Excerpt from THE CHAMPAGNE CRUSH: scene in the Champagne Region of France.
Catherine rode up front with Frédéric. The short drive from Trianon to Hautvillers, a picturesque “high village,” took them up a narrow, winding road barely changed for centuries. Along the route, they passed well-preserved ancient buildings, some displaying forged-iron signs from a different era. Frédéric pulled up to the Abbey of Hautvillers. The small historic church overlooked fields of vineyards in the valley below.

“For Champenois,” Frédéric said, “this is considered the birthplace of champagne. Other regions were experimenting with sparkling wine, but this was the place in France, in Champagne.”

He led them to a patio where an ice bucket and three flutes sat on a small table. “Let’s take a moment to savor a good French champagne, while I tell the story.” He pulled a bottle of Moët’s Dom Pérignon out of the ice bucket and opened it. “It’s appropriate to drink this champagne, since Moët & Chandon named their prestige blend after Dom Pérignon.” He filled the flutes. “Let’s toast.”

Frédéric began. In 1668, a young Benedictine monk, Pierre Pérignon, became  cellarmaster of the Abbey at Hautvillers. Dom was a title given to certain Benedictine monks, so he was called Dom Pérignon. At the time, the abbey was making still wine.

Hautvillers, in the Falaises de Champagne, has a cool northern climate. Pérignon noticed when the weather turned warm in spring some bottles of wine became effervescent. By accident, they had gone through a second fermentation, creating bubbly wine. Through trial and error, Pérignon determined that wine yeast went dormant in cold temperatures. In spring, the remaining leftover yeast initiated another fermentation, creating the bubbles.

“We’re talking about a lot of bubbles,” Frédéric said. He explained the bottles couldn’t withstand the additional pressure. Many bottles shattered or the wood plugs popped out, causing spillage. Eventually, Dom Pérignon came up with a cork plug to hermetically seal the bottles, trapping the bubbles in.

“There were still many broken bottles,” Frédéric laughed, “until they devised a way to make stronger bottles.” Future champagne producers learned how to create the millions of bubbles in each bottle by adding yeast to the blended still wine for the second fermentation.

“A sip to celebrate this monk and his gift to the world.” Frédéric lifted his flute. Chris thoroughly enjoyed Frédéric’s description. Catherine seemed mesmerized and made a few notes.

“Pérignon devoted his life to the abbey until he died in 1715,” Frédéric said. “And now, let’s pay our respects.” He led them into the small church to view Dom Pérignon’s tombstone.

They walked back to the car in contemplative silence. Frédéric checked his phone. “We have time to drive by the church in Reims, if you’d like to see it.”

“I’d love to,” Catherine said. “My parents were married at Notre-Dame de Paris, a similar Gothic cathedral.”

Traffic was light. They arrived in Reims, the capital of Champagne, thirty minutes later. Frédéric pulled up to the plaza in front of the cathedral. He gestured to the edifice. “This church has an important historical significance in France. Starting in the thirteenth century, it was chosen for the coronation of French kings”—he paused—“for six hundred years.”

“That’s a long time,” Chris said.

“One of the most famous coronations was the crowning of Charles the Seventh in 1429, attended by Joan of Arc. Jeanne d’Arc, in French,” he added. “Unfortunately, not long after, she was captured by the English and put to death for helping French fighters during the Hundred Years’ War.”

“Sad story,” Catherine said. She stepped out of the car and took a few photos of the facade.

When she got back in, Frédéric drove a few miles to their destination. It was clear the main business of Reims was champagne. Markers indicating numerous champagne houses, including Taittinger and Veuve Clicquot, popped up along the route. Right before the approach to Les Crayères, they passed a sign for Pommery Champagne.

Frédéric pulled into a parking spot. “We’re here.” He got out of the car to see them off.

“Thank you, Frédéric, for making us feel so welcome,” Chris said. “You’ve been a great host and guide.” Chris shook his hand, and Catherine and Frédéric shared air kisses on both cheeks.

“You’ll have to visit us in New York sometime,” Catherine said.

“It’s my dream to go to the US,” Frédéric said. “En tout cas, I will see you in Bordeaux in June.”

“Yes, in two months,” Chris said. 

As they walked up to the entrance, Chris stifled the urge to hold Catherine’s hand. She gave him his tie and pulled out a multicolored scarf that she wrapped around her neck.

Chris admired the breathtaking classic French château set in the midst of lush parkland. Yves texted he was running late, so they opted to wait in the bar. After perusing the carte of champagnes by the glass, Chris chose Pommery. Appropriate, since the château was built by that family. A brochure on the table relayed the history.

Les Crayères was built for Louise Pommery, the Duchess of Polignac, in 1904. Decades later, it became a twenty-room château for guests, boasting a gourmet restaurant and luxurious rooms overlooking manicured gardens. One reviewer called it “a Versailles in miniature . . . the stuff of honeymoons and weekend-away liaisons.”

Their flutes were served cold, the way he liked it. They tapped glasses before taking their first sips, very much in sync, like a couple. Chris was starting to sag after a busy day preceded by an early run, but Catherine seemed like the Energizer bunny; that is, if said rabbit wore a short slim dress showcasing killer legs, which he now knew could run like the wind.

Catherine set her glass down. “This is good champagne. Smart choice for the setting. The Pommerys built a lovely château.”

“This place is pretty spectacular,” he agreed, then couldn’t resist adding, “I know who I want to bring here for the two-night stay I won in the auction.”

Excerpt from The Champagne Crushby Caroline O’Connell, 
courtesy of SparkPress, an imprint of The Stable Book Group.  

 

Excerpt from THE CHAMPAGNE CRUSH: pre-Oscar party at Spago in Beverly Hills.
Chris headed toward the entrance to find the only female who interested him in an intimate conversation with George Clooney. All these desirable women, and his girl was the one hanging out with Clooney. Chris had read that every woman over the age of twenty-five thought George Clooney was still one of the “sexiest men alive,” as he’d been dubbed by People magazine numerous times. He had to admit the guy exuded star power.

Catherine smiled when he approached and introduced them. “We were discussing the sabering,” she said. “George offered to participate in the tower pour after the sabering.”

“That’s great,” Chris said. “Thanks for pitching in.”

“Sure, happy to help,” George said. “I’m a big fan of the bubbly—even when it’s sprayed at sporting events.”

“Well, we won’t be doing that tonight. Too many fancy gowns,” Chris said, and both men laughed.

George left to take care of his cohost duties. By this time, the party was in full swing. Wolfgang’s équipe was in high gear. Everything sparkled—fine china platters piled high with gourmet appetizers, crystal champagne flutes served by tuxedoed waiters, and of course the dazzling guests. Glittering diamonds and expensive custom jewelry set off shimmering gowns baring lots of skin. This truly was a crowd of beautiful people.

Chris was pleased to see a familiar face: Ken Barnett from Wine Spectator. They struck up a conversation as Catherine stepped away to speak to a photographer.

“That was quite a coup getting Winston featured at this event,” Ken said.

“All Catherine’s doing,” Chris said.

“She’s a gem. You’re lucky to have her on your team.” Ken lifted his champagne flute and took a sip. “Looking forward to the medieval saber demo.”

“This crowd likes entertainment,” Chris said. He glanced in Catherine’s direction. “Looks like I’m being beckoned by the lady.” 

“Go ahead,” Ken said. “I’m going to grab a bite before the main event.”

Catherine was speaking to John Warner, heir apparent to a conglomerate that owned media companies. John was frequently mentioned in the press as an eligible bachelor and arbiter of taste in New York society. Chris recognized him because he owned a financial publication. They’d never met. Chris didn’t travel in those circles and couldn’t compete with Warner’s jet-set lifestyle, if that’s what Catherine was looking for.

When Chris approached, she spoke first. “John, I’d like you to meet Chris McDermott, president of Winston & Wright. Chris, this is John Warner.”

“I read Warner Financial Times,” Chris said. “It’s well researched.”

“That’s good to hear,” John said. “I think we have a friend in common. Will Frost.”

“Will’s on our board,” Chris said. “He also torments me on the racquetball court.”

John laughed. “I’ve played with Will. He’s competitive. I’m at the same club. We’ll have to team up against him sometime.”

“That would be fun, bring him down a peg.” Chris relished the chance to score a victory over his best friend. They agreed to meet up in New York before John got pulled away by another guest.

“I’m glad you two hit it off,” Catherine said. “He’s an old friend. I’m hoping to get coverage in his paper.”

“I didn’t expect to like him, but he seems like a genuine guy.”

“I believe you’re a snob, Christopher McDermott. What is it exactly?”

“I’ve had experience with people born into their positions. Many have an air of entitlement. He seems different.”

“I’m glad you’re willing to make an exception in John’s case.” Catherine bit her lip, as if trying to hide a frown. “He’s a good guy.”

Chris spotted Chamath Patel walking in and waved him over. “Glad you could make it,” Chris said. He introduced him to Catherine.

Waiters circulated through the crowd, ringing bells to usher guests toward the patio for the ceremony. The three of them made their way to a small riser with a standing microphone, next to the pyramid of glasses on the table.

The crowd quieted and Wolfgang began. “Good evening, everyone. Welcome to Spago’s sparkling salute to this year’s Oscar nominees.” He named the nominees in attendance to enthusiastic applause. “Our cohost, George Clooney, has a few words.”

“I’ll keep it very short,” George said. “To the other nominees, may the best man—or woman—win, hopefully all the entrants from our movie.” That drew guffaws. “The theme of this year’s Academy Awards is Preserving Our Planet, so I encourage you all to donate to those nonprofit groups the Academy singled out.” He looked at his pals Brad Pitt and Matt Damon and joked, “Especially those penny-pinchers Brad and Matt.” More laughter.

Wolfgang leaned into the mic. “I’d also like to thank Chris McDermott, president of Winston & Wright, for providing the sparkles.” He gestured for Chris to step up and speak.

Not accustomed to being the center of attention in a group of famous faces, Chris squared his shoulders and began. “On behalf of Winston & Wright, I want to thank Wolfgang for hosting this special event to celebrate the Oscar nominees. We wish you all good luck. Speaking of celebrating, we’ll be launching our first prestige sparkling in June. Its name is ‘Celebration.’” He glanced at Catherine, who nodded approvingly. “Knowing how you all like drama and flair, I’ll be opening the first magnum tonight the old-fashioned way, with a saber.” The crowd sighed.

Robert removed the foil and wire cap from the bottle and handed the magnum to Chris. Chris pulled the saber out of its scabbard, making a clanging noise, held the magnum in his left hand, and swung the saber against the seam of the bottle where it met the rim. In one smooth motion, he sliced off the top of the bottle, including the cork, and the wine began spilling out. Loud clapping erupted from the audience.

Chris quickly pulled the bottle upright and handed it to George Clooney, who moved to the pyramid, held it over the top glass, and started pouring. The wine overflowed, cascading into the glasses below.

Robert picked up the next magnum, peeled off the foil, and started to untwist the wire cap. Suddenly, the cap and cork shot out of the bottle with a loud pop, crashing into a tray of empty glasses nearby. The bubbly liquid sprayed out, splashing a few people next to the pyramid. 

There was stunned silence. Then Wolfgang recovered. “Well, that’s some fireworks to liven things up!” He turned to Chris. “What do you do for an encore?”

“Nothing, I hope,” Chris said.

“Maybe the champagne gods are punishing me for saying I like to spray bottles,” Clooney quipped.

“No harm done,” Wolfgang said. He signaled the waiters to start passing silver trays of crystal flutes already filled with Winston’s rosé, and the party resumed.

Excerpt from The Champagne Crush by Caroline O’Connell, 
courtesy of SparkPress, an imprint of The Stable Book Group. 

 

Excerpt from THE CHAMPAGNE CRUSH: black-tie gala at the  Plaza Hotel in NYC. 
Trevor took the microphone. “Good evening, folks.” He went into a short monologue recapping the day’s events and cracking jokes at the expense of high-profile guests. He closed with, “Let’s take the plunge. We have many exceptional bottles to auction off to reach our goal. Please open your wallets and bid with abandon.”

There were other things Chris wanted to pursue with abandon, starting with Catherine’s bare back. Her slinky dress was killing him. Unaware of his train of thought, she was in an animated conversation with Will.

The bidding became heated, and Chris directed his attention to the stage. As each lot was auctioned off, Chris and Ken jotted down notes in the margins of their programs and bantered back and forth about the prices they were fetching. Unlike the blind tasting, this process was highly visible. Chris assumed some buyers were making winning bids for the prestige and bragging rights, as much as for the unique bottles and contribution to the cause. In this case, glitz overrode substance. He said as much to Ken—not grasping he was about to fall into the same quest to be victorious.

Pleased with the competitive bidding, Trevor congratulated the crowd on their good taste. The lots were fetching higher prices than anticipated. After forty-five minutes, one final bottle remained. “Well folks, you’ve risen to the occasion. The California Sparkling Wine Producers thank you,” Trevor said. “And now we have a special surprise for our last bottle.” The crowd drew quiet. “The high bidder on this rare Trianon 1952 vintage jeroboam will also receive a two-night stay at romantic Les Crayères in Champagne and a gourmet dinner for two in their Michelin-starred restaurant, along with a private tour of the kitchen and toast with the chef.”

When Catherine stood up, Chris figured she was going to the ladies’ room, so he was taken off balance by Trevor’s next words. “Catherine Reynolds, representing Trianon, has agreed to join the winning bidder in a toast and to lead off the first dance of the evening.” He beckoned her to the stage.

Did I say I wanted a woman full of surprises? Uh-oh. He’d be damned if anyone else was getting this prize. He was feeling awfully possessive at the moment.

They were off and running. A number of attractive men participated in the early bidding, including Chris, Patrick Tournelle, Will Frost, and even Sean Dunlavy. When the dollar figure exceeded $4,000, the bidding contest narrowed to only two: Chris and Will. Trevor chided the combatants. “Looks like we have a horse race, ladies and gentlemen. Miss Reynolds, would you care to weigh in on the contest?”

All she murmured was, “I’m glad they’re supportive of the cause,” which prompted twitters.

When Chris made it clear he planned to bid whatever it took, his friend Will bowed out. Finally. Do I have to broadcast my interest any louder?

“Fair warning,” Trevor announced, indicating the bidding was about to stop, and the gavel came down. “Sold to Chris McDermott for $5,000.”

Amid applause, Chris walked onto the stage, shook hands with Trevor, and enfolded Catherine in a warm embrace that sent cameras flashing. Doug Barr joined the trio to pose for photos. A waiter materialized with four glasses of champagne that they sipped while the stage was being cleared.

The band took their places. Vanessa stepped up to the microphone and started performing her signature version of “Knocks Me Off My Feet.”

“I believe this dance is mine,” Chris whispered in Catherine’s ear, before he whisked her onto the dance floor.

“You sure know how to make a splash,” Catherine said. “Hope this doesn’t appear like we’re fraternizing.”

“All for the cause,” Chris murmured, holding her possessively close. She felt so good in his arms while they moved in time to the music. Vanessa sang the refrain, and he caught the message of the song—a love so strong it made you weak.

Other couples joined them on the dance floor, and Chris steered Catherine to a less conspicuous spot in an alcove behind one of the pillars. “About that bare back,” he murmured and pulled her closer in his embrace.

Excerpt from The Champagne Crush by Caroline O’Connell, 
courtesy of SparkPress, an imprint of The Stable Book Group.