Cream of the Crop (5 page)

So what gives?

I reread the last part of the email that had been submitted to MCG.

So you can see, our town has everything to offer the weekending couple or family that just wants to get out of the city and into the country for a while. But while other towns in the Hudson Valley seem to have flourished in recent years, our little hamlet has remained off the beaten path. We like to consider Bailey Falls upstate New York's best-kept secret. I think we're ready to let everyone else in on it now. With your help.

Looking forward to hearing what your firm might be able to do for us,

Councilman Chad Bowman

Chad Bowman. Chad Bowman. Why did that name sound familiar? On impulse I called Roxie.

“Do you know a Chad Bowman?” I asked when she chirped a hello.

“Are you talking about The Chad Bowman?” she asked.

I frowned and reread the email. “I'm talking about Councilman Chad Bowman; is that the same thing?”

“Ha! Councilman! Shit, that's right, I never heard him referred to that way, all fancy and everything. But yes, I am familiar. He was my all-time favorite high school crush, I mean, of all fucking time. Wait, why are you asking me about him?” she asked.

“He wrote to us here at the firm about drumming up business in your wee village.”

“Oh, that's fantastic! He'd be the guy to do it, too; he's on this kick to make Bailey Falls the next hot spot. He's got this idea that—” She stopped cold. “Wait. Wait a damn minute. Your firm is working on this?”

“Yep.”

“Are you working on this?”

“Yep.”

“So you're coming to the sticks?”

“Yep. Got a guest room?”

She shrieked so loud my ears were ringing for the rest of the day.

Chapter 4

T
hat week was spent researching, making calls, and packing. I had Liz already started on working with the people over at T&T Sanitation, revising the budgets and beginning the early stages of that campaign. This wasn't the first time I'd juggled multiple campaigns, and it certainly wouldn't be the last.

I talked endlessly with Roxie that week, making plans for my trip and deciding exactly how many high jinks we'd have time for in addition to both of us keeping our jobs.

“We can go apple picking, and hiking, and white-water rafting, and sailing on the Hudson. And then on Saturday—”

“Natalie! Slow it down, how much time do you think there is in a day?”

“If I'm coming to the sticks, then I'm coming to the sticks. Nature me up, sister,” I said into the phone one night.

“We couldn't do that much if you were here for an entire week, much less a weekend when you're technically working. And so am I.”

“We don't have to do it all, but we can at least go apple picking, right?”

“I have an arrangement with the bees that live in the or
chard. I agreed not to go into the orchard.” She gave a horrid little shudder that I could imagine even over the phone.

“And what did the bees agree to?” I asked when she didn't finish the statement.

“They also agreed that I was not to go into the orchard.”

“Oh boy.”

“But Leo will be happy to take you; there's always an orchard tour on the weekends this time of year.” Her voice dipped down low and secretive. “Or I can ask someone else to take you apple picking . . .”

“Stop it; I'll combust if I think about being in the woods with that man! I'd likely climb him instead of the tree!”

“You'll have to talk to him if you go into the woods, though,” she reminded me. “Don't you think we better get you talking first?”

“Talk schmalk, I'm hoping his mouth is otherwise occupied,” I said with a sigh, and could hear her eyes rolling all the way from upstate.

Since Roxie was essentially going to be my tour guide for everything I was officially working on this weekend, I'd finally told Dan that my best friend lived in Bailey Falls, which kept him from looking for any other reason why I was heading up north on the Hudson River Line.

Once I'd made the decision to take on this project, I couldn't get Oscar off my mind. I thought about him while I was making my coffee in the morning and adding a splash of cream. I thought about him at lunch when I was taking my nosh outside and eating his Brie in the park across from the office. And at night . . . my brain was full of thoughts of a decidedly different nature.

But I was also being a responsible adult about all this. I already had lots of ideas for boosting the tourism in that little town, starting with Roxie's boyfriend. Leo Maxwell ran one of
the Northeast's most innovative organic farms, with teams of apprentices coming from around the country to work and learn. Based on what I'd gleaned from Roxie and the Internet, it could be a wonderful draw for people who were very much into their home gardens and being as sustainable as possible. Sustainable. Local. Homegrown. All current buzzwords that generated Internet clicks and tourism dollars that could potentially be spent in Bailey Falls.

It also didn't hurt that Leo came from a very well-known and wealthy New York family, and looked like a Greek god from the island of Hipsteropia. Was I planning to exploit his natural good looks?

Hey, if his farm was featured in a possible future magazine spread encouraging Connecticut housewives to bring their family to the wholesome town of Bailey Falls for a weekend visit, and his smiling face was dead center? It couldn't hurt.

I never turned over a stone that didn't want to be flipped over, but if I thought it might give, I always started pushing. The stone usually let me know.

I also packed. As a rule, I didn't leave Manhattan for any reason unless I was going somewhere fabulous. I'm sure Bailey Falls was charming and all, but it was definitely different from my normal business trip to somewhere with tall buildings and round-the-clock deliveries. How did I pack for the country?

I headed to REI. I explained to an oddly confused saleswoman that I was headed into the wilderness and needed to make sure I had the necessities. I was going on an adventure, and didn't want to be caught without something that might come in handy and save my life. She led me to the survival gear, which I was surprised to realize didn't include anything cashmere. Purification tablets, sure, but no cardigans?

I always found great sweaters at Barneys, so I'd head there
next, but before leaving REI I did manage to procure a great pair of subzero hiking pants, a puppy tent with an optional starry-night ceiling, and several packages of something called gorp.

I also visited the salon for my regularly scheduled waxing (everywhere, thank you) and picked up a few last-minute glam packs to make sure that even in the sticks, I was highlighted, primed, and perfectly dewy. Should the need arise.

I was in the office Thursday morning finishing up some last-minute details when Dan stopped by to check in one last time.

“When is your train?”

“I'm gonna jump on the 1:43. That puts me in at Poughkeepsie around 3:30.”

“Sounds good. When are you meeting with the client?”

“I'm scheduled with the councilman who reached out to us tomorrow at 9 a.m. I figured I'd start with him first, get a feel for what he wants. Then I'm supposed to meet with the rest of the council over the weekend, after my official tour.” I packed up my laptop. “And apparently there's a barn dance. Can you believe that?”

“Hope you packed your petticoat,” he said, chuckling along with me.

I patted my second suitcase. “You bet your ass I did.”

“You didn't,” he said, blinking at me.

“Dan. When am I ever going to get the chance to go to a barn dance again? You should see the boots I got to wear with my dress!”

“Please promise me that someone will be taking pictures. I just need one,” he said, shaking his head. “I still can't believe you're going up there. Best friend or no best friend, this just isn't like you.”

As I stood in the perfectly modern office in a high-rise with a view people would kill for, a slow smile spread across my face.

“I know.”

When I was ten years old, my family and I took a weekend trip up to Lake Erie to stay with an old friend of my mother's. We got a late start out of the city, broke an axle on a lonely country road after dark, and ended up spending the night, and the better part of the next day, in a little town in the literal middle of nowhere, waiting for the one body shop in town to get the part it needed to fix my dad's car.

We spent the night at the Greenwood Inn, an old hotel that had seen better days. But while my mother and father complained about the size of the bathroom and the thread count of the sheets, I was fascinated with the bell on the counter downstairs and the fact that there was a potbelly stove in the corner. The next day, while my father dickered with the owner of the body shop, my mother and my brother and I spent the day in town, walking the town square, playing in the little park in the center of town, and feeding the ducks in the duck pond. I watched the little town bustle around me, locals coming into town to pick up some groceries from the mom-and-pop grocery store on the corner, to visit with each other at the café over a slice of pie, or to shop for new school clothes at the one clothing store, over which was Miss Lucy's Dance Studio.

My brother was bored. My mother was frustrated. I was enthralled. The little town—and still to this day I have no idea where exactly it was—came alive in front of my eyes, like a walking, talking picture book. We spent exactly seventeen hours in this town, and it forever changed my view of small-town America . . . and was the spark that lit the secret never-to-be-spoken-of-out-loud desire to one day live in one.

As the train sped along the Hudson, I watched as the little river towns flew by. I took pictures as we zoomed by, the river, the stations, the hills, everything. The train made many stops,
and I watched the people getting off. These were people who worked in my city, but chose to live just up the river, in an entirely different world.

Huh.

I snuggled down into my seat, wrapping my cashmere cardigan more firmly around my shoulders, marveling at the world that existed beyond the magical land that is New York City. And before I knew it, we were at the end of the line.

Poughkeepsie Station.

Chapter 5

“W
ow. It's bigger than I thought it would be.”

“See now, that's exactly what I said the first time I saw Leo naked.”

“Nice.” I slid my hand over for a low five. She slapped it, keeping her left hand on the steering wheel.

“Actually, that's not true,” she admitted, a blush creeping into her cheeks. “I totally knew it would be big.”

I laughed. “Atta boy, Leo! Its always nice when beautiful boys are not only economically blessed, but blessed down below as well. I can't wait to meet him and congratulate him on his big dick.”

She cackled, clapping her hand on the side of her thigh. “Yes, please say exactly that.”

“Done.” She knew I totally would. “Not that I don't enjoy all the junk talk here, but what I actually meant was
Poughkeepsie
is bigger than I thought.” We'd pulled out of the station a few minutes ago, and I'd expected to be in the country almost immediately.

“Poughkeepsie is decent sized, Bailey Falls is positively minuscule. You sure you're up to this?”

“I'm not that citified, am I?”

“Sweetie. There's no Starbucks. No blow-dry bars. We have one cab, driven by a man named Earl, who wears glasses as thick as Coke bottles. I'm not entirely sure they're
not
actual Coke bottles.”

“I'll be fine,” I answered, settling back against the seat. “I see you're still driving this beast.”

“It's not a beast, it's a Jeep Wagoneer, a classic. They literally don't make them like this anymore.”

“That's true, you don't see much wood paneling these days, at least not on the outside of the car,” I replied, smoothing my hand across the side panel. My hand was resting on the window ledge, the air blowing in off the river, and with it a strange scent. “What am I smelling?”

“Country.” She grinned and turned off onto a wooded two-lane highway.

“Perfect.” I smiled back. “When's the barn dance?”

“The what?”

“Barn dance. Councilman Bowman said there'd be a barn dance. I bought a petticoat.” I was confused when she burst out laughing.

“Oh sweetie,” she said, slapping her hand on the steering wheel. “He must have been teasing you, there's no barn dance.”

“It's not a real thing?” I asked, disappointed.

“Oh, it's a thing; just not this weekend. But I'll look at the calendar and see when the next one is.”

“But my petticoat,” I said, sniffing.

She just patted my hand and snickered once more.

As we drove, she began to point out landmarks, some designated as actual landmarks, and some Roxie landmarks.

“Here's the spot where my Jeep broke down when I was in high school, and I had to walk two miles to the nearest house.
Aaaand there's the Lightning Tree, gets struck by lightning at least once every summer, but the damn thing just never gives up and falls over. And here's the turnoff to The Tube, best swimming hole for miles.”

“A swimming hole? Explain please,” I said, not understanding. Sure, I'd watched old TV shows where people were swimming in, well, swimming holes, but that couldn't be what she actually meant. Wait, right?

“A swimming hole. You've never gone to a swimming hole?”

“I once went swimming at a YMCA in the Bronx, does that count?” I asked.

“Oh honey, you're so pretty,” she said, shaking her head at me.

“I know,” I answered promptly. “Continue.”

“Well, it's like a pond but it's spring-fed, and it's always moving, not stagnant.”

“Can you see the bottom?”

“Mostly.”

“It's not squishy and muddy?”

“A little bit, but it's mostly just rocky.”

“That'd freak me out. Who knows what the hell might be lurking in there.” I shuddered.

“You swim in the ocean,” she said.

“Sure, but it's the ocean. It's not a hole in the ground.”

“You come back next summer, and I'll take you to a swimming hole.”

“I feel like I should say thank you.”

She gave me the side-eye. “You're the one that wanted to come up here and learn all about Bailey Falls.”

I nodded my head. “Sorry, was my Manhattan showing?”

“No, but your city snob attitude was.” She pretended to glare at me.

“Oh good, I was afraid I was losing my edge,” I replied, then dodged her smack.

“I'll smack you properly when we get out of the car. But now, while we drive down Main Street, it'll cause too much gossip.”

“Main Street?”

“Here we are.” She grinned and turned down a new street, heading right into town.

It truly was like a picture out of a magazine—one printed in 1935. It was darling.

The light was beginning to march west, but it was still golden. Main Street was lined with tall and full maple trees, flashing crimson and poppy. A breeze ruffled through, sending a few leaves to the ground, where they joined thousands of their cousins. Scuttling through the thousands of leaves were children, many children, all in a line holding hands with a few teachers herding at the front and back, all of them laughing and kicking through the crunch. More of that country air blew through, sending a few leaves into the street, where we rolled through them pleasantly.

Lining the sides of Main Street, in between the leaves and the adorable kids, were rows of shops. In front of most, shopkeepers had mounded pumpkins, funky little gourds, hay bales, stalks of corn, and one rakish-looking scarecrow with a straw hat to guard them all. People walked along the street, darting in and out of shops with bundles and bags full of what they needed to have this beautiful fall day. And above it all, an impossibly blue sky soared. Not at all hazy or smudged, just gorgeous blue for miles and miles, dotted with white puffy clouds.

“Oh my,” I breathed out, practically hanging out of the window like an old hound dog. Snap snap snap went my camera, capturing everything I could for later inspiration.

While I would go to my grave saying there is nothing prettier
than a fall sunset in New York City, Bailey Falls might be a close second.

And right smack-dab in the middle of Main Street was Callahan's. The diner had been in Roxie's family for years, and was the reason she'd moved back home. Running the diner for the summer while her mother competed on
The Amazing Race
had been the last thing she wanted to do, but it ended up being the very best thing she could have done. Now she had a burgeoning business, a hot guy, and this darling town in her life every single day.

I admired the large picture window, the tidy brick steps, the green-and-white-striped awning. It looked old but well-kept, with exactly the kind of nostalgia that weekenders ate up in droves. A peek of the good old life, the way things used to be—a life that was likely not nearly as interesting while actually in it, but that in hindsight was just peachy perfect. This diner had that in spades. And I hadn't even made it inside yet.

“You're meeting Chad for breakfast tomorrow morning, right?”

“Nine o'clock, bright and early,” I answered.

“Perfect. I've got to come into town for supplies, so I'll drop you off.” She turned off the main street and into the town square. “Thought I'd give you the driving tour before we head back to my place.”

“Oh I'd love it!” I exclaimed as she turned onto the first corner. Drugstore, candy shop, one-screen movie theater, even the Laundromat was cute. Turning the corner, we drove by a few antique shops, a butcher, and oh, there we go, the cheese shop. Another corner, and even more adorableness. Kids' clothing store, a coffee shop (no competition for the diner, thank you very much), a gourmet food shop next door to a good old-fashioned dive bar. And on the last street we turned onto, what looked to be city hall.

Four streets, four corners, with a sweet little park in the center with a duck pond, a summery-looking gazebo, and some early Halloween ghosts flying through the fall oak trees. And here and there, on the edge of town, a peek of the Hudson.

“Honestly, could this town be any cuter?” I marveled, already beginning to frame out shots for the photo shoot I'd be doing to capture the essence of this charming village.

I could see instantly the magazine ads, the copy I'd write, the perfection of making this place a must-see for weekend tourists. I'd bring New Yorkers here in droves.

“You think it's cute now, but wait until wintertime.”

“Oh, God, I bet it's darling at Christmas!”

“Sure, sure. And when there's snowdrifts packed higher than my head and it's below zero for days on end, then it's positively idyllic.”

Though her tone was teasing, she was clearly enamored with her hometown in a way I hadn't seen her in years.

“I'm glad you moved home. It's nice having you back east,” I said.

She rolled her eyes. “I need to get you away from all this Norman Rockwell shit, its making you schmaltzy,” she said.

“Okay, so take me back to your farmhouse and cook me some of your allegedly fantastic food.”

“Driving tour over,” she announced, and we left the town square behind.

“I'll see the rest of the town tomorrow; I'll get Chad to show me around,” I teased.

“Don't you be flirting with my high school crush! And sweetie, you've seen the rest of the town.”

“That's it?” I exclaimed, looking behind me to see the town square fading away in the distance.

Roxie just laughed as she drove me into the wild . . .

I lay on the iron bed, which squeaked just from the movement of my breathing. I drew in a breath.
Creak
. I let it out.
Squeak
. Good lord, how do country people fuck without waking up the entire town?

I rolled over onto my stomach, smiling at the thoughtful touches here and there. Comfortable-looking extra blankets piled onto the antique chest in the corner. A few bottles of water on the nightstand. A stack of fresh towels. And my very own pumpkin on top of the dresser, facing out into the front yard. It hadn't been jack-o'-lanterned, but was still a nice touch to an already homey room.

When Roxie had told me she'd found an old farmhouse, I wasn't sure what to expect. It was small, but that was okay. It was just her here, and it was nice and cozy. I got the impression that she and Leo had discussed moving in together, into his very nice house over on the Maxwell property, but I also got the sense she was pretty happy where she was, setting up shop on her own in her hometown. The house was clean, simple, and a bit old-fashioned, but in a nice way. It was a very Roxie-style house.

She was downstairs getting started on dinner, and had encouraged me to head up to the guest room and get comfortable. I'd opened up the windows, smelling more of that bracingly clean air. It smelled funny, but I could tell my lungs were appreciating it. Situated at the end of a road, almost hidden in the trees, the house was a world away from my townhouse in the East Village. And quiet! Oh my goodness, so quiet. Other than the creaky squeaks.

I got up off the old bed and started unpacking. I always pack too many clothes, since you never know when a wardrobe change might be necessary. I pulled out a few dresses and hung
them in the closet, thinking about what I wanted to wear tonight. It was my first time meeting Leo and his daughter, Polly. Hmm, what does one wear to meet your best friend's farmer boyfriend and his seven-year-old?

Obviously a coral jumpsuit with three-inch snakeskin peep-toe heels.

When I arrived in the kitchen, Roxie took one look at me and burst out laughing. “This is you in the sticks?”

“The sticks is no excuse not to kill it,” I said, strutting across the plank floor. “And coral is very autumnal.” I leaned over the counter, looking for anything I could pilfer. Aha! Cherry tomatoes. Snagging a few, I headed over to the table.

“Of course, how silly of me. I'd ask you to help with dinner, but—”

“But you remember how culinary school turned out for me,” I finished, popping in a tomato.

She laughed, chopping garlic and throwing it into a pan. Instantly the room smelled incredible.

“Mmm, what are we having? Your famous cioppino? Saffron risotto with peas and asparagus? That's always been one of my favorites. No no, wait, don't tell me. You're making that incredible blue cheese soufflé that smells like feet and tastes like heaven?”

She shrugged. “Nope—spaghetti and meatballs. It's Polly's favorite.”

I smiled. “How stinking cute are you, making her favorite dinner.”

“Oh hush.”

I poured myself a glass of wine from the open bottle on the table. “Listen, if
you're
making spaghetti and meatballs, it'll be the best spaghetti and meatballs ever made.”

“You're so sweet. I know you were expecting something a little fancier.”

I waved her off. “Please, I can have fancy anytime I want it. I'm just excited to meet your fella and this meatball kid who sounds smarter than I am.”