? Are you, like, actually doing work? Explain.” Knox was so civilized for an eleven-year-old. I’d like to take credit for his entire vibe and his advanced grasp of chicisms, but he was literally born that way. Like me.

  “I’m soooooooo exhausted, but I’m good. I’m actually really good. I feel like we haven’t talked in a month. And yes, obviously this wine thing is happening. It’s not so much my company as it is my baby. It’s cute but I’m over it and ready to get back to LA. My hair is having a hard time accepting the dewiness and humidity here in Napa and frankly, so am I. How the fuck are you?”

  “Wow. Congratulations. And I know, ’cause we actually haven’t talked in that long! Hate that for us.”

  “Me too.”

  “I’m fine. My existence at home has been strained as of late so that’s been weird but I’m fine.”

  “Weird how? Talk to me.”

  “I mean, it’s not a big deal. Hold on,” he said at a lower volume. I could hear him getting up and opening a door to what sounded like the outdoors. “Sorry, I was just walking outside ’cause I’m about to kind of talk shit about Kara and she’s home.”

  “Oy, what now?”

  Kara, by the way, is Knox’s sister (actually cousin).

  “She has this boyfriend now. His name is Luke. He’s actually fine or whatever and he seems pretty nice and pretty stupid, to be honest. He plays lacrosse, drives a Jeep, you get it.”

  “Cherokee or Wrangler?”

  “I don’t know what that means.”

  “I mean, ew to both.”

  “He’s not the problem, though. She is. Because literally, Babe, every day she comes home in full-blown ugly tears because she thinks he’s gonna break up with her or he talked to another girl whose boobs are bigger than hers or something like that. She’s completely crazy. It’s so annoying.”

  “Okay.” I switched my legs and got into half-pigeon on my left side. “She’s how old again? Fifteen?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How big are her tits?”

  “Ew! I don’t know.”

  “Fair.”

  “I try not to look at my sister’s tits, like, ever.”

  “Makes sense. I was just wondering because at that age, tit size means a lot to girls. Basically from age thirteen and up through high school, some girls become not just concerned with their tits, but obsessed. Personally, I never gave a shit. I was always much more interested in my vagina’s appearance and persona.”

  “Ew, Babe. Honestly.”

  “Don’t ew my truth.”

  “Sorry. So can you, like, give me any advice on how to deal with my nightmare sister? She fights with Mom and me constantly, she is losing friends, she, like, barely leaves her room when she gets in these moods, which I wouldn’t mind if it weren’t for the Ed Sheeran she blasts at full volume. I’m not an Ed Sheeran fan.”

  “I remember. And neither am I, hello. That sounds terrible. She needs to shut the fuck up.”

  “But I can’t exactly tell her that because my mom would probably ground me and Kara would try to fight me.”

  “She’s fighting?”

  “Sometimes she says she wants to beat up other girls or that she, like, wants to punch Emma Watson in the face.”

  “How does she know Emma Watson?”

  “She doesn’t. What?”

  “Oh, I thought you were saying she knew her but now that I’m thinking about it, that isn’t possible. You guys live on a farm in the middle of literally nowhere.”

  “We live in a suburban community with a population of almost fifty thousand people, which you know because you’ve been here. Twice.”

  “How is that different from a farm in the middle of nowhere?”

  “Touché.”

  “Tushy!”

  We both broke into laughter. Aw, I missed him.

  “Regardless,” I said getting back to the agenda, “I think you need to talk to her. You can’t live like this anymore. She has the right to be a psycho but not if she’s turning your house into a hostile environment. I know there must be no way you can cook and study and be your true creative self with her bullshit clogging the house. You’re imprisoned by her angst. Not to mention the Ed Sheeran of it all.”

  “I know.”

  “You want me to talk to her?”

  Immediate cackling from both of us. Kara very flagrantly does not like me or appreciate my wisdom.

  “I don’t think she’d listen to any, like, advice from me considering I’m her younger brother, but maybe I could get her to be slightly nicer? Or do you think that’s never gonna happen?”

  “That’s gonna happen, just not anytime soon. You need to tell her something that my dad said to me once when I was acting boy crazy.”

  “What?”

  “He caught me on the phone with a private detective that I’d hired to follow my eighth-grade crush, Teddy Anderson. Teddy was really hot and I figured that the best way to get to know him was to spy on him. I even had the detective guy, his name was Bruce, sleeping in the woods behind Teddy’s family’s Beachwood Canyon home in a tent that I bought in secret. He followed Teddy at all times, which meant he came to our school and would just, like, creepily walk around, occasionally looking over at Teddy, who had no fucking idea. People thought Bruce was a substitute and I just pretended that I didn’t know him.”

  I stopped talking because halfway through my story about Bruce, I’d forgotten what I was supposed to be talking about. The stretch I was in was so deep and consuming that I drifted. Sue me. There were a few moments of awkward silence while I tried to remember, but nope, it was gone.

  “Wait. Honestly, I have no idea what I was talking about.”

  “Um,” Knox uttered, “we were talking about Kara being a nightmare.”

  “Right. Just go into her room and tell her that if she keeps acting like an actual baby, that you’ll kill yourself.”

  “I’m not going to do that—”

  “And when you say it, get up close to her face and whisper it.”

  “That’s horrible advice.”

  “It’s actually really good advice.”

  “Your dad said that to you?”

  “Yeah, I know. Intense, right?”

  “But he must have been, like, kidding, right?”

  “Of course! But I wasn’t sure at the time if he was or not. And I, like, reall
y love my dad and didn’t want to risk it. I swiftly called Bruce back, relieved him of his post as Teddy’s spy, and from that day on I’ve never stalked another guy.”

  “That’s a lie.”

  “It absolutely is. The point though, Knox, is it put my boy issues in perspective. Which is what you need to do for Kara, for you, and for your household.”

  “I think I’m following, I guess I could—”

  I realized that over the course of our conversation, the sun had gone down. I was late for dinner.

  “Oh shit. Knox, I need to go, babe. I’m late for a dinner. I love you the absolute most. Sorry your sister is basic and sucks. It’ll get better, I promise. And if not, come live with me permanently. I love you!”

  “Um . . . oh, okay! Love you too.”

  “Talk super soon.”

  I pressed end, threw my phone in my bag, and ran back to my room. It was less of a run and more of a speed walk.

  It was annoying to be so late to a dinner that I had planned myself. But there was nothing I could do about it. The Givenchy shoes I had chosen for the private-room seated dinner with Tina, Rebecca, and Rebecca’s entire family took time to lace up (twenty minutes) and my makeup and hair were done all by me (1.5 hours), so I was roughly an hour late. I walked in smiling and pretended nothing was wrong; they were just starting the salad course, which provided a good distraction as I slithered into my seat. Mabinty clocked me, though. She always does, fucking bitch.

  I sat down next to Tina in my assigned seat and saw that the chef had followed instructions and served me a mere cucumber spear with a side of tahini in lieu of the Caesar everyone else was eating. It looked delicious and filling. The room also looked good. Flowers literally everywhere.

  “Yummy!” I said to Tina who was forking a crouton.

  “And where have you been?” she said without looking up.

  “Wow, Tina. Such a warm welcome as I sit down at the fully organic, totally generous dinner I’m throwing for you and your entire weird family. Not to mention the fact that I went out of my way to have your look pulled and delivered from Barneys today.”