The Rhythm Method

Author's note

: The story is part of Literotica's unofficial tag team competition. Twenty of Literotica's authors have accepted the challenge of being randomly paired with a partner to co-author a story under the pen name "The_Odd_Couplings." The pairings have remained anonymous and the true authors of this story will be revealed in the comments section one week from today.

Disclaimer

: Because part of the fun of this challenge is the secrecy of the partners I would like to ask that readers and fellow authors alike refrain from posting their guesses in the comments section as we would like the scoring to be as fair as possible.

- - The Rhythm Method - -

Ralph Watson rolled over in his bed, groaning as the early morning sun knifed through the shutters and lit up his face. His tongue felt like a lump of dried shoe leather, the result of too many beers the prior evening. The pounding in his head reminded him that it was a horrible idea to have his friends over to watch football. Of course, he'd forget all about that before the next game. Ralph seemed to have a difficult time learning from his mistakes these days.

He sat up in bed and felt as if he needed to vomit. Great, he thought to himself. This was the day of the big meeting at work. Big meeting. Fucking-A. He wondered what horseshit they were going to throw at them today. Whatever it was, Ralph was going to have to figure out a way to deal with it. He was a cellar rat at one of the best wineries in the state, Twisted Vines, and was lucky to have that job. If you didn't do wine in the valley, you did coal. He most certainly didn't want to do coal.

Ralph growled as he threw his legs over the side of the bed and stood up. Holding back the nausea again, he made his way into the kitchen and fumbled with the coffee maker. After adding a filter and coffee to the brew basket, he poured water into the machine and turned it on. Then he headed into the bathroom as the coffee brewed, emptying his bladder into a toilet that hadn't been cleaned in far too long. The deep yellow color of his urine evidenced his state of dehydration.

This was going to be one hell of a day, Ralph thought as he walked back into the kitchen. He poured himself a cup of coffee, then pulled a carton of milk from the refrigerator. The milk had an expiration date of the prior day. He sniffed it, shrugged, and added it to his coffee. Pretending not to notice the slight curdle that appeared atop the liquid, Ralph took a deep chug of the brew, satisfied it wouldn't kill him. With no time to cook, he fed the toaster two slices of bread and grabbed a plate from the cupboard. When the toast popped up, Ralph spread some jam on it and quickly ate in between gulps of coffee.

When he had finished, he walked into his small bedroom to get dressed. He opened a dresser drawer and pulled out a pair of boxers, which he slipped on. Rummaging through a pile of clothes that lay on the floor in the corner of the room, he found a pair of jeans and an old AC/DC t-shirt. He gave the clothes a sniff test, and thought they were good enough to wear for the day. Making a mental note to do laundry that evening, he slipped on his jeans and pulled on his Nikes, then headed out the door to his car. It was a twenty minute drive from his apartment to the winery, and he had just enough time to avoid being late. Ralph crossed his fingers and breathed a sigh of relief when the old clunker started right up for him, then sped off down the road to work.

* * * * *

Charlotte Simons stepped off the treadmill and picked up her water bottle, taking several big swallows. Wasting no time, she kicked off her shoes and stripped off her clothes as she walked to the shower, stepping under the gentle spray. She had cut her morning run short knowing that she had a meeting to get to. As she went through her shower routine, shaving her legs and scrubbing her body until she was pink all over, she considered once again why the rarely seen owners were coming in today.

She had been an assistant winemaker at the prestigious company for over three years, and she was hopeful that perhaps this visit from the owners meant that she would get the chance to step up into a winemaker role while one of the seniors took leave. Stepping from the shower, she dried off and moisturized every inch of her body, then dried her natural curls to silky smoothness. After putting on a thin veneer of make-up with a practiced hand so as to make it seem as if she wore none at all, she walked to her room.

She looked at the outfit she had chosen the night before after hours of indecision and angst, trying not to second guess her choice. Dressing carefully in matching designer lingerie and a simple navy blue dress, she turned to eye her reflection critically. As always, she ran her hands down each part of her body, her eyes following the lines of her figure. She noted the freckles on her shoulders, her small, but not too small, breasts and the flat belly between the wide hips that had been the gift of her mother's genes. Forsaking the low comfortable heels she normally wore, she slipped into a pair of stilettoes thinking they would, if nothing else, give her a little bit more presence in the room. She didn't want to risk being hidden behind her taller coworkers.

It was important to Charlotte that she appear confident and professional in her role at the winery. She had worked hard in school to get herself out of the rundown neighborhood and home her mother still lived in. She had no desire to return there because she failed to meet the expectations of her employers. As she chopped up fresh fruit and made a health shake for breakfast, she went through a checklist in her mind of everything she had to do at work before the scheduled morning meeting.

Putting the shake into a sip and go cup, she grabbed her bag from its place at the end of the kitchen counter and left for work, excited about what the day might hold for her. As always, she'd arrive early and get much accomplished before her coworkers even showed up for the day.

* * * * *

Ralph pulled into the dusty, gravel covered parking lot three minutes before he was to clock in for work. His old heap shuddered as he turned off the engine, which did nothing to ease the pain in his already throbbing head. Getting out of the car, he looked up at the large stone structure he was about to enter. It had the appearance of a medieval castle, and the light that the sun cast upon it gave it the appearance of being in a faraway land. Of course, deep in the depths of the castle there was no natural light. He craved that darkness right now, as the bright sun stabbed his eyes and brought on another wave of nausea.

There was already a crowd in the main entrance area, a large, cavernous space with high ceilings and a lot of natural light coming through the many elevated windows. This was where guests of the winery began their tours, and many were already queued up for the first tour of the day. The sounds of voices echoed through into the foyer area where the winery workers gathered to await the owners. Speculation ran rampant about what the owners would discuss today. Standing over to one side of the room, Ralph watched as the assistant winemakers gathered together in a cluster. Charlotte was noticeably absent from the group. Good, Ralph thought. Of all the people he worked with, he despised her most of all. She seemed aloof at all times, and was always dressed as if she were on a catwalk or at a fashion shoot. It pissed him off. It was as if she wanted to flaunt her affluence in the face of the cellar floor workers.

Most of the winemakers and their assistants barely acknowledged his existence, other than to bark out orders or chide him for one thing or another when coming down to the cellar floor. She seemed to take it to another level, though. He would never forget the day that she followed him into the castle and he held the door for her. His fingers brushed hers, and she pulled her hand away with a loud gasp and a look of sheer horror. You would have thought he had some horrible communicable disease with the way she acted. He had never forgotten it, nor had he ever forgiven her.

Having been at work for some time, Charlotte finally went down to the foyer where they had been asked to assemble. She advanced into the room, trying to exude confidence as she walked, her too high heels clicking loudly on the stone floor of the foyer. She was looking for a friendly face, when she spied Ralph watching her. A chill went up her spine as she walked. He frightened her. Ralph was a big man, burly and hairy, with deep brown, brooding eyes and a head full of dark, curly hair. Folding her arms across her chest, Charlotte desperately searched for Jeff, her boyfriend, who was supposed to be here already. Like her, he was an assistant winemaker, vying for the temporary promotion. Unable to find him, she glanced once more towards Ralph, who continued to watch her with disdain on his face.

Once again, a chill ran through her. He reminded her of a neighbor she had when she was in her early teens. He had tried to take advantage of the girls in the neighborhood and Charlotte had been cornered by him once. Luckily, she was rescued by her mother, who had unexpectedly returned home early from work. She had nightmares about him still, and was not at all happy that someone who looked even remotely like that man had appeared at the winery in which she worked.

Charlotte dismissed the cellar rat from her mind and carried on through the room to try and find Jeff, or at least some of her colleagues. She had worked hard to secure her position here and she had no desire to socialize with the people who worked in the cellar beneath her. It wasn't that she didn't appreciate them in her own way. Rolling the barrels and ensuring the constant temperatures down in the vast catacomb like cellars below the castle was beyond important to the fermentation process. She just didn't see the need to have to be friends with the cellar dwellers.

In truth, their lack of formal education and the menial jobs they held reminded her of the rundown neighborhood she had grown up in. Those people had lived from day to day on welfare and handouts. Very few of her neighbors even left their houses for work in the morning. She supposed the rats were slightly better, at least going to a job every day. She was quite thankful to have escaped that world and the man that Ralph Watson reminded her of. Once again a shiver ran up her spine as she desperately searched for a friendly face and the safety she knew being with her own friends would give her. Smiling in relief, she all but ran to where she had spotted the small group of assistant winemakers.

Jeff returned her smile but he was not a man prone to public displays of affection. Charlotte took her place beside him and greeted the remaining people in the group. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw that Ralph had finally turned his eyes away from her and was talking easily with his friends. She breathed a sigh of relief and joined in the speculative conversation between her friends. They each had written extensive expressions of interest in the temporary winemaker's position and they hoped the owners arrival preceded the announcement of who would get the opportunity to move up in the wine making world.

"Welcome everybody," a deep voice boomed over the din in the room. A hush descended on the crowd and every pair of eyes turned to the wide staircase that was part of the large foyer. "Now that the tour has gotten underway, would you all please follow me?" The man turned and made his way up the staircase, beckoning the workers to follow.

Straggling at the back, Ralph noted that the assistant winemakers led the way, followed by the cellar masters, and lastly, the cellar rats. Noticeably absent were the hospitality staff, who ran the events and tours at the winery. Ralph's surly demeanor became heightened as he entered the room last, underlining his place as the least important person in the winery. "Fucking assholes," he mumbled under his breath as the assistants joined the winemakers on the small group of chairs available in the vast room while most of the cellar floor workers were forced to stand.

He noted with a sense of satisfaction that the owners also stood and did not look any happier than he was about the clear division within the staff. Ralph had a feeling that the absent owners were about to take a bigger interest in what was going on in the winery, rather than continuing to leave it only in the managing director's hands. He sneered at the thought of the managing director. The stupid bastard didn't know or care what went on in the cellars and that was just the way Ralph liked it.

Frank and Suzette Price had met several years earlier at a charity event, and had quickly become smitten with each other. Frank was tall and handsome, his salt and pepper hair at odds with his otherwise youthful appearance. Suzette was a slender brunette, thirty years his junior. She was a woman born of high society, having attended a prestigious liberal arts school up north.

She had taken an interest in Twisted Vines over the past year, and had begun to surreptitiously observe the operation. She cajoled Frank into allowing her to take the reins of the company, and her first order of business was the reason they had gathered today. She stood in front of the room and addressed the small crowd gathered before her.

"For those of you that don't know me, I am Suzette Price. My husband Frank and I own Twisted Vines," she said, motioning to Frank. "I have been watching the operation here over the past six months, and have been quite impressed with the work you are all doing. However, it has become apparent to me that we can do much better." A murmur rumbled through room, causing her to pause before continuing.

"I want to talk about teamwork. Look around you right now. You have all organized yourself into cliques, and from what I have seen no one associates themselves with anyone outside their little group unless they absolutely have to. In fact, there seems to be a caste system at work here, and I think it is holding us back. There is no job here more important than another. If each of you doesn't do their part, the entire operation suffers."

"These people don't have to be friends in order to do their jobs," interrupted Jim Whitehead, the Managing Director. "We produce a quality product. If you didn't tie our hands with a limited marketing budget, we could do wonders."

"Thank you for your input Jim," Suzette said with a small frown. "We can discuss budgets at another time. You do recall that we lost several batches of wine last week, don't you Jim?"

"That isn't all that uncommon."

"Why did we lose those batches, Jim?"

Jim let out a huge sigh before replying. "There was a bit of a miscommunication between the assistant winemaker and one of the cellar ra... workers," he quickly corrected himself.

"A bit of miscommunication?" Suzette sneered. "That's exactly my point. These people work side by side, and yet they barely even speak to each other. That has the potential to screw up our operation, and it obviously has, on more than one occasion. On top of that, I think it kills morale. Who wants to come to work in a place where people ignore each other, or, even worse, despise each other?"

"Well, you can't force people to be friends, Suzette," hissed Jim, forgetting who he was speaking to and dropping the formality of calling her Mrs. Price in this meeting. "What are you going to do? Lock them in a room together?" he added, barely hiding his disdain for her.

Jim had heard a rumor that Suzette was going to interfere with the operation. The last thing he wanted was to have someone that knew nothing about winemaking or business questioning his judgment on a daily basis. He much preferred the Price couple to just stay in the background and cash the checks that he earned for them.

"It's funny that you should mention such a thing Jim," said Suzette with a wicked smile. "That is exactly what I have in mind. During the next month, we are all going to spend several days and even a few nights here, breaking down the cliques and learning to work together. This is a mandatory exercise. Anyone who is not on board should leave now, but know if you choose that route you will not be welcome back again."

The room was abuzz as everyone struggled to get their minds around this announcement. Suzette watched the group with interest, and was happy that no one headed for the exit. Almost happy, anyway. Part of her had wished that Jim would have left in an angry huff. Now, she'd have to end up firing him instead.

Hearing the discontented buzz of both shock and distaste run through the room, Frank stepped forward to add his authority to his wife's voice. "I am in full agreement here. The whole of the winery is only as good as the sum of its parts. I expect every level of this business to run like a well-oiled machine. Currently that machine has too many creaks and groans. If we don't do something about that, Suzette and I will be looking at making a major overhaul, beginning with the people in this room. Personally, I think that would be the best course of action, but my wife insisted we try to do it this way and give you all the chance to prove you are the right people to be here."

The ripple of shocked gasps could be heard from the winemakers and their assistants and they looked with disdain at the cellar masters and rats. In turn the cellar floor workers looked back with undisguised malice at the winemakers.

A small low growl erupted from Ralph's throat as he caught Charlotte looking in his direction. Fucking stuck up bitch. She was the worst of them all, he thought to himself. At least some of the others would acknowledge his existence with a quick greeting when they came down to the cellar to check their precious barrels. That bitch treated them all like morons and avoided him like he had the plague. He curled his lip in a snarl as he caught her eye, causing her to quickly look away.

"I understand there will be those of you with family or commitments elsewhere, so we are willing to accommodate that," Suzette continued once the noise had once again died down. "Those of you who have a real hardship giving us the extra time we're asking for should make an appointment to speak directly with me about it. Make no mistake though. My husband and I are looking to make some drastic changes around here and those who do not come on board with our plans should possibly start looking for employment elsewhere. I believe the mine is hiring." The Prices were banking on the fact that there was little work available in these tough times, especially in this town.

"Thank you all for listening. Once the smaller details have been ironed out we will let you know the dates we will begin our new training plans. For those of you who wish to see me about our plans, I will be available in the owner's suite today and tomorrow. Make an appointment with Emily," she said, introducing her personal assistant. "That will be all for now," she said, dismissing the staff and leading the way as she and her husband exited the room.

Charlotte sat in stunned silence. Her work was her life, and she had fully expected that they were going to announce who would get the promotion. She hadn't expected this. She barely took in the growls of discontent around her as she looked back to where the cellar workers had begun to file out of the room. The mistake causing the loss of several barrels of wine last month had not been hers, but rather it had been Jeff's. It was his fault they were in this predicament. She could bet she knew who the cellar rat was that caused it though, as she watched the lumbering bear of a man, Ralph Watson, exit the room.