“I’d be happy to see her step into that role,” I said. I knew Zeke was only mentioning this so I’d have the okay from him. He was still wary of discussing Lola around me.
“Where is she?” I said.
“Uh, in the cellar,” said Andy. “Stock check on all them old Beaujolais we got down there.”
“You want me to get her?” said Zeke.
“No,” I said, “I’ll say hi.”
I stepped down into the cellar. It was a warm day in New York, in the low seventies, and inside the cellar, it felt cool. I wandered among the racks of wine, my feet sounding quietly on the flagstones.
Then, I saw Lola. She was working in the back office of the wine cellar, a small, cramped room with a standing desk and computer, with a stock sheet on the desk. I watched her bending intently over the sheet, strands of hair falling from h
