New Amsterdam: Tess (14 page)

“How many pending orders do we have?” asks Thessaly.

“I’ll look again, but I think less than ten. We can fill those tomorrow and ship them out on Monday.”

“All I have to do on my end is deactivate the online store – which is really easy.”

“Then let’s do it.”

“Did you talk to ice cream guy?”

“Mr. Softee!”

“Levi,” Thessaly corrects.

“Like the jeans?” Shelby teases.

Clarifying the confusion, Meg recites, “Levi Jones is the owner of Brooklyn Soil. He has a crush on your sister and got a boner during a photo shoot . . .”

“Stop right there,” begs Shelby.

“Levi and I had a few dates this week, but it’s not going to work.”

“Because of Mason?” asks Seth.

Crossing his arms, Shelby scorns, “I thought you ended things with Mason.”

“I tried, but then he asked me to move to London,” answers Thessaly.

“You’re moving to London?” squeals Meg.

“No, I mean, I said no.”

“Good. So what’s up with Levi?” asks Seth.

Ashamed, Thessaly whispers, “Levi took some of my clients.”

“He has honey,” Meg clarifies.

“Brooklyn Soil?” Shelby asks.

“Yes!” Meg and Seth shout in unison.

“Keep up, brother,” teases Thessaly.

“I do actually.” Swiping the iPad from the island, Shelby types in
Brooklyn Soil
and
Immigrants
into the Google search bar. Tapping the first title of a dozen articles, Shelby enlarges the screen and passes it to Thessaly. “Mama wanted me to find a youth program in Asheville that would allow troubled kids to spend a week on our farm. Brooklyn Soil kept popping up in my searches when I was researching youth farm programs – it’s pretty impressive.”

As Thessaly skims the article, Seth peers over her shoulder and asks, “So Levi is a good guy?”

“He’s amazing,” Thessaly mumbles.

“And you never googled him?” Meg quips, scrolling through her phone with a smile. “Do you follow his Instagram account?”

“No,” she answers quietly.

“I just did! Damn, he was in the Peace Corps. Look at this photo, Tess.” Meg flips her phone around to reveal a photo of Levi with a group of kids in an open kitchen in Belize. They’re all holding an ear of corn and a sign that reads: We’re so corny!

Thessaly smiles and then continues to read the online article. “What’s the refugee alliance,” she asks the group.

Shelby moves to Thessaly’s side and reads over her shoulder. “It’s a program that offers jobs to refugees seeking asylum. They work in agriculture or the arts while assimilating into New York.” Shelby taps a photo of a young couple on the iPad and addresses his sister. “And take a look at their newest project.”

“Beekeeping,” Thessaly whispers.

“Yeah, but I wouldn’t be concerned, Tess. They have one Afghani beekeeper, one apiary, and ten colonies.”

“Tess, he posted a pic with you!” Meg exclaims as she squeezes between Shelby and Thessaly. “You look drunk, but beautiful.”

“Obviously you haven’t seen Tess drunk,” Shelby teases.

Placing the iPad on the counter with a screen shot of a black and white photo of Levi planting cabbage, Thessaly calmly says, “Let’s get back to work, Shelby.” Glancing at Seth, she adds, “You two don’t have to stay. Go enjoy your day off!”

Nodding in agreement and pulling Meg away from Shelby, Seth replies, “Let’s go, weirdo.”

Looking at her phone while Seth tugs at her waist, Meg sighs. “Gah, he’s so nice, Tess. I bet Levi has a naughty little secret – the nice guys always get freaky in bed!”

“Bye, Meg.”

“Hey, Meg?” Shelby interrupts. “Meet me at the pub on the corner for drinks around five.” Breaking down a box into a flat rectangle, Shelby adds, “You can come, too, Seth.”

“See you guys later,” Seth grunts, stepping over bubble wrap. “You should lock the door – it’s a mess in here.”

Thessaly waves them off as she glances at the iPad screen with Levi’s picture. “Lock it behind you then,” she mutters.

“What’s next?” Shelby asks.

“Do you want to help me make honey sticks? We’ll use your flame method to seal the straws.”

“Fine, as long as I can pick the music. This crap you have playing right now is awful – Lilith Fair called and they want their lesbians back.”

Tossing Shelby the iPod, Thessaly says, “Go for it.” Heading toward the kitchen, she looks over her shoulder and adds, “Grab my coffee, will ya?”

Inside the kitchen, Thessaly pours raspberry honey into a plastic bottle normally used for mustard. She bought it at a restaurant supply store because the tip is narrow enough to fill a straw. She then removes a box of clear plastic straws from a nearby shelf and two sets of disposable gloves.

“Ah, nature’s Pixie Sticks.” Leaning against the work station and throwing back the last of his coffee, Shelby asks, “Do you remember that Halloween when Mama gave out honey sticks instead of candy?”

“Yes! Didn’t the house get egged?”

“Oh shit, you’re right.”

Handing Shelby a pair of gloves, Thessaly advises, “Trust me, you’ll want to wear them.”

Shelby tosses his coffee in the trashcan and slides on the gloves. “So what’s up with your friends? Are they together?”

“They’re together as far as you’re concerned,” Thessaly warns.

“All right!” Shelby throws his hands up in defense and adds, “I was just asking.”

“Pass me the pliers,” Thessaly says as her phone buzzes. Glancing at Meg’s name, Thessaly removes her gloves and answers the call. “Hey, Meg.”

“Tess – I got a really interesting email.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. It’s from a lady that runs the Pennsylvania chapter of historic inns and bed and breakfasts.”

“Okay?” Thessaly sips her coffee and watches as Shelby spills the straws onto the workstation.

“They want you to submit a vendor proposal. Tess, this is huge!”

“That’s incredible, Meg!”

“I’m forwarding the email to you now.”

“Thanks, Meg.” Thessaly smiles at her brother as he ties a floral apron around his waist. Ending the call and opening the email, Thessaly mutters, “No way.”

Silently reading the closing salutation from Dani Jones-Rockford a third time, Thessaly finally connects the dots. Laughing as she opens the text thread with Levi, Thessaly types as quickly as her fingers will allow.

Tess: Rooftop @ 7?

“My parents died in a bus crash when I was a young boy. I was raised by my Polish grandparents in Brooklyn. They tried to give me a normal life, but they also thought McDonald’s was an Irish pub.”

Chapter Eleven

“Regular coffee and a knish, Tommy.” Frank Kazlow tucks his oxford shirt into his polyester dress pants and then swipes two packets of mustard from the counter. “You see that Yankees game today?”

“Nah, man. I work all day on Saturdays,” Tommy replies. “Extra napkins?”

“Toss a few in the bag.” Taking his brown paper sack and the small cup of coffee, Frank slaps three dollars, a quarter, and four pennies on the counter. “Same time tomorrow,” he chimes.

“Take care, man,” Tommy replies.

Frank Kazlow isn’t lazy, he’s just not particularly interested in a job opening doors and signing for packages. And his new evening shift that started this month is cutting into his real passion – polka music.

In fact, Frank Kazlow and his band, the Polka Dots, have revitalized the genre by shredding the instruments to an Eastern-style Polka. The band consists of a drummer and a bass guitarist, a female lead singer, a trumpeter with a mohawk, and two trained boxmen. Consistently booking shows and birthday parties all over New Jersey, the Polka Dots are on their way to the big time – the Fortieth Annual Chicago Box Festival. And Frank Kazlow, middle-aged doorman with a beer gut and wispy orange hair, is determined to get laid by a buxom box
woman
.

Sneaking in the delivery entrance and grabbing his gray sport coat, Frank meanders through the supply closet and approaches the lobby desk. He unfolds the wrapper to his knish and slathers on a packet of yellow mustard. Tucking a napkin in the collar of his shirt and sipping his coffee, Frank powers on a small radio beneath the podium. He takes a huge bite of the gushy potato just as Thessaly exits the elevator.

He nods politely, always intrigued by her fashion choices.
Not bad
, he thinks, running his eyes up her long legs. She’s not his type though, too thin and tall for his taste, but he can’t deny that her sweet disposition is a complete turn on.

“You look nice, Ms. Sinclair,” Frank compliments.

“Thank you, Frank. Can you find me a cab to Brooklyn?” Thessaly asks while checking for a text from Levi.

“No problem, Ms. Sinclair.” He slides his snack to the side and removes the napkin from his shirt. “I just remembered – a dapper-looking fella dropped something off for you earlier.”

“Oh?”

Stepping behind the marble podium, Frank removes a picnic basket. “Yeah, I was confused at first. He insisted it was for Tess Santiago, but there’s no one in the building with that last name.”

Smiling, she takes the basket from Frank and nods. “It’s sorta a joke, but thank you for accepting it for me.”

“That’s my job. Oh, let me get you that cab,” Frank says, plodding in his patent loafers toward the street.

Thessaly reaches in her basket to find her thermos, and an envelope addressed to
Tess
. She flips it over and traces the wax stamp with the initials, L.P. Opening the letter, a peacock feather floats to the ground. Surprised, she bends down to retrieve the feather, and then unfolds the linen stationery and begins to read.

Dear Tess Santiago,

Thank you for reminding me that love is compassion.

All the best,

Lucas

P.S.

Don’t try to find me. I’m a loner, Tess. A rebel.

Folding the letter and tucking it back into the envelope, Thessaly returns it to the picnic basket. Snickering at the Pee-Wee reference, she opens her gold clutch and drops the delicate feather inside.

“Ms. Sinclair, I got you a borough cab waiting outside,” Frank pants, clearly exhausted from working harder than most days.

“Great, Frank. Can I leave the basket here until I get back?” asks Thessaly.

“Sure, sure. I’ll put it under the desk.”

Walking toward the exit, she looks back over her shoulder and says, “Night, Frank.”

Idling on the corner, the driver of a guacamole green outer-borough cab honks the horn. She gives the cabbie a small wave while shouting, “Give me a second?”

He nods in understanding as she moves toward the alcove once occupied by Lucas. Thessaly bends to read the only indication that he even exists beyond her own interactions. She studies the cardboard sign, wondering if Lucas was conducting an odd social experiment.

Love is fuckin’ yo mama.

Love is 4G on the F train.

Love is an illusion.

Love is free Wi-Fi.

Grabbing the marker and removing the cap, Thessaly thinks,
Love is pure. Love is organic. Love is raw. Love is sweet. Love is non-perishable?

Laughing at her own revelation, Thessaly scribbles:

Love is wild honey.

Placing the cap back on the marker and dropping it to swing against the sign, Thessaly walks back to the cab and crawls into the backseat.

“Brooklyn Navy Yard, please,” she instructs, rolling up her window.

Watching as the Saturday crowd congregates on the streets of lower Manhattan, Thessaly’s face suddenly burns and prickles. Fearing that Levi doesn’t want to see her, she nervously taps on the seat of the driver and says, “I, um, forgot something. Can we go back?”

“Breege. No turn back now,” he sputters.

Looking out the window and watching the Seaport disappear into a fuzzy periphery, Thessaly swallows back the cab’s stale air and groans. “Shit,” she mumbles. Out of options, she decides to take the cab to Brooklyn and then return by subway . . . but then her phone buzzes.

At seven o’clock precisely, Levi sends a text.

Levi: I’m waiting, wildflower.

Followed immediately by another text.

Levi: Do I need to carry you up to the roof?

She smiles.

Levi: Are you wearing a dress?

Tess: Maybe.

Levi: That could be a problem.

Tess: ?

Levi: Clothes tend to get in the way.

“I turn back?” the cab driver shouts through the partition.

“No! Brooklyn Navy Yard, please.”

As the cab putters and jerks toward Downtown Brooklyn, Thessaly sends a text to Shelby.

Tess: Do you have the spare key I gave you?

Shelby: Is someone getting laid tonight?

Thessaly doesn’t respond to her brother. Instead, she finds the photo of her and Levi saved on her phone, and then traces a heart on the screen with her finger. She’s never been a hopeless romantic, she’s more of a practical optimist that wants to be loved. And it’s ironic that the man who loved her, the one that offered her a pre-destined future, unknowingly led her to New York and into the arms of Levi Jones.

Destiny is a matter of choice.

“Fourteen dollas,” the cab driver announces as he pulls up to the Navy Yard.

Removing her Visa from her clutch, Thessaly waits while the cab driver swipes the card. “You can charge seventeen,” she says. Taking the receipt and her credit card, she hops out of the cab and wanders around the corner. The entrance to the farm is not clearly marked, so she peers through several tinted windows until she sees a lady at a reception desk.

Opening the door, Thessaly says, “Hi, I’m looking for Brooklyn Soil?”

The receptionist stands from the desk, grabs her large handbag and coffee tumbler, and replies, “Mr. Jones is waiting for you on the roof. Take this passkey and use the elevator over there.” She hands Thessaly a laminated card on a lanyard and adds, “I have to run to my barre class in TriBeCa – sorry to be so abrupt.”

Smiling politely, she says, “Oh, please go! I think I got it. Passkey, elevator, Mr. Jones.”

“That’s it! Have a nice evening,” the receptionist adds before darting out the door.

Thessaly breathes heavily as she walks toward the elevator. Looking at her reflection in the shiny doors, she turns to examine her side profile, sucking in her stomach and straightening her shoulders. The billowy, low-cut V of her violet dress parts slightly, revealing the contour of her alabaster breasts. She tugs at the hem of her dress, increasing the length to just shy of her knees. Opening her clutch, Thessaly removes a tube of red lip gloss, and then dabs it on her lips. Tucking the gloss under the peacock feather, she presses the up button.

Stepping inside, she inserts the passkey into the slot next to the button labeled R. As the elevator zooms upward, she makes herself believe that no matter what happens, she’s found a new friend – a friend she’d like to fuck her into oblivion, but a friend nonetheless.

The elevator chimes as the doors slide apart. Stepping out onto a stoned path that leads to rows of vegetable crops, Thessaly walks toward a large rustic dining table topped with flowers and two place settings.

“Hey, wildflower.”

Turning her head toward the familiar, smoky voice, she finds Levi, casually standing next to an apple-green wheelbarrow. Smiling, Thessaly runs her eyes over his lean body, appreciating a man that can wear gray as if it were an actual color. Levi’s charcoal chinos fit perfectly – sitting low on his waist and tapering along his muscular calves. His ash-gray T-shirt molds to his firm chest, exposing a tiny stretch of tan skin along his waist when he crosses his arms.

Dropping her eyes to his feet, Thessaly rasps, “You’re not wearing shoes.”

“And you’re not wearing a bra.”

Completely caught off-guard yet undoubtedly turned on, Thessaly fidgets to hide her peaking nipples. “I, um,” she swallows.

Smirking, Levi says, “Hey, it’s cool – I like the way you think.” Grabbing the handles of the wheelbarrow and steering it toward Thessaly, he announces, “Your chariot awaits, fair maiden.”

“You’re joking?”

“Nope.”

“I’m in a dress – I can’t sit in a wheelbarrow!”

“Get in or we can’t eat. And damn, Tess, I really want to eat.” Levi guides the wheelbarrow behind Thessaly, taps it against the back of her knees, and clears his throat. “Nice and easy. Brace your arms, and enjoy the ride.”

Giving in, Thessaly drops her clutch in the wheelbarrow and then eases her ass into the belly of the cart. “This is ridiculous, Levi Jones!” she exclaims over her shoulder.

Watching as Thessaly’s long legs dangle over the side, Levi slowly pushes the cart toward the dining table. “Are you ready for the tour?” he asks.

“Sure,” she replies.

Angling to the left, Levi announces, “Over here we have chard, spinach, and yellow carrots.” Inching forward he adds, “Got some heirloom and green tomatoes up against the greenhouse.” Levi tilts the handles of the cart to the right and swerves gently. He makes an abrupt stop, causing Thessaly to grasp the sides of the wheelbarrow and squeal. Laughing, he yaps, “Yellow squash and cucumbers, and hopefully a few pumpkins.” Steering straight but jerking the wheel, Levi slows the wheelbarrow. “Which brings us to the highlight of the tour, lettuce – ten different types.” Heaving the wheelbarrow forward and stabilizing it with his leg, Levi offers Thessaly a hand. “Watch your step.”

“Is that a pocket hose?” Thessaly points to a coil of soft green nylon and laughs.

“As I’m sure you’ve seen on TV, it’s my hose that grows.”

“Up to fifty feet,” they recite in unison.

Standing clumsily and lunging forward, Thessaly catches her balance on the edge of the dining table. She runs her hand along the rustic pine, stopping at a cutting board loaded with strawberries and blueberries. Chilling in a large galvanized bucket in the center of the table is a liter of Grey Goose vodka, four bottles of raspberry hard cider, and a half-gallon of fresh lemonade.

Placing his hand on Thessaly’s back, he asks, “Are you hungry?”

“I am. Should I sit here?”

“Sit here,” Levi suggests, sliding out a wooden crate topped with a tufted pillow. “I need to grab a few things from the kitchen.” He reaches over Thessaly and takes a jar of Sinclair honey and two mason jars. “Make us some of your honey vodka lemonade.”

Smiling as she looks up at Levi, she asks, “Strong or sweet?”

Levi kisses the crown of her head and whispers, “As sweet as you.”

While Levi gathers a platter from the kitchen enclosed in a white modular building, Thessaly prepares the cocktails. The lemonade is extremely tart, so she swipes a few strawberries from the cutting board and drops them in the glasses. Thessaly spoons the honey and drops a golden dollop into each glass, stirring all the ingredients with a silver rod.

Standing behind her with a pleased grin, Levi announces, “Lobster and a roasted tomato-corn medley.” Levi places a large platter on the table and then adds, “And some straws for our lemonade.” Whipping out a package of Sour Punch Straws and tearing it open with his teeth, Levi removes a handful of stringy red candy and plops them in the mason jars. “Shall we?”

“This looks amazing!”

“Actually,” Levi starts.

“Leftovers?” Thessaly interrupts with a smirk.

Sliding into a rusty wire chair next to Thessaly, Levi reaches for his drink while nudging her leg. “I was going to say, that
you
look amazing.”

“Nice save, Jones.”

Raising his jar of vodka lemonade, Levi says, “Let’s toast.”

“Okay,” she replies. “To a nice meal and even better company.”

“That’s sweet,” Levi teases. “To a decent meal and sex on a farm.”

Masking the sexual tension with humor, Thessaly sputters, “Sex on a farm is nothing like the movies.”