FUDGE

Chapter One: Maple Walnut

As much as I try to debunk that myth, it never fails. Every tourist that I've seen check out of White Pine Lodge has had at least one box of fudge on their person, or packed away in a suitcase, or stowed in the glove compartment. Somewhere.

And every town has at least one place that specializes in Home-Made Fudge. The most obvious place to go is Mackinaw City, way at the tip of the mitt, where there are more kinds of the crystalline candy than catamarans to the Island.

It's been a while since I've been there, and I only live an hour and a half away. I could make the trip in a day; leave at the dawn-thirty and get back after dark, with my four packs of fudge in a cooler by my side, but I don't often get the opportunity to do that.

I work.

That's not to say that I live in an area with a high unemployment rate; it's fairly average, as far as I can tell, even with Michigan being one of the highest in the country for unemployment. What I mean is that I work. I cover for the people who call in on those gorgeous spring or bitter cold, blustery winter days. White Pine Lodge is a resort. A small resort, but functional. And perhaps more prone to employee call-ins than the bigger, posh-er resorts. After all, being smaller, we had fewer staff.

One day, one pastoral day in early May, a few weeks before school let out for the summer, right before it really got hot and the whole county turned into a sauna, one day I was the staff.

Just me.

Well, and the cook in the restaurant.

But mainly just me. I was the receptionist, the maid, the waitress and the barkeep. And the groundskeeper, the valet and the bellhop. Thankfully it was a Tuesday in Early May. No one was checked into the hotel and the lunch rush, a whole three people, had just finished.

The tables had been wiped down. The bar was set for the dinner rush. The front desk was in perfect order. Every room had been freshened. The grass had been cut the day before, when it was generically nice and the grounds crew were all in attendance. All that was left was the flowerbeds at the main entrance. A local nursery, Get Growing, had so kindly delivered five flats of petunias in the wrong colour, never mind I'd requested pansies.

So there I was, knee deep in those foul, fuzzy, wimpy nasty flowers, debating what to do, when the melodic purr of a high-class car reached me. A dark blue Jaguar oozed up the lane. I stared.

Of course I stared! Jeans covered in mud, hands caked in dirt, with a smear across my cheek. I'm sure there was dirt in my hair, too, which I know for a fact was standing out at all angles.

Out of that sinfully gorgeous automobile stepped probably the handsomest man in the Western Hemisphere. Of course, a little voice in the back of my head was screaming at me, “Wait a minute! Something's wrong! We don't have any reservations for today! And your mouth is hanging open! Wake Up!”

For all this, however, my mouth wouldn't listen and stayed open. I finally had to swallow, which managed to happen as he walked around his car and wasn't looking at me. This man was like... sex on legs, Adonis in real life, a dark haired, dark eyed god! In a sharply tailored dark blue suit as well!

I felt like such a schmuck. There I was, in ratty nasty jeans, an equally putrid tee, and dilapidated sneakers. And to top it all off, I was absolutely covered in mud. Next to him I was a gnome, a short, pugdy garden gnome. All I needed was the pointy red cap and brown leather boots and I could turn to ceramic and sit there amid the petunias.

“Hi!” I said, a little too enthusiastic, but whatever.

He looked over, one eyebrow halfway up his forehead, and promptly ignored me as he walked into the hotel. Well, crap. Wasn't I the receptionist today?

The back door was only a hop, skip, and jump away, literally, and I was in the employee lounge in seconds. Hands were washed, shirt changed into a less-than-crisp white blouse, and hair smoothed back with a black headband. Not bad. Not bad for White Pine Lodge.

“Hi,” I said again, slower this time, with a genuine grin.

It was difficult to keep from laughing, naturally, at the look on his face. It was only there a moment and was quickly replaced by, well, confused annoyance, I suppose. He wasn't happy.

“I'm Davlin Fredericks. I'd like a room.”

Oh, good word. He's British! No, not British... Welsh! My knees just about gave out.

“Sure. We have an amazing availability right now. Any preferences?”

“Your best room.”

“Sure.” Something was wrong. Maybe he was just in a trashy mood, but still. It was Tuesday. There was no reason to be so crabby.

White Pine Lodge at the time did not have a state-of-the-art computer program that told us what rooms were available and which were reserved for what dates. We had a little diagram with removable stickers and a log book like way back when. The owner, Manny Lucard, thought it gave the hotel a little charm.

A very little.

However, since customer service is a number-one priority (there are more than one “number one” priorities at White Pine Lodge), I said nothing. I found him a room, one of the best, and that wasn't saying much. It wasn't the best room, technically, but it had the best view and was furthest away from the ice machines. Again, that doesn't say much.

“Room 214, Mr. Fredericks. Up the stairs and to the right.”

“Thank you. Have someone bring my things up.”

“Sure.” Oh, heck no! He could not expect five-star service at a half-star place like White Pine Lodge.

Oh, heck yeah. The portrait of old lady Lucard stared down at me from above the register and I knew I had to go get the man's luggage. It was not going to be a good day.

Mr. Davlin Fredericks had brought enough clothes to last him a month, and he'd reserved the room for less than a week. There were two suitcases, a hanging and overnight bag, as well as the inevitable set of golf clubs. Boy would he be surprised. Our little nine-holer was crap to begin with, and as yet in the season we had had absolutely no rain. The grounds crew were mere days away from painting the fairways green.

Anyway, I huffed and puffed up the stairs, lugging Mighty Mr. Frederick's things up to his room. I arrived and knocked; he was waiting and did a double take when he saw me as bellhop. Nothing was said, but I know he was thinking something. Had to have been.

A little while later the phone rang at the front desk. Naturally it was Mr. Fredericks, wondering when the restaurant closed. He seemed pleased that I was back behind the desk, but that was just an assumption on his part. I was back outside, knee-deep in those stupid petunias. Thank heaven for cordless phones!

Of course that meant that I'd have to go back inside and wait on the man. He may be cute, but that didn't mean I wanted to serve him too! He'd probably have something to say about the groundskeeper, bellhop, receptionist and waitress all being the same person. I couldn't wait until he found out I was the bartender, too.

The restaurant was empty. Surprise, surprise. In fact, I wasn't even sure that Josh, the cook, was in the building. A quick inspection showed that he wasn't. His truck wasn't in the lot. I was not surprised, not really, but I was mad as a wet hen. He was supposed to tell the manager on duty, which happened to be me by default, if he was leaving and get permission. Ooh, would he be in trouble for this!

“What is the house special?” Mr. Davlin Fredericks asked, looking up from the menu I handed him.

I had led him to a table and he sat down, like any customer would, save for that his back was to the window. Maybe he was afraid of heights or something.

“Usually it's broiled trout with rosemary and wild rice.”

“Usually?”

“Yeah. Well, for the moment I'm going to give the cook the benefit of the doubt and say he's catching it fresh for us, but really, I have no idea where he is. I can round up some flank steak for you and make some home fries. That's really good. Can I get you something to drink first?”

I'm certain that if I were to say that he was unimpressed with the wine list, nobody would be surprised. He settled for a decent merlot and even said he didn't expect me to be a master sommelier, though his tone was wanting with civility. Maybe I'd get lucky and he'd leave in the morning. And maybe Lake Michigan will flood Detroit.

The whole meal was a fiasco. The steak burned despite my best efforts. The home fries were passable, but he wouldn't listen to me when I said they tasted better with salsa and hot sauce, so he didn't like it. His loss. The wine passed muster, though he had admitted his standards for that were not high. Not after the last few hours.

By the end of the meal I was less than happy. I had been busting my butt to make this guy happy, going above and beyond the normal customer service standards for White Pine Lodge, and he was so not appreciating it.

“Why do people come here?” he asked while I bussed the table.

I stared at him.

“I mean, the accommodations are- and the service- Yourself excluded, non-existent. I am simply amazed that this resort is even open at all! What allure can a place like this have?”

As I said, the man had sat with his back to the window. It's a huge window, very new when compared with the rest of the place, just installed two or three years ago. It takes up the side of the building, from ceiling to floor and wall to wall. Stupid man.

“That,” I said, finally breaking down. I grabbed the back of his chair and forcibly spun it and him around. “That is why people come here.”

The whole reason that window-wall was installed was to take full, unadulterated advantage of the view it afforded. I mean, breathtaking does not do it justice, really.

White Pine Lodge, a.k.a. Crappie Creek to the natives, is situated on a hill overlooking a lake, which is usually nothing special in Northern Michigan. There are dozens of hills on lakes up here. What makes White Pine Lodge unique is that there isn't any other civilization up here. Manny Lucard and his family have a little house on the other side and had a little dock and speedboat, but really, that's all. There are these gorgeous old trees all over, and in summer it's positively idyllic. Fall- In the fall, the lodge is packed with people who want to see the colours.

Mr. Fredericks was silent for a good minute.

“Thank you.”

“You're welcome.”

I didn't see much of him for the rest of the night. The end of the day for me was eight, when the night auditor came in. Josh had reappeared a few hours after my dinner debacle and cleaned the kitchen before leaving again with nary a word. Typical.

The one good thing about living and working in such a small town is that I can rag on my family for bailing on me. My mom and youngest sister are waitresses at White Pine Lodge, the next youngest sister is a maid, and my older sister (lost count yet?) is the receptionist. Granted, Gina was scheduled to be off that day, and Megan was sick, but Lydia and Mom were hale and hearty and complete slackers. The only reason they still had their jobs was because Manny's wife Carol was best friends with Mom, and his daughter Tina was Lydia's best friend. It was just easier for him to keep the women in his life happy and retain those two layabouts.

My seven minute drive home was interrupted before it even started; the night auditor ran out into the employee lot the moment the engine turned over.

“Sorry, 'Lise,” he panted, “But Mr. Fredericks' askin' fer ya.”

Aside from making my skin crawl at his appalling speech patterns, Hank's summons served to drop a lead weight into my stomach. I did not want to be spending my gorgeous spring night catering to the whims of a Big City businessman who wouldn't or couldn't deal with anyone else.

“Yes, Mr. Fredericks?” I tried to keep the frustration from my voice, but it wasn't happening.

“I just wanted to make sure you would be here in the morning. And your manager.”

Bizarre. “Uh, yeah, I think Manny'll be in tomorrow. He sets his own schedule. I'll be here bright and squirrelly at seven.”

He actually, audibly sighed. “Good. Thank you. I'd like my breakfast served in my room promptly at 7:30.”

For breakfast he wanted two eggs, lightly fried at salted, two pieces of dry toast, a small pot of seedless blackberry jam set to the left of the eggs, four ounces of orange juice in a cut-glass tumbler and a cup of black coffee with an ounce of cream drizzled in but not stirred.

Like the dutiful secretary that I wasn't, I took down a letter-perfect message of finicky Mr. Fredericks' order. Then I stared at it. The whole situation was ludicrous. We didn't take special orders for breakfast, not like that. Our concept of customer service did not extend to tailor-making meals with that kind of precision. I'd have to talk to Manny about that when next I saw him.

Half an hour later, after making sure we had all the necessary ingredients for the offending party's breakfast, as I had all ready agreed to make it for him, I finally got to go home. It was going to be a long, long week.

Chapter Two: Cherry

I saw two deer on my way home. They stood by the side of the road and looked up as I roared by in my little beater. It was so serene there in the twilight that I could almost forget my day. Almost. How in the world was I going to find, let alone make, seedless blackberry jam? And why in the world did he think he could order me around like I was his personal servant?

Thank goodness my drive home was only ten minutes. By the time I got there, the tension of the day had eased to the point where I could actually think about going back to work and not grind my teeth into powder. Time for the night-time tension to start.

I really, really need to move out. Gina and I could probably, between the two of us, manage a little one-room apartment in town. So long as my dad kept making the “house” payments and the like, we'd live at home.

Ah, home. That was a euphemism. It wasn't even a house, just a trailer out in the middle of a stretch of land a mile or two out of town. Five of us shared three bedrooms and one bathroom; my dad didn't spend a lot of time at home. Gina and I had shared a room almost from infancy; Megan and Lydia had their own room, and Mom, well, Mom naturally had her own. Like I said, Dad wasn't around much. His business kept him travelling.

It has been pointed out to me that I have to love my family, but I don't have to like them. I love my mother and younger sisters, but da- dangnabit they are pains in the a- posterior. Mom flirts with anything that moves, not that I don't, but I'm at least subtle and sincere about my flirtation. Lydia was just like Mom, and Megan tried to distance herself from all of us with her technological education. She grumbled a lot that she had a degree and was working at White Pine Lodge. I pointed out, quite frequently, that I had a degree as well and worked there too, and that her degree could at least take her somewhere if she would just look.

I got home in time for Mum to start shrieking at Megan about dinner.

“Meggie, you were supposed to plug in the slow-cooker! What have you been doing all day?”

There was a muffled reply from Megan's room. I kinda felt bad for her. For the last three days she'd had the worst cold I'd seen since last year. This time, however, she stood her ground and didn't let Mom or Lydia make her camp out on the sofa. For that I'm proud of her.

The usual hysteria followed. I hid. I had learned by then that when Mom and Lyddie got into one of their high fits there was nothing stopping them from carrying it through to the exhausting end. One of them could not just sit by and watch the other have a fit; either both of them were screaming and flailing around the house or both were utterly exhausted from such a fiasco. Is it any wonder I spent so many hours in my room?

I had the strangest dreams that night. They were probably brought on by the pizza, fried chicken, and cole slaw we had for dinner, heavy, greasy fare that rarely sits well on my stomach in such quantities.

I was walking barefoot down the road in high summer, and my feet were stained blue, like I had been stomping on grapes to make wine. A huge roar started from behind me. Before I knew it, a dark blue Jaguar drove past, hell bent for leather, kicking up dirt and rocks like nobody's business. Just as it passed me, who other than Davlin Fredericks leans out the window and shouts: “I love you, you're perfect, now change!”

I look down and I'm suddenly wearing a frilly pink confection of a dress, some terrible prom gown gone wrong, and I'm at a party where I know absolutely nobody. Then, right there, is Davlin Fredericks, leering at me like I'm some kind of prize. He extended his hand, escorted me to a kind of dais and whispered in my ear: “I like my eggs lightly fried and salted, with dry toast, a small pot of seedless blackberry jam set to the left of the eggs, four ounces of orange juice in a cut-glass tumbler and a cup of black coffee with an ounce of cream drizzled in but not stirred.” I woke up right then.

The digital readout on my alarm read 5:34 a.m. There was no chance in the Uh-Uh Place I would be able to get to sleep again, not without severely compromising my morning rituals and making me fantastically late. The last thing I wanted to do was be late for anything, especially work and especially when I had to cater to the demands of Fussy Mr. Fredericks, a man of obvious wealth and influence, or at least an incredibly inflated sense of self-worth.

Yeah, I know, with that kind of pernickety order, I could've done any number of things. I could've served him the same stuff we serve everyone else the same way we serve everyone else. I could've been a few minutes late in getting the food to him, or early for that matter. I could've given him his orange juice in a blown glass goblet or stirred the cream into the coffee. I could've given him his blackberry jam with the seeds still in it.

But I didn't. I couldn't. My own sense of self-worth would've suffered, and my work ethic wouldn't allow it. He was the customer, I was in the business of customer service. Besides, if I continue to bust my rear to get him the level of service he wants, it would be beneficial in the long run. He might give me a nice tip at the end of his stay, or exert some influence over Manny and get me a better, more stable position. Heck, if he was as powerful as he seemed, he could get me a job somewhere else entirely, and I could get out of f- frickin' Northern Michigan!

I knew that the morning cook would be at the Lodge early, and while I was certain that she could manage Picky Mr. Fredericks' breakfast, I had the distinct feeling he would flip out if anyone but myself handled it. Seeing as I couldn't sleep any more, I decided to get my day started. It was going to be a long one, I knew it.

No amount of caffeine could wake me up in the morning. I could have a shot of espresso and be a very hyper sleepyhead all day. Even a hot, or cold, shower couldn't shake me awake. Lucky for me I've learned how to cope, and drive, in that state of mind.

At least the cook didn't say anything when I showed up at 6:30. By twenty minutes after seven I was setting plates on a tray and putting the finishing touches on the meal for Choosy Mr. Fredericks. It was no mean feat carrying it upstairs or down the hall, and I was obliged to kick the door to signal that I was there, but by golly I was there at 7:30 a.m. on the dot and the meal was perfect.

I just about dropped my teeth when I walked into his room. I swear, when I fixed it up the day before, everything was clean. The bathroom had been scrubbed and disinfected, the sheets washed and pressed, the floors vacuumed, and the windows washed within a sparkling inch of their glass. Should a person wish to, he could eat off the carpet.

Davlin Fredericks was not such a person. Along with enough clothing to last half a lifetime, Mr. Fredericks had brought half the cleaning aisle of K-Mart, right down to the gallon jug of hand sanitizer. I nearly choked on the stench of bleach as I passed the bathroom. A bottle of Windex and a roll of paper towel graced a small table, and the glare from the window was blinding. He had cleaned the place again! It was enough to make me think he didn't trust the place...

And then I realised it. Every picture had been straightened. The magazines were stacked precisely so on the TV stand. His shoes were lined up on the floor, toes tucked under the bed. My stomach dropped into my knees.

“Thank you, Miss Benjamin,” he said. “Set the tray on the table.”

I was almost out the door when:

“I beg your pardon.”

I wanted nothing more than to get out of there. Still, professionalism held strong over my desire to bolt.

“Yes, Mr. Fredericks?”

“The jam.”

“What about it?”

“It's in the wrong place.”

“Wha-a-at?” Oh, no! Not this!

I strode over to the table and stared at the plate, then turned it 180 degrees.

“Better?”

He actually sighed with relief.

“Yes, thank you.”

It was not going to be pretty. I was working with, or for, a guy with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. The best thing I could say, for being in that particular situation at that particular resort, was “Thank goodness he's not a counter.” I couldn't deal with an Obsessive Compulsive Counter. I could deal with the Neatnik, which Fastidious Mr. Fredericks was, but not a Counter. And if he had, for whatever reason, latched onto me as some kind of assistant, things would not go well. I didn't want to deal with the Neatnik.

The door had barely closed behind me when I heard the noise I dreaded. The deadbolt clicked; not once, but four times. A pain started in my left temple and stabbed inward. This was not good.

Manny showed up at 8:45, as usual, and ambled in like nothing special.

“Hey, Manny, there's a Mr. Davlin Fredericks upstairs that wants to see you ASAP.”

“Oh, good. I've been waiting for him.”

Say what? Something was going on. This was unusual to say the least. Manny waited for nobody, and for him to be waiting for this bloke was something... I just couldn't figure it out.

The whole rest of the day I was busy. The skies opened at noon and poured down buckets of rain, which would make my next job more difficult, if not boring as h- boring can be. I left White Pine Lodge at noon thirty and drove to my next destination: Tredwell Orchards, where I worked part time. Cherry season was just starting, with sweets ripening and being picked by a large clan of migrant workers. Lucky me, I got to sort out the dozens of lugs brought in daily, pitching the split and/or rotting ones and eating as many as I liked. I'd worked there for four summers and I still wasn't sick of them.

However, with the torrential downpour, the workers weren't picking and the morning crew had sorted what had been brought in. That left me to tend the shop, a quaint little curio thing full of everything cherry related. Again, with the rain, there were no customers. I swept, straightened, dusted, restocked, everything imaginable. In the end, there was nothing for me to do!

The rain was, at least, warm, and I really wanted to go out and dance around in it. The sand outside was soft enough, and there weren't many rocks so going barefoot was lovely, on the few occasions I had to do so. I tried to keep my mind off the total boredom, but it wasn't really working. There were only so many radio stations that came in clearly in that old pole barn, and I can't stand country-western music. As a result I got National Public Radio, and they were running a block of Schubert. Now, I love Schubert, but it isn't really Dance in the Rain music. Maybe for waltzing or ballet.

After half an hour of that, I realised that my boss wasn't anywhere near the orchard. The rain wasn't letting up, either, which was good; no need to paint the grass at White Pine Lodge. I could dance if I wanted to, and leave my friends behind... Oh, how I wished for a CD player.

My mind was just made up and there was a phone call. First instinct: It was the bossman, telling me that if I so much as took my sandals off I would be fired. Yeah, like that was a possibility.

“Hello, Tredwell Orchards, how can I help you?”

“Miss Benjamin?”

Oh Holy Freddy Krueger...

“Mr. Fredericks. How can I help you?”

“I need you back here. My partner is arriving tomorrow and I want to make sure his arrangements are spot-on.”

Spot-on? Partner? It wouldn't surprise me in the slightest if this stuffed-shirt hard-to-please man was gay, but why didn't Partner Boy travel up with him? Why wasn't Partner Boy staying in the same room with the Compulsive? I supposed it was to throw the general public off the scent. Such a thing wouldn't go over terribly well in Rawley, or anywhere in the area for that matter.

“I'm sure Gina can handle that, Mr. Fredericks. I can't exactly leave right now.”

“Manny Lucard has assured me that you will do all you can to assist me, Miss Benjamin. I would like you to handle the arrangements for Mr. Clarke.”

My head hit the counter as if my eyebrows were made of lead.

“I can't just get up and leave, Mr. Fredericks,” I muttered. “I'm the only one here.”

“Miss Benjamin, I believe it would be in your best interest to coordinate your schedule so that you will be available to me from this point onward.”

I hung up on him. There was no way in Hades that I would change my whole life around to cater to that anal-retentive son of a b- bicycle rider!

For me to sufficiently calm down, I decided to do what I'd been wanting. I left my comfy sandals at the door and walked out into the rain. With Schubert playing in the background I began to twirl and jump around, even going so far as to jump in puddles and generally ignore the cars careening down the road, windshield wipers slashing rain off the glass. It was heaven!

And then! And then! And then, as I was spinning around like a child, soaked through, eyes closed, I heard the purr of a high-quality import car and felt the heat from the lamps. Opening my eyes would have made it a harsh reality, even in the soft grey light, and I tried to keep them closed as I kept twirling. It wasn't to last, of course. A large hand grasped my wrist and I had to stop.

There was Mr. Davlin Fredericks frowning down on me, a storm cloud unto himself.

Chapter Three: Vanilla

If anyone could squash my mood faster, I have yet to meet him. I had known the man for a day, little more, and here he was, ready to go all caveman on me and drag me back to that time-warped little resort. Rather than haul my short little posterior to his car, however, Mr. Davlin Fredericks forced me back into the fruit stand.

“What's this about your not being able to leave because you were too busy?”

“I never said I was busy. I said I was the only one here. Do you see anyone else?”

“I need you at White Pines.”

“Tough beans!” Man oh man, his hair was so curly... “What makes you think you can barge in here and start ordering me around?”

For a brief moment he didn't have an answer.

“That hotel is the most appalling piece of commercial property that I have ever laid eyes on and the staff is atrocious.”

“Thanks.” It was cold in the pole barn, and the rain was deafening.

“Apart from you! You're the only one in the place who has her shit together-”

“Gina does, too, and she happens to be my sister.” I was getting some strange, perverse pleasure from watching him squirm, which he did so well. And hearing him curse was like... Like what happens to a smoker who is trying to quit and someone lights up two feet away.

“Look, it's just very difficult for me to trust people these days, and you seem to be the most competent person whom I have met.” The words, lead weights, fell awkwardly from his mouth. “I would greatly appreciate if, while I am staying at the hotel, that you assist me in any way I need.”

“I'm not your f- bl- I'm not at your beck and call, Mr. Fredericks. It's against my nature.”

I walked away and went in search of my jacket. It had become quite apparent to me that I was soaked through and wearing a light-coloured shirt. Not that the neat freak, who was actually standing stock still, hands clasping his elbows so not to touch anything, would try something.

“I can make it worth your while, Miss Benjamin.”

All sorts of filthy thoughts ran through my mind, right on the heels of the filthy thoughts from his last statement.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I am willing to augment your wages at the resort. Substantially.”

Ooh, damn. (That word I was allowed, since it was one my dad used all the time.) He was going to pay me more, under the table, which would not be taxed. How bad could it be?

“I'm listening.”

It was his turn to say “Beg pardon?”

“What, you think I'm going to just jump at any offer of better pay? I'm not an idiot, Mr. Fredericks. What are the terms? What do you expect from me? What kind of `substantial augmentation' are you talking about?”

I expected him to start spouting off lines from Labyrinth. “I ask for so little. Just fear me, love me, do as I say and I will be your slave.” But Davlin Fredericks was no David Bowie, for all his good looks, and I sincerely doubted that he would stoop to begging.

He paced around for a moment or two, glaring at the quarts of cherries and cracks in the concrete. My feet were freezing and I had mud drying on my calves. If he didn't answer soon, all bets were off.

“As I'm sure you've noticed, I have rather peculiar traits.”

“That's an understatement.”

“I'll ignore that. I would expect you to prepare my meals and run errands for me. This is a working trip, and I won't have time to find the things I'll need. I can pay you twice your current rate, plus travel expenses. Manny Lucard has assured me that you can be spared from your regular duties when I need you.”

That was quite the offer. A little extra work for a lot extra pay. Not bad at all, really. “Is there anything else?”

He considered his shoes. “Due to the nature of my work, you would have to stay at the resort. I may need you to fetch things at odd hours at night.”

Hmm. On one hand, I would be away from Mom and Lydia and their craziness. On the other, I could be woken at two a.m. to get something like mineral water blessed by a Buddhist monk, and the nearest 24 hour store was about an hour away. On the other... I'd be away from Mom and Lydia.

“I like the sound of this, Mr. Fredericks,” I said. “But I gotta make a few changes. I don't mind driving all over to get you your seedless blackberry jam or whatever, but `odd hours of the night' isn't going to happen. If I get less than six hours of sleep, things get very, very ugly. So, how about between midnight and six I get to sleep?”

“Eleven and five.”

“Fine. What about days off? I can't work all day, every day.”

He was fidgeting something fierce. “Saturdays and Sundays?”

“Sounds good. Naturally, I'll want a copy of this in writing.”

He stared at me, shocked that this little mud-spattered hippie chick would dare ask for something so simple!

“What? I'm not so much of a simpleton as you think, Mr. Fredericks! I don't want to get in over my head here and have you start asking me to do things that we didn't agree on.”

In the amount of time that passed, his eyes could have dried up and fallen out of his skull. I don't think he blinked once.

“Right. I'll draw up the agreement when I return to the resort and have it at the front counter.”

“Okay then. I'll look over it when I get in tomorrow and we can talk. Breakfast same as today?”

Watching him fidget could be one of the funniest things I've ever witnessed. He really, really wanted to get out of there.

“Uh, yes, please.”

“All right. Here.” I upended a quart of fresh sweets into a baggie and handed them to him. “Compliments of Tredwell Orchards. Welcome to Michigan.”

-~-

In addition to everything we had discussed at the fruit stand, Infuriating Mr. Fredericks added a provision that the contract was not set in stone and that if a change needed to be made, it would have to be agreed upon by both parties. It was remarkably fair of him and took me by complete surprise. I added my name right next to his tight, spiky signature, and though it still grated a little that I was more or less a servant, for the foreseeable future I was contractually obligated to Mr. Davlin Fredericks.

-~-

First order of business: Make sure Partner Boy's room was ready. Mr. Fredericks chose the room adjoining his for the guy, whose name I had yet to learn. Partner Boy would be arriving around 1 p.m. and everything had to be ready. Bed linens were changed. Fixtures were dusted. Chrome polished. DSL and cable lines prepped, which added to my unease to the whole situation. Nobody else had ever had this kind of consideration shown to them, ever. Business people did not come to White Pine Lodge to conduct business. There had to be something else going on...

Second order of business: Call all staff and announce an emergency meeting for 6 p.m. A mandatory meeting; if you don't show, you're fired. Manny had never made such a demand before, and if I hadn't seen the look on his face when he told me, I would never have believed it.

I was busy at the other end of the resort when Partner Boy arrived, and Mr. Fredericks didn't call for any help, which surprised me again, so I didn't know who this other guy was until that night.

We all assembled in the “conference room,” a.k.a. the dining room, starting at about 5:30ish, with others drifting in as they wanted to. Each new person was just as clueless as the last, and by the time it was to start, speculation was running wild. I didn't pay any attention to it, since Mr. Fredericks had me running around like a headless chicken, making sure refreshments were ready and that everyone was in attendance.

My mother, bless her heart, had one of the more outrageous ideas, which I had heard for the last few days but again, chose to ignore. My mother, if you must know, believes that Bigfoot lives in the woods behind our house and that Elvis lives above a shoe shop just outside of Muskegon. That's just ridiculous. Everyone knows Elvis has a little cottage in Paradise, up on Lake Superior.

“White Pine Lodge is going to be the location of some big Hollywood film!” she said. “I had it from Carol just the other day. She couldn't tell me details, naturally, since it's all hush-hush, but that's what it is! Celebrities will be arriving sometime tomorrow!”

If only that were true. A film industry invasion would be welcome. Of course that wasn't the real story. At promptly 6:10 the doors closed and the room hushed. I felt like a cow being sent to slaughter and had just realised it, and the rest of the people there felt the same way, I imagine.

Manny Lucard stood up at the makeshift dais, looking a little worse for wear. Whatever he had to say didn't appear to be great news. In fact, he looked like... like he was being blackmailed or something.

“Can I have your attention, please?” His voice was a little hoarse, and his commonplace smile was gone.

The request was unnecessary. Once he'd stepped up there all eyes were on him.

“I'd like to say that White Pine Lodge has been in my family for generations. I've tried to make it a homey kind of place for travellers and a comfortable place to work. Unfortunately, times are tough right now, as I'm sure y'all know, and White Pine Lodge just can't compete with the bigger places along the lake and down in the city.”

Not good, not good at all... this was boding very badly. Murmurs started weaving through the crowd, as murmurs like to, little pockets of chatter as the mood dropped. For as long as I'd worked at the resort, I'd seen fewer and fewer people checking in as the years went by. The neighbouring resorts had things like ski lifts and high quality runs in winter; White Pine Lodge was home to a small sledding hill. They had lush, emerald-green golf courses; we... didn't. Their pool was indoors, and heated; ours was outside and not heated, and often played host to falling leaves and that one kid that likes to pee in the water. The worst thing would be that White Pine Lodge was going to close and we'd all be out of a job. But then, why would Manny have made the “No show, no job” threat?

Everything fell into place a few seconds later. The back door opened and all eyes turned to see who entered: It was none other than Mr. Davlin Fredericks and Partner Boy... who happened to be hometown football star Byron Clarke!

This would obviously be the titled pair of Fredericks and Clarke, in the hotel and resort industry, famous for creating some of the most luxurious and barely affordable resorts in the country. How could I not see this? Mr. Fredericks' interest in the hotel and the staff, not to mention the surrounding area all should have been clues. This was not going to be good at all!

“Y'all have been like family to me, Carol, and Tina,” Manny continued. “And it's a real wrench to have to say this. Like I said, right now White Pine Lodge just can't compete with the bigger resorts.”

Manny loved his drama.

“So I sold it.”

Chapter Four: Chocolate Orange

A general wail went up from the crowd. Many of them had worked there for ages, and the mere thought of some newcomer Fudgie from Chicago taking over and remodelling (because let's face it, the place was unofficially called Crappie Creek. Real jump of the imagination why, huh?) sent most into a tizzy. Change? In their beloved resort? Nevah!

So Davlin Fredericks took the stage as it were, followed by the hulking Byron Clarke. Manny introduced them again and bowed gracefully out.

“I would like to detail our plans for the resort insofar as we have made them,” Mr. Fredericks said.

Ooh, that man was sweating! One hand straightened his tie while the other was hidden. I peeked around the makeshift podium and saw why: he had one of those retractable pens and was clicking it open and shut in a sequence of three, four, three, ever repeating and speeding up.

“For the time being, we plan to keep all of you on staff. The resort will continue to operate while plans are made for modifications and improvements. Once a final decision is made as to the aesthetic aspects of the building and grounds, we will discuss how best to proceed.”

“Basically what my partner here is sayin' is that y'all get to keep your jobs while we figure out what changes we need to make to make White Pine Lodge even better!” Byron translated. There was an audible sigh from the group.

To clarify, those who live above the 45th parallel are not idiots. Sure, some of the employees of White Pine Lodge had barely finished high school. The vast majority of us were intelligent, rational human beings, but when mixed in with those who were (sad to say) not, the collective IQ seemed to drop dramatically. It's that whole mass-hysteria thing in action, only with intelligence. That, and most people up here are plain folk and not given to fancy talk.

“There may be a time when, while the grounds and buildings are under renovation, that the resort will have to close or reduce hours. In that event, you will be given adequate compensation for time missed.”

At least I wasn't the only one exasperated by Davlin Fredericks' attitudes. After Byron translated a second time, he pulled his partner aside for a few words, which I, being close enough, could overhear.

“Hey, listen, Davlin, I know you're not incredibly pleased to be up here, but remember, this is my pet project. These are my people you're talking to. They get offended and confused when Fudgies use five-dollar words when five-cent ones work. They think you're pulling a fast one on 'em.”

Wow. Things must cost more in Chicago.

Fussy Mr. Fredericks simply sneered and let Byron finish up.

“I know this is a lot of change for ya,” he said, giving his best Boy Next Door grin. “But I promise, me and Davlin here'll try to make it go as easy as possible. The last thing we want is to upset alla'ya'll.”

I couldn't tell if his drawl was real or marvellously put-on, which was a real treat. It certainly made him more accessible to the general public, for all his neatly-tailored suit and carefully careless hair. Byron Clarke, like the rest of the Clarke clan, had spent much of their lives up in neighbouring Preston. Preston happened to be a handful of miles from Rawley, and both schools were small enough to have to co-op and cobble together a football team, though the rest of the year we were bitter enemies. The most ironic thing was, my roommate at college was from Preston, and she's the sweetest person I know next to my sister Gina. Marlowe happens to have four older brothers, one of which was standing up front in the dining room of Crappie Creek.

Nothing looked better than my bed that night, my last night at home for the foreseeable future. My bed, however, was buried under the entire contents of my closet, which I was trying to cram into a much-battered duffel I snagged from an army-surplus store. There would be time for laundry later.

“How could you not know about this, Elise?” my mother asked when we all got back. “I mean, the scuttlebutt I heard was that that dishy Davlin Fredericks wants you for his assistant or something.”

Dishy Davlin Fredericks? It was an adjective that definitely applied to him, but I was less than receptive at the time.

“He doesn't really talk, Ma.”

“At least not like a normal person!” She snorted and leaned against the doorframe. “You know, it wouldn't be a bad idea if you managed to make the relationship a little more personal. Just think of the money he's got! But then... he doesn't seem all that personable. He's definitely not our kind.”

I really wanted to say to her “No, ma, he's not our kind. He's a million times better. He's intelligent, articulate, and has ambitions beyond this little hole of a town. He's got class, respect, and a decent job. All we've got is a beat-up Chevy or two, a trailer out in a swamp, and piddly little jobs in a piddly little resort.”

Instead, I said: “Yeah.”

“Still, you should make the most of it. Who knows, he might be worth something in the long run.”

“You sound like I should ransom him to the parent company for a half a million, Ma.”

She laughed her twittering, completely fake laugh and sauntered into her room. Me, I sank back into my bed and whimpered. It was too much. I couldn't do this! I was a clerk at best, spazz at worst. This guy was a professional! What was he going to have me do all day?

Gina walked in and smacked my foot.

“So, you're abandoning me, huh?”

“Apparently. I'll put in a good word for you, though. Partner Boy seemed to like you.”

It's very easy to make Gina blush. I hadn't been able to break myself from referring to Byron Clarke as Partner Boy, and he had been very interested in Gina. The feeling, so it would seem, was mutual.

“I always had a crush on him, actually,” she whispered. If Mom got any hints as to someone we liked, she was on the scent like some overbred bloodhound and we got no peace.

“That's sick and wrong, Gina. He was out of high school before we got out of middle.”

“So? You have to remember, I'm a year older. I'm more mature.”

“Sure you are. Why am I doing this?”

“Because you love a challenge,” she said, ever the kind, saintly one. She picked up my duffel and dropped it on the ground. “Because you know it's an opportunity that will never come again. And because you're just dying to know what kind of undies Mr. Fredericks wears.”

My pillow landed on her face.

“I'll save a pair of Byron's briefs for you.”

“I think he's more of a boxers kind of guy, actually.”

“Not something I want to think about.”

“What about Mr. Fredericks?”

“Why does he get the `Mr. Fredericks' treatment, but Partner Boy is Byron?”

“That's not answering my question, Ellie.”

“I don't want to think about your question, Gina.”

“Humour me. You're leaving me on my own here for the next few weeks. Need I tell you what that'll do to me?”

“Fine. I think that Mr. Davlin Fredericks is definitely a briefs kinda guy.”

“See, now, was that so hard?”

“Yes. I need to puke now, thankyouverymuch.”

The window was open, letting in a soft breeze and sleepy birdsong. I'd never actually spent the night at White Pine Lodge before and it had been ages since I was in a hotel. There was some note of absurdity about the whole situation. A note? Try a whole friggin' symphony!

“But you know, he really is cute.” Gina broke me out of my reverie with a sleepy little sigh.

“Which one?”

“Does it really matter? Byron, you silly goose! Though, Mr. Fredericks is pretty good looking, too.”

“I won't argue that. He's just a freak.”

-~-

And what a freak he was. First thing in the morning, after his peculiar breakfast needs, he had me clean and disinfect one of the suites so that he could set up an office and be fairly self-contained. Byron Clarke got to keep the room I set up for him as it was right next door and me, I got to move into the spare bedroom of the suite. I wasn't comfortable with that, but it made sense. And I could lock my doors.

Imagine Mr. Fredericks' astonishment when I admitted the sorry fact that I did not have a cell phone.

“You'll need one,” he said as soon as he regained a reasonable facsimile of composure.

“Only if you're footing the bill. I haven't needed one yet, and once you're gone I still won't need one. You want I should go out and get one of those pre-paid dealies?”

The look of disgust he gave me was classic. “No. In my experience they are patently unreliable. Where is the nearest place to get one?”

“'bout an hour away.” There was one closer, but the two or three times I'd been in there I was less than impressed. The shop in the city was far better.

“All right. Take the afternoon and go set up some kind of service, whatever will work out in this wilderness. Save your receipts. I'll make sure you're reimbursed.”

“I don't have a credit card, either, genius,” I said, then clamped one hand over my mouth. The last word wasn't supposed to be said.

He glowered. I didn't really know what a “glower” was until that moment, and afterwards I got really friendly with that expression. A pause of some length followed, broken when he reached for his wallet and extracted a silver bit of plastic.

“It would behoove you, Miss Benjamin, to watch your language and level of formality when addressing your superiors,” he said, voice on par with the frigidity found in that Northernmost Lake somewhere around January. “I don't want to hear you talking like some common hoodlum. You sound ignorant, and I know you're not.”

Another almost compliment, along the lines of being one of the more competent employees at the resort. It was the best I'd get from him for the time being, not that I was looking for any affection or validation. If I lived through this experience without committing homicide I'd be happy.

I was almost to the store when I realised: I was being paid to drive around and shop. This might not be so bad after all. A shiny new picture phone was charged to Fredericks International, the parent company that spawned Fredericks and Clarke. With it came a year-long plan that had the works: unlimited anytime minutes, free text messaging, and as many photos as I could take.

I took the long way back, letting the phone charge as I drove. The windows were down, music loud, and I sang along like nobody was listening. They weren't, since the long way back was mostly back roads that didn't have a lot of traffic on the best days, and only let one car through at a time. Heaven help the poor stooge who was going the wrong way!

He was watching me as I pulled into the little driveway near the back entrance. The suite was on the wrong side of the resort to allow the lake view and instead overlooked the pathetic fairway and start of the sledding hill. But I knew he was watching me. I could feel those dark eyes on my neck as I scrambled out of the little Chevy I had inherited from a former teacher. What he was thinking would have to remain a mystery; I had no intention of asking. I knew my hair was a mess. It always is. I'd given up trying to brush it in high school, and since then I'd kept it close-cropped. Other than that, however, I wasn't overly unkempt. Maybe he just felt the need to supervise every move I made, being the control freak I had pegged him as.

“Miss Benjamin, I have just received news that the designer Mr. Clarke works with will be arriving later today with her assistant and my dog. Please make sure all accommodations are made.”

“No problem.” Save that White Pine Lodge didn't necessarily welcome pets, but he was the new boss, so he made the rules. “Wait a minute. Your dog?”

“Yes, my dog. Is that a problem?”

“No, no. I just guess I thought you were more of a goldfish person.”

He snorted and ignored me the rest of the afternoon. I was so lucky to be available to greet the darling Candy Sanders and her snotty little assistant later that night. With them was the biggest German Shepherd I'd ever seen, a right behemoth that flowed out of the car and sat with all kinds of regal airs while he waited for the girls to step out.

I'd made the attempt to iron out my dress shirt, and the largest crease was just under the armpit. Aside from that, I'd thought I was doing well as far as appearances went, but when those two emerged I knew I was outclassed. It's not difficult to do that, but still! They were all coiffed and manicured and perfectly pressed, not a speck of lint or dog fur on their designer suits. Me, I was back to being a garden gnome.

The blonder of the two stepped forward. This one had to be Candy. “What a simply darling place,” she said. I knew she meant every word... to sound fake. Ooh, lovely. “So rustic.”

“Yes, it's one of the many charms of White Pine Lodge. My name is Elise Benjamin. Mr. Fredericks asked me to show you to his office once you've arrived. I hope you had a pleasant trip.”

Both of them ignored me and went into the resort. I'd loved to have seen their faces when they saw the deep pile shag carpeting and wood panelling, but I stayed outside a second longer, contemplating the dog.

He sniffed my hand and determined that I was an okay person, since he let me scratch his ears and seemed to like it. Soon enough, 80 pounds of canine muscle, fur, and bone was leaning against my leg enough to make me step aside. Sweet dog. How did he end up with a guy like Davlin Fredericks?

Chapter Five: Peanut Butter

So I got to follow the Wonder Twins into the resort with perhaps the doggiest dog on my heels. I still couldn't get over how well-behaved this mutt was. My aunt's dog Bandit would be all over the place like the long-legged horse I swore he was bred from. It was a nice change, though, to not have my arm pulled out of its' socket.

Candy was making some comment about the state of the `window treatments' which most people I'd dealt with called them `curtains.' Her assistant wrote everything down, and managed to do it in heels and without looking where she was going. I found it funny that Candy had to stop and actually look around before asking where she could find Mr. Fredericks' office.

“This way, please,” I said. Good thing my back was to them, they couldn't see my smirk.

“God, Bruno, keep away from me,” Candy said. “The last thing I need is your slobber on my skirt.”

I bit back a comment about classical conditioning, realising how unfounded it was. Maybe he just liked her nylons.

I was not privy to the meeting, sad to say. There was work still to be done, reservations to make and general stuff to do. The curiosity was killer. I mean, I wanted to know what was going on behind those closed doors. It would affect my future, man!

Business around the resort kept me busy the rest of the day, which was fine. Byron ended up giving the Wonder Twins the grand tour of the area, from restaurant and rooms to clubhouse and pool. They couldn't do too much with the golf course, and only Byron laughed when I suggested putting in a putt-putt course in lieu of refurbishing and reseeding the full-sized greens.

Mr. Fredericks was on the phone all afternoon with landscapers and real estate people, trying to buy the 40 acres behind the resort in order to expand. It was too soon to be certain just how beneficial all these changes were going to be; I liked walking back in those woods on my lunch breaks, camera in hand, and snapping photos for use in other projects. What if he was going to level everything and put in ski lifts? A water slide? Some kind of exclusive country club thing? No, I didn't like this one bit.

Gina stayed with me that night, more because she wanted to spend more time with Byron than helping me settle into this new role I had. I couldn't blame her, the man kept making cow eyes at her whenever he thought nobody was looking, and she did much the same. Funny how two people can be in the same county for much of their lives and never know the other existed... It was cute, in a way, seeing that big ole' football player stumble all over himself around my sister.

“Candy's nice,” she said, smoothing out a new tee shirt. “And Sandy, too.”

“Sandy? You're kidding, right?”

“It's short for Alexandrea, actually, but she don't like being called Alex or Lexi or whatever.”

“Doesn't, you mean.” It would figure that the Wonder Twins would have rhyming names. “Are they sisters?”

“Not really. Step-sisters, in a way.”

“Hmm. Well, it's good that they like you. Shows they have taste.” The bed I'd been given, so to speak, was lumpy. Hopefully part of the proposed changes to Crappie Creek would be new mattresses. Maybe those special space foam ones, or the air chamber ones. I wouldn't mind testing them out.

“Oh, cut it out. You just haven't been able to spend as much time with them. Candy's got talent comin' out her ears, you should hear what she's thinking about doing to this old place! Sounds dreamy.”

“Hmph. Come on, let's go. I'll bet I have to make something for Finicky Mr. Fredericks.”

“He can't be that bad.” Gina took one last look in the mirror, making sure she was perfect. Not difficult for her. “I mean, he's friends with Byron. You just don't know him very well.”

Much to my surprise, Davlin Fredericks partook of the pizza and beer that Byron insisted on for dinner. Not just pizza, but pizza with everything. He actually had his own, with pepperoni, green peppers, and... anchovies. Bruno sat by his feet, licking his chops and waiting for scraps.

I was still amazed by that dog. When inside the building he was a docile behemoth, sitting quietly by his master's feet or curled up on the bed. Outside, he ran with reckless abandon and phenomenal speed after anything thrown. Yes, that was part of the business that kept me busy: Bruno's daily exercise. I like getting paid to play.

It was getting late, even for May, and the sun was setting. One problem with the situation of White Pine Lodge was the trees on the western edge of the lake: we could only see the sunset for so long. Still, while it was there, all was quiet. Even Bruno didn't whine for a treat. The whole restaurant was bathed in a wonderful ruddy orange while the seven of us watched the sky turn from red to orange to violet to dark navy, the few puffy clouds transformed into cotton candy. I wished for my camera, or at least film to put into it.

When the nightly show was over and the stars began to twinkle, Candy pulled all attention back to herself.

“So, what is there to do around here, anyway?”

Before I could stop myself: “Drink and sleep around.”

Candy and Sandy had identical horrified expressions on their overly made-up faces. Davlin Fredericks scowled. Poor Gina was embarrassed and Byron was trying very hard not to laugh.

“Sorry,” I mumbled. “Poor taste, I know, but it's true. There isn't much to do up here, especially at night. People just hang out and drink.”

Candy looked from Sandy to Davlin Fredericks and back. They all looked to Byron.

“Hey, there's a pool table downstairs, isn't there?” he said, completely oblivious to the horror his companions felt. Gina concurred and the troupe followed, albeit reluctantly. Lemmings, all of us.

There was a little lounge kind of thing in the “basement” or sunk into the hill upon which the main building sat. There were doors that opened onto the front lawn, which lead down to the lake, a fully stocked bar even though it was rarely used, and a few bar games. The requisite furniture was there: high stools, a few comfy chairs, and a TV/conversation pit. On one end was the entertainment centre, the other had a fireplace.

Candy and Sandy chittered away to each other while shooting numerous less-than-subtle or friendly glances my way. The other three were absorbed in racking up and shooting a game of pool. I got to scratch Bruno's ears. For an hour. No talking. Nothing. Longest time I've been privy to a tense silence ever.

“Ooh! Carla called yesterday. She's wondering if you're going to Public Parking tomorrow night.”

“I was wondering when I'd hear from her. I'll call her now.” I pulled out my pretty new phone and began to dial her number.

“That's intended for business use.” He spoke! Not a surprise that he was disapproving, but it was something for me to address right away.

“I'm still on the clock, then?”

“Yes.”

“And I'll be on the clock until eleven?”

“That was our agreement.”

“Okay. Well, after eleven it'll be too late to call. Before five will be too early. Seeing as right now I'm just sitting here, I should be able to call my friend to see what she's doing tomorrow night, which happens to be my night off.”

“Right you should. But not on a company phone.”

“I don't have my own cell, which is why you had me go out and buy one.”

“Yes, I remember.”

“So do I get to go out and build a fire to send smoke signals? Find a conch shell? Stretch a few animal skins across a bowl and beat the message out that way?”

Another lovely tense moment, this time with the two of us staring at each other.

“Do you think you're clever?” he asked.

“Sometimes.”

He ended up letting me make the call, conceding with the strangest expression on his annoyingly handsome face.

-~-

“I tell you, the man is a sadist!” I leaned back against the hood of Bubba's truck, Carla next to me. We watched the guys do stunts with skateboards and bikes and crash spectacularly, all without helmets or pads.

“Is he now?”

“Totally. He likes watching me squirm.”

“So quit. You've got enough experience to get a job somewhere else.”

“Eh, I make more with him than I would anywhere else right now. School's letting out soon, remember?”

“Oh, yeah. It's easy to forget when you don't have to be part of it.”

I snorted, a little carbonation going up my nose. Not fun.

“Why do we hang out here? They were in elementary school when I graduated... Anyway, I can't quit. Would be against my nature. I'm a masochist, remember? I like this kind of sh- stuff.”

Carla laughed. “So then you're a perfect match! Really, though, you should stay with him. Could be your ticket out of here.”

The lift of her eyebrows meant something other than the direct intention.

“You know me. I couldn't do that. No matter how bad this place stinks, I'm not going to hook up with a guy just to get out. That act never works long-term, and I can't commit to someone knowing that. Look at my folks. Could you?”

She sighed and bit her lip. There was a lot going on in her mind, I could see, and I supposed that I had yet to learn the advantage of age with regards to wisdom. She was four or five years older than even me.

“I might. There's nobody up here for us, Elise. And I'm not a dithering romantic like you are. I'll be happy if he has all his teeth and a decent job, and isn't abusive or an alcoholic.”

“Well, that last one's going to be a tough sell. And the first one. Good luck with that.”

-~-

Gina stayed with me at the resort for the next week, and much of the time she wasn't working she spent with Byron Clarke. I favoured the match, certainly. There was a fair bit of mutual attraction, and I could see that Byron was head over heels. He got all goofy when he was around her.

As for the other half of the powerhouse of Fredericks and Clarke, I got to witness one doozy of a hissy fit.

Now, there isn't a dry cleaners in Rawley. There isn't one in a fifteen mile radius of Rawley. Naturally Freaky Mr. Fredericks won't trust the laundry facilities at White Pine Lodge, or the Laundromats in the surrounding towns, so guess who got to go find a dry cleaner and get no less than five outstanding references? If you guessed anyone other than me, get out now.

“Miss Benjamin.”

I have the Psycho violins for his ring tone.

“Yes, Mr. Fredericks?”

“Could you please come to my office?”

Never a good thing, especially when delivered in that calm, collected voice. It always ends up badly, and in his case, probably shrieking like a 50's housewife when a mouse skitters under her skirt.

“Yes?”

I could barely believe the scene in his makeshift office. There he was, handsome self seated in a cast-off chair from Manny's office, and of course the chair was covered in plastic. The lamp was on despite open window shades, and he was hunched into the small circle of light, examining something with a magnifying glass.

“Is there a spot on my cuff?”

“Beg pardon?”

He was studying the cuff of his shirt! White shirt. French cuffs. Newly retrieved from a dry cleaners 35 miles away. Spotless.

“Is there a spot on my cuff?” he asked with maddening calm.

I looked. There, visible only to those looking, was the slightest discoloration, perhaps the size of a pencil top eraser while viewed under 5x magnification. The actual spot was two millimetres across and only slightly less white than the brilliant Titanium white of his shirt. I should've been the nice, submissive quasi-assistant thing that I had been hired to be, but I just couldn't.

“No.”

“It's right there, plain to see! You said this cleaner had a perfect reputation!”

“It does! You just spilled a micro litre of tea onto your cuff!”

“It's a spot and it needs to be cleaned, and cleaned properly! Take it back to wherever you said this place was and demand that they take care of it.”

Ooh, no. As much as I liked being able to drive around, I wasn't always the best at confrontations like this. It was Mr. Fredericks' fault the spot was there.

“No.” Did I say that?

“Beg pardon?”

I guess I did.

“Look, it's a teeny, tiny spot. It'll probably come out with a little water, no need to go all the way back to the cleaner's.”

“Do you like your job?”

Ooh, I hate that question.

“Most of the time.” Why can't I keep my big mouth shut?

“Would you like to keep your job?”

“Yes.”

“Then I suggest you take this shirt back to the cleaners and make sure they take care of the matter. Then find another cleaner, one who won't make such a mistake.”

I stared, mouth open, then shut, then open again.

“Stop gaping, Miss Benjamin, and do your job or I will find someone more competent, if that is possible up in this backwater sinkhole.”

Ah, such a challenge to not jump down his throat and twist his insides into knots. The Welsh accent made it easier to bear the insult, which also had a hint of a compliment in it. Golly gee willikers, does he have a habit of backhanded compliments or what?

“I can't take the shirt if you're still wearing it.”

I mentally chuckled as he realised this. All action stopped at the desk and he wouldn't look at me. Click click click. He played with the pen, ultimately stopping after twenty clicks and carefully set it down, parallel with the top edge of the document he was studying.

“If you will excuse me, Miss Benjamin,” he muttered as he stood. “I'll bring it down to the front desk in a moment.

“Of course, Mr. Fredericks. Anything you say.”

He sighed through his nose, not amused in the slightest with my flippant tone. It was so much fun to needle him, get back for the little insults wrapped around minor compliments. I backed out of the room, bowing in mock obeisance. What a trip...

Chapter Six: Rocky Road

This job was going to kill me. I didn't like being awake at dawn thirty or going to sleep well after the night owls had settled into their nests. By the end of the summer, I would have a dang good reason to buy a new(er) car: my poor little Chevy was battered to begin with, and all the driving Mr. Fredericks was having me do was slowly killing my engine.

It was on the return from one of those pointless trips cross-county that things got interesting.

I had Bruno with me, having taken him to the vet Mr. Fredericks had me hunt down and interview before allowing him to so much as look at his precious mutt. Bruno went in for grooming, a trim for his claws, and a brushing for his teeth. That poor vet tech was petrified at the notion of cleaning the teeth of a German Shepherd the size of dear Bruno, especially when he bared his teeth at her. Little did she know he was just making it easier for her.

Back at the resort, newly deserted as renovations were being made, I dropped my keys outside the side door. The big, solid wooden door. It's beautifully carved and leaves an impression.

It also sticks at the top, requiring an extra push to get it going and then it goes at quite the clip. I heard the creak as it opened, but I didn't have time to get out of the way. Luckily my rear is large enough to cushion the fall and the only real damage was done to my forehead.

I must've blanked out for a few seconds, or minutes, or something. I was still outside when I opened my eyes, at least. A lovely Welsh voice was speaking.

“She'll have a bit of a goose-egg, but I think she'll be all right. She wasn't joking when she said she'd a thick skull. Ah, look, she's coming too.”

There was Mr. Davlin Fredericks, crouched beside me in his designer suit. He actually seemed concerned! How sweet...

“Wha happen?”

“I'm sorry, I seem to have cleaned your clock so to speak. What were you doing hiding behind the door like that?”

“Dropped keys...”

“Can you make a sentence of more than two words?” And there was Candy, less than kind or sympathetic.

Mr. Fredericks glared at her. “Candy, go into the kitchen and get a towel and some ice.”

She sniffed but went.

“How come she's `Candy' and I'm `Miss Benjamin'?”

I loved that my Tact and Censorship buttons weren't working. He gave one small chuckle and looked at the closed door.

“Because for some reason you deserve it.”

I wasn't sure, though, that the pain I felt was from the concussion or the backhanded compliment he had just delivered.

“Can you stand?”

“I think I'll need help.

A few more painful moments later and I was in the lobby of the resort, reclining on a sofa with the pitiful amount of ice Candy supplied pressed to my forehead.

“Do you want a doctor?” Mr. Fredericks asked. Bruno was sitting beside him, panting his minty-fresh doggy breath and occasionally nudging me with his nose. Though he was concerned, the dog still wanted to play. Dogs.

“I think I'll be okay,” I muttered. “But can I have the rest of the day off?”

“Certainly. And tomorrow, too, if you still feel unwell.”

All right. This guy was really freaking me out now. He was being nice to me, almost catering to my every need. So, yeah, the conk on my noggin was really his fault, but I never expected him to take such an active role in being responsible for it. It was bizarre.

Gina brought me more ice later and stayed with me that afternoon to keep me awake. I also found it bizarre that everyone, including myself, treated the lobby of the now-deserted resort as an informal living room. Byron brought the TV up from the lounge in the basement. After that, he and Gina spent the evening teaching the Wonder Twins how to play euchre while I watched a rerun of Gilmore Girls. Mr. Fredericks, for he was still Mr. Fredericks, was working intently on his laptop.

After a little while, Candy decided she'd had enough of the official state card game and decided to pester myself and Mr. Fredericks.

“My, you're working hard, Davlin. Might I ask what's so engrossing?”

“My sister sent me a paper to read over and critique.”

“How old is your sister, that she's still in school?” I had to ask. Every college person I knew was out all ready, and had been for a month.

“Miss Evelyn Fredericks is just finishing up her senior year of high school,” Candy sniffed, “And has been accepted into Harvard, pre-law!”

“Wow, that's impressive. Some of my friends applied there for the law program, too.”

“I didn't think the Ivy League took charity cases,” the b- beekeeper sniped.

I gripped the remote hard enough to hear the plastic cracking, all to keep my charming, unflappable façade intact. Ooh, it was hard work!

“Aww, be nice, Candy,” Byron cheerfully rumbled, “Elise here was my sister's roomie at Smith Union University. You were studying art, weren't you, 'lise?”

“Yeah.” I was so impressed that he remembered! I'd only met him two, three times at most.

“And which medium, Miss Benjamin?”

There was a note of amused condescension in Mr. Fredericks' voice, as if he either couldn't believe that I had gone to college or that a garden gnome like me would have the audacity to study art. Probably both.

“Photography, actually, with a focus in both digital and print media. Took me a little longer than most, but I got out with a BFA. And I had work published in our student magazine once each year I was there.”

The unasked question, which I knew was resting uneasily on everyone's tongue, was “then why in the world are you here?” Candy was the only one with either the guts or the stupidity to say anything.

“Which just goes to show that art isn't the best career path for a little Northern girl.”

“Candy, where are you from?” Mr. Fredericks asked. Was I hearing things? He was sounding a bit exasperated!

“Chicago, darling,” she purred. Oblivious. She was completely oblivious to his point... and lying.

“Aren't you from Chestnut? Upstate New York?” Byron asked, so totally innocent. “And you studied art, too.”

Candy turned scarlet and sat down with a whumf. A little quirk at the corner of his mouth was all that Mr. Fredericks would let show of his apparent amusement, and I, disgusted with the abundance of reruns on cable, turned off the TV in favour of a slightly outdated Newsweek.

“I guess it just goes to show what a difference ambition makes in forming a career,” Candy remarked at last, having recovered from her embarrassment and once again the cool, collected Chicago sophisticate. “That's something you once listed as a must, wasn't it, Davlin? On your secret checklist of feminine qualities?”

“If it were secret, you wouldn't know about it,” he said.

“I seem to remember a conversation on this topic not over long ago, though. Or was it the generic `what guys want' list? I think that's it, `What Makes A Girl The One.'”
“I remember something like that too, Dav,” Byron added. “I can't attest to how sober we might've been, but there was a general discussion about it.”

“You were stone-drunk,” Mr. Fredericks muttered, closing the laptop with as much care as everything else he does. I'm sure he even wiped away his fingerprints from the plastic casing.

“If memory serves, the Ideal Woman was outlined as elegant, witty, au courant, sophisticated, not to mention graceful.”

That last one was directly aimed at myself. How could it not be? In the last few weeks I had tripped over my own feet more often than I'd care to admit, was wearing clothing that had been rescued from the Goodwill, and had shown all the sophistication of Farmer Jenkins' prize sow.

And what did she think to prove by throwing out one French phrase? Puh-lease! My jaw may have been hanging open slightly, but it was from shock at her audacity rather than confusion.

“My dear Candy, you seem to only remember half of the supposed list. You've forgotten that she must be intelligent and well-educated, have a strong work ethic, and most importantly possess an overall good nature that will allow her to overlook the idiosyncrasies of her company with minimal difficulty.”

I almost lost all composure there. Had... had he just complimented me? It sounded like it. Moreover, had he just... hit on me? That had seemed all too much like a come-on, in my limited experience. This time the open mouth was due to confusion. Luckily I was saved from explanation by the arrival of a splitting headache, radiating from the bump and going all the way around to the back of my head. I was deemed safe for beddy-bye and shuffled my way down the hall, Bruno at my side. He curled up on the floor next to my bed and didn't leave until Gina arrived some time later.

-~-

I enjoyed my day off, and with the help of a hearty dose of Excedrin was back to work in another day. Candy was blissfully quiet following Mr. Fredericks' little subtle set-down, but it didn't stop her from glaring at me at every opportunity. I could not fathom why Davlin Fredericks would be attracted to me at all, or why he would be suddenly nice to me, though that didn't last a terribly long time after my second day off, and ultimately, I didn't particularly care. He thought himself better than all the rest of us country bumpkins, a mindset I can usually ignore in the usual Fudgies that spend a week or a month in quaint cabins or ostentatious summer mansions that stay vacant for 10 months or so of the year. Could I deal with it in a guy who had slunk in and taken over, and looked to be taking up residence long term? Heck no.

Construction had begun on a new addition to the resort: a ritzy day spa was being added to the restaurant and hotel, which were being remodelled and redecorated in keeping with the rustic theme Candy and Sandy had agreed upon/bullied Byron into accepting. It wasn't a bad idea, actually, and from what I saw of the design concepts the overall look would be perfect for the place. Kind of a classic hunting lodge, with exposed beams and mellow plasterwork, and indigenous game trophies on the wall. Who would know that moose were not that common in our area? Only the locals, I suspect, but too many of them were impressed by the Chicago Contingent to say anything. I was just waiting for Mr. Fredericks to hang himself with all the rope I was giving him by not saying anything to anyone. The design plans were top secret, to be revealed in a week or so at a big staff meeting.

But. Construction was underway, including a house for the pool. There were lots of men about, some young and lovely to look at, most the usual lot of teachers on break and older gentlemen looking for some extra cash. The company Mr. Fredericks had hired was reputable, by all accounts, and did quality work. They hired a lot of guys who had experience in carpentry, electrical, and plumbing work, so even if the workers were not professionals, they knew what they were doing.

Plus, they hired cute guys, too. I'm sure the wife of the owner had something to do with that. Case in point: The lovely blond guy straddling the rafters of the new spa, installing and securing some wiring. I'd seen him a few times, enough to appreciate him, and was elated that he was now working in close proximity to myself. Would give me a chance to maybe talk to him, if the occasion arose.

I found out through the grapevine, namely my mother, that his name was Jason Palmer, he was from the Chicago area too but moved North to help out a family friend, then got into construction just a month or two ago. He was Mr. Fredericks' age, dropped out of college, and had been a roadie with a few smaller bands before moving up here. A borderline Bad Boy, with killer smile, deep (cancerbait) tan, and cutoff jean shorts. A surfer dude, almost, with the sun-bleached hair. Yum. Certainly a better alternative, and more suitable to me, than that stuffy nutcase in the office. Candy could have him, if he gave a rat's rear, which I was quite sure he didn't. I was almost back to thinking he played for my team.

Byron gave the okay for me to lug a cooler of water out to the construction crew one hot day. With what felt like nearly 80% humidity, those poor guys were sweating buckets and more than a few of them had stripped down as far as decency would allow, to the regret of many. Obviously the wife had not hired those gentlemen.

A break was called and all the guys dropped to ground level, scattering to trucks and port-a-johns and shade. I was in the shade, me and the cooler. Not bad. Especially since Jason Palmer was one of the first guys to approach me.

“Hello, gorgeous,” he said, flashing brilliant white teeth. Veneers, I thought, or a heck of a lot of time with a bleach tray in his mouth.

“I thought I was supposed to say that,” came the witty retort, followed by a pout. “Elise Benjamin.”

“Jason. Jason Palmer. Pleasure.”

I could've melted on the spot. Good, firm grip; well defined musculature; movie-star good looks and grin. The whole package. Man, he was ripped. And not in that gross, “I'm a bodybuilder” way, but more of an “I do physical labour” kind of way. The latter is always better. I wracked my mental inventory for jars of seedless blackberry jam to have him open, anything to see those muscles move. I could really only grin that stupid grin all girls get at least once in their lives.

There wasn't enough time for conversation, sadly, as none other than that mood-wrecker Mr. Davlin Fredericks made his grand debut, Bruno bounding ahead of him. Would I never be free of him?

“Miss Benjamin, I need you to...” The request/command died after that as his mouth became one little line an inch below his nose.

“Mr. Davlin Fredericks, this is Jason Palmer. He's with Conway Construction.”

Jason smiled warmly at my employer and held out his hand. Mr. Fredericks neither returned the favour nor shook hands. Instead he grabbed my upper arm and dragged me back to the resort without further discussion. I was not only mortified, I was incensed!

Chapter Seven: Amaretto

I allowed Davlin Fredericks to drag me back into the hotel simply because I didn't want to cause a scene in front of the dishy Jason Palmer. Boy, was it a scene. Thankfully most everyone else was out of the building.

“How dare you drag me off like some- some caveman! What right do you have to treat me like an errant puppy to be carted away when she's done something bad? Answer me, da- dagnabit!”

Once back at his office, Mr. Fredericks let go of my arm and went to sit at his desk like nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

“Come on! I deserve an explanation! Do you even know this guy? And again, where do you get off telling me who I can and cannot talk to? You're only my boss, you're not my father or boyfriend or husband or anything!”

“Are you quite finished?”

“Maybe. You gonna start talking?”

I crossed my arms, super miffed at his nonchalant attitude. For the life of me I could not overcome those idiosyncrasies of his and rise above the frustration and anger that were shining through my oh-so-calm façade.

“Please, have a seat. Is your head bothering you?”

“You're stalling.” Still, I sat. I'd learned early on to take every opportunity that presented itself to do just that.

“I'm being considerate. As to the questions you so rudely put to me-”

“Me? Rude? Who's the one who went prehistoric on me and hauled me off like a side of beef?”

“May I continue?”

I could only stare.

“As you said, I am your employer, you are my employee. As stipulated in the contract you signed, you are to follow my instructions without undue complaint or question. I have allowed you certain freedoms with regard to that clause in the past few weeks, seeing as my stay here is not in any way a long-term commitment and it would frankly be too much effort to try and change you or your manners.”

Um... a veiled insult?

“I intend to continue allowing you your freedoms as I mentioned earlier, save one condition. Do not associate with Jason Palmer. He is not the kind of man a nice young lady would want to be coupled with.”

“I'm sorry?” Had there been flies in the room, a few would have congregated around my open mouth. “I did not just hear you tell me I can't hang out with certain people. Those words did not cross your lips.”

“Miss Benjamin, I am your employer, and I expect you to behave to a certain standard when on the premises and during the hours we agreed upon in your contract. I have not made any special requests thus far, and I would like to keep those at a minimum. While you are on my property and working for me, you will stay away from Jason Palmer. It would behoove you also to avoid him outside the resort.”

“Why? You'd better have a da- dastardly good reason for this.”

“That is my business, Miss Benjamin, and I hope you can accept that there are some things I don't wish to discuss.”

“So you think that I'm going to drop a budding friendship just because you don't think I should see the guy?”

Good thing he didn't answer. I'd've decked him. My jaw hurt so bad from clenching it and I coulda sworn I heard teeth crack.

Lucky for me I was given the evening off, along with the weekend, and I went home. Not that I particularly wanted to go there, but I needed to get away from White Pine Lodge and Horrible Mr. Fredericks.

Mom was in a fluster when I got home, cleaning the house with a fervour she saved only for gossip.

“Don't you dare step in here with mud on your shoes, kid!” she snarled at me. I didn't see why it mattered, seeing as the linoleum was stained anyway.

“What's going on?” I hissed to Gina, who only rolled her eyes at me.

“Someone's coming over for dinner, apparently,” Megan muttered as she passed, carrying a dustpan and an irate cat.

“Who?”

“Your cousin Todd!” Mom yelled from the other end of the trailer.

“Again, who?” I was strangely beginning to miss White Pine Lodge... at least it was quiet there, and you couldn't hear the people next to you. Most of the time, anyway.

“He's your Aunt Marnie's former stepson, you remember, cousin Todd!”

The only Todd I remembered was a fat, greasy dumpling of a boy with beady little eyes made even beadier by thick glasses. In high school he had a scraggly little goatee, half there and half not. He was related to us? Even tenuously?

“Todd Collier?”

“Yeah, him!” Mom said.

“Why?” I wailed. Todd Collier had had a crush on me in high school... I had to miss half my senior prom because he was going to ask me to dance. I would rather not dance than dance with him.

“I don't know! He just called today and said he was in the area, mentioned he hadn't seen us in a while and I invited him to dinner.”

“WHY?”

“Because it's the nice thing to do! Now shut up and help clean!”

An hour later and the place was as clean as it could be, given that five women and three cats lived there. Pillows were fluffed, blankets folded, magazines straightened. The bathroom and kitchen were scrubbed, the smell of bleach strong enough to make my eyes water. At least it was a clean smell... Which brought my thoughts around to the bane of my existence, Davlin Fredericks. In the last two weeks he'd gradually stopped, or at least lessened, his cleaning habits. He had started out his stay by going in after the maid and cleaning everything a second time and was now just watching and timing how long she was in the room. The longer she took, the happier he was.

There was not enough Ajax in the world that could scrub his image out of my mind; the look on his face when I was talking with Jason was indelible! Good for me, I suppose. A new way to antagonise him without actually antagonising him. Besides, I liked Jason. He was nice.

The sound of a car bottoming out on our driveway heralded the arrival of former cousin Todd Collier, and the man who stumbled out of his vehicle was not much different from the boy I had so studiously avoided in high school. He was a mite taller, maybe, and a touch skinnier, but that didn't say much.

I wished fervently that my dad had been there to see the spectacle.

“My boss is fabulous,” Todd said over dinner. The use of that f-word, fabulous, made me question his sexuality. No straight man used that word in any other way but mocking. “Cathy Van Burke has such great taste! I've never met anyone who knows more about winemaking. She inspects everything, from the orchards to the bottles.”

“Is the wine in them before, during, or after she inspects them?” I asked. I couldn't help myself! The man was such a goober!

“She carefully monitors the whole process, Elise. Nothing is too insignificant to escape her notice.”

The funny thing was, he was serious! It was easy to tell from his tone of voice and that faraway look on his face when he spoke of Cathy Van Burke, owner/operator of Ridgeway Winery out on Old Mission Peninsula. From what I'd heard from friends who worked at any of the orchards out that way, Cathy Van Burke was a supreme bi- supremely bratty, snotty, and self-centred. She was another transplant from one of those urban areas to the south of us, and a transplant with Money.

By the way, once a Fudgie decides to stay and have established themselves in a given community, they cease being a Fudgie. In this area, a transplant becomes a Troll, one who lives under the Bridge: the Big Mac, Mackinaw Bridge. From all reports, Van Burke was a genuine troll, small t and all. I vaguely hoped she would have a few billy goats roaming around her vineyards.

Todd's blithering chatter was mind-numbing, and once again I was wishing to be back at White Pine Lodge. Mr. Fredericks' studied silence was infinitely more preferable to Todd Colliers' inane babbling, and the penetrating glare of the former much more bearable than the leering of the latter. Yes, I was the object of much of Colliers' attention, when it was not fixed on my mother. Lucky, lucky me.

At least the real lucky thing for me was that I had plans for the night, meeting Carla up at Public Parking and going for a drive.

“Well, nice seeing you again, Toddy,” I said, jumping up as soon as I could.

The table was cleared with fantastic speed; chores allotment went that whoever set the table, which was me, cleared the table and was done. Leftovers were dumped into containers and hastily thrown into the fridge, making lovely lunches for whoever got to them first. That was the hard part of being in that house: we made a lot of food, but we ate a lot of food, too. Only Gina and Megan managed to get the Tall and Skinny gene from our dad's end of the gene pool. Lydia and myself took after our mother, Short and Fat. And I somehow ended up with carrot orange hair, an extreme oddity on either side. Orange and uber curly hair.

I was almost out the door when Mom stopped me.

“Where are you going?” she asked, as if I hadn't told her some half-dozen times that I had plans for the night.

“Out.”

“We have company, young lady.” The tone was unmistakeable, and she was ready to make a scene. Oh, joy.

“Yes, well, I had plans before we had company.” You invited him, mor- Mother, you entertain him!

“You're just going out for a drive though, right? You can do that any time.” Lydia had to add her two cents, my mother's Mini Me. I glared at her.

“I get little enough time to myself to do with as I choose. I'm going out with Carla, I'll be back before midnight.”

“Maybe Todd could go with you,” Lydia suggested oh-so-sweetly, an idea that was rapturously seconded by Mom. “I'm sure he would like that, wouldn't you, Todd?”

“Oh, well, yes, if you don't mind, Elise,” he said, flustered and nearly beside himself with glee. “I could see more of the countryside that way.”

The malicious glitter in my sister's eyes was lethal; she didn't want him around any more than I did, and I knew she was jealous that I got to spend so much time with “Dishy Davlin Fredericks,” as both she and Mom called my boss. In her mind, sending more time with Toady Toddy would be the perfect revenge, and I had to admit she was right. I have a good eye; I can see a handsome man by daylight, even if he's a stodgy old man personality-wise.

“Fine,” I sighed. Gina squeezed my hand as I walked out the door, Todd close by my heels.

“If you don't mind, we're going to walk up to Public Parking,” I said, even though it was more than a mile.

“Certainly. A little exercise is vital to maintaining a healthy body.”

Maintaining? He certainly had a high opinion of himself, the swine. By the end of the driveway he was huffing and puffing like the Big Bad Wolf, though he was more like the Pathetic Wimpy Wolfcub. I may be pudgy but I wasn't anywhere near as out of shape as he was. Cathy Van Burke must have a little golf cart for him. The best thing about listening to him gasp for air? He couldn't talk and a few scraps of my sanity were saved.

After much heavy breathing on his part and teeth-grinding on mine we reached Public Parking. More explanation: Public Parking is a small lot to the side of the Post Office. It's where the popular kids and other miscreants meet to hang out, drink illegally, and smoke things other than cigarettes. It was the place to be, man. Why? I don't know.

The party was in full swing by the time we got there, though Toady had to step away for a while to catch his breath. If anyone noticed him, they didn't say anything. Most people didn't notice him.

“Who is that?” Carla asked, nodding in his direction.

I quickly filled her in and watched her shoulders droop.

“Is there any way to get rid of him?”

“No fair, I was about to ask you the same thing. I think we're stuck,” I said and cringed as he shuffled over, still wheezing a little. “Hi, Todd, this is Carla, one of my friends.”

“It's always a pleasure meeting such lovely people,” he said, bowing over her hand and even kissing it.

Carla's eyebrow arched. “Gee, thanks. Let's go.”

And without further ado we climbed into Carla's raggedy little convertible, ready to enjoy the warm summer night. Toddy sat in the back.

“So, where should we go? Up to Katchpa, over to East Hanover, or down towards Traverse City? Hey! We could go by White Pine Lodge and check in on your boss! Wouldn't High and Mighty Davlin Fredericks love that!”

I glared at her, and pinched her arm once Toady Toddy had something to say. She'd piqued his interest in my job.

“Davlin Fredericks? From Chicago?”

“Yeah.”

“I thought as much! There can only be one Davlin Fredericks up in this area-”

“What, you know him?”

The ox didn't register the scorn and rudeness I intended.

“No, not personally, but Mrs. Van Burke speaks of him all the time. He's her nephew, after all, she should. It'll be the merger of a lifetime when he marries her daughter.”

“Oh?”

Carla pinched me back. “Ow!” I hissed. At least that subject kept Toady Toddy talking, even though Carla and I had completely tuned him out.

Davlin Fredericks, engaged? Somehow I had a hard time imagining that. He never really struck me as the marrying kind, especially not with that particular habit of his. Heck, those particular habits. Poor girl, whoever she was. Or maybe, even, poor him, if she was anything like her mother. I'd never met the woman and I already disliked her. Still, nobody, not even my anal-retentive boss, deserved her for a mother-in-law. Not that mine would be any better.

Drat and double drat! How had my train of thought pulled into that particular station?

Chapter Eight: Sea Foam

I had no luck in escaping Todd the next day; he followed me like some lovesick puppy, far less attractive than my charge back at White Pine Lodge. It was safe to say that I was heartily missing that place by 10 a.m. Sunday morning.

Sunday Morning. The whole town was dead on Sunday mornings; everyone was at church, or if they weren't at church, they were hiding from the ones who were. I was one of the ones hiding. At least I had good company: Jason Palmer joined me for breakfast at a diner nearer to Preston than Rawley, seeing as there was less of a chance to be seen by one of the church-going set.

Jason had been in the area for little more than a week, by popular reckoning, and all ready he was a favourite. He was laid-back, easy-going, never pulled an attitude and always had a good word for everybody. The little teeny-bopper girls adored him for his surfer-dude looks; the guys liked him because he was athletic; the little old men and women thought him perfectly charming and gentlemanly; everyone else just thought he was plain old cool.

Service at the diner was prompt and ever-ready; Lydia's friends were working the counter and it seemed that every few minutes one of them was coming by to freshen coffee or see if everything was going well.

“How long have you been working with Davlin Fredericks?” Jason asked once the food arrived.

“Too long, it seems like. You know him?” Technically, that was a stupid question seeing as Mr. Fredericks told me to stay away from Jason.

“Used to. My dad worked for him, and we spent a lot of time together as kids. Yeah, he doesn't like me much anymore.”

“I noticed. Was he always so-” Oh, what word to use? “Peculiar?”

“Oh, yeah. A real nutcase. Could never have his food touching. And he always expects people to do what he wants.”

“Good to know he hasn't changed.”

“Well, you see, His dad was awesome, always giving me presents and stuff. Kinda looked on me like a son. Anyway, he promised me a really good job at the company when I finished school, but good old Davlin put a stop to that right away. By then he was in charge. I guess he didn't like that his dad liked me better than him.”

“Oh, that's terrible!”

“Yeah, it is. Petty jealousy is always a terrible thing. I'm living proof! See, Davlin Fredericks wasn't happy barring me from that cushy job at one company: he made it damn near impossible to find a half-way decent job anywhere in the country! I'd have to go to Canada to do much more than flip burgers or mow lawns or-”

“Or build houses.”

I had no appetite for anything after that. How could anyone, even the perpetually anal and dismal Davlin Fredericks, do something so heinous as ruin a man's career simply out of jealousy? I may not be the most moral and upstanding person in the world, but even I couldn't think about doing that to another human being. I might prevent him or her from getting a job in a certain city, maybe region, but not the whole country. It would take a lot for me to do that kind of thing, too. I'm usually pretty good about resolving those kinds of issues.

“But hey, this job isn't so bad. I get to be outside all day, enjoying the outdoors and occasionally getting a glimpse of that famous Michigan wildlife. I don't think I'd like being stuck in an office all day, this way I'm active all the time. And I'm free to travel. I wouldn't get to do too much of that if I was chained to a desk.”

“That's good, I guess, but what kind of stability does a construction job provide if you're constantly on the move?”

“Enough. At least in this region it's continual, gainful employment for 7 or 8 months of the year. And I save enough. Maybe in a few years I'll think about settling down.”

I couldn't get my mind off Jason's predicament. Davlin Fredericks? Malicious, jealous pr- pretentious arrogant vindictive beast!

“I can't believe Mr. Fredericks would do such a thing,” Gina said later that night. “He doesn't strike me as the kind of person who would dishonour the wishes of a father.”

“Believe it, Gina. Mr. Fredericks is an uptight meanie who likes nothing better than seeing other people squirm. There was a ring of truth to everything Jason said, nothing but sincerity in his tone.”

“And you are the observant one.”

I couldn't tell if Gina was being sarcastic or not, seeing as she has very, very, very little practice at it, for all she is my nearest, dearest sister.

“Besides, why would Jason lie to me? He doesn't have a reason to. You're just too nice.” I turned away and started shoving things back into my suitcase. Back to the resort in the morning... back to making that very specific breakfast, right down to the seedless blackberry jam.

“Well, Byron said that he knows a little bit about Jason, and that he's not to be trusted.”

“Has Byron ever met Jason?”

“No.”

“Then what he knows he learned from Mr. Fredericks! Gina, the truth of the matter is that Mr. Davlin Fredericks did wrong by Jason Palmer and ruined his chances of having a decent career.”

-~-

The only one happy to see me back at White Pine Lodge had four legs and fur; apparently Mr. Fredericks had issues taking his dog outside for regular play time. That monster of a dog barrelled out of the door and veritably tackled me, knocking me back onto my still slightly sore tailbone.

All the renovations were going well and on schedule; one more week and the main construction would be finished, another two and all the finishing work would be done. Within a month, the newly remodelled White Pine Lodge would be fully operational again and Davlin Fredericks would be gone, out of my life, at least in the immediate sense. I had heard whisperings that he would still be in contact with the manager, whomever that would end up being, and through the manager, me. Have to give credit where credit is due: Mr. Fredericks was able to overlook my supposed shortcomings and, in his own freaky way, respected me. That much I knew.

There were going to be two grand opening parties: One for all the employees, both the ones who actually worked in the resort and those who worked on remodelling it, and one for the general public and/or illustrious members of the community, not excluding the few random celebrities with homes along Lake Michigan. It was a small comfort to me that Madonna hadn't even responded to Mr. Fredericks' invitation. Small only because she was still in England; if she had actually been in the country, let alone the state, her refusal would have been more enjoyable. I couldn't wait for him to be gone!

It should be of no surprise to anyone that I was in charge of organising both shindigs. Candy disapproved, but once it was pointed out that I knew the area better and what there was available, she grudgingly gave her consent. Byron also gave me all his support as well, especially once I suggested that Gina would be the perfect person to help me out. In all actuality, I didn't need her help all that much, but since she hadn't stopped mooning over the handsome ex-athlete and he had been asking after her almost every day, I figured it wouldn't hurt to play Cupid a little. Not that there was much for me to do.

Two caterers were hired, two DJs. Decorations decided upon, purchased and made. While Mr. Fredericks and Byron were busy hammering out details with the actual running of the resort, and while Candy and Sandy were busy with their own decorating and designing, Gina and I fussed and fidgeted, waiting until the guys stopped working and dinner was agreed upon. It was the same every day: Gina and Byron would wander off for a walk in the woods or sit on the pier and talk. Candy would try to engage Mr. Fredericks' attention and fail, then would sit around and sulk with Sandy, who seemed to ignore everyone and everything but Candy. That was a can of worms I didn't want to see, let alone open.

Then there was Mr. Davlin Fredericks. Most nights he just sat in the lounge, reading, Bruno sitting just to the left and within petting range. Or he would be emailing his sister, one or the other. I usually read or went out to enjoy the beautiful nights.

One of the scariest things is when a person so given to habit and routine suddenly breaks said habit or routine. The night before the Employee Party, Mr. Fredericks broke his routine.

“And what are you going to do tonight, Davlin?” Candy asked, as if she didn't all ready know.

I was safely ensconced in an over-stuffed armchair, wrapped up with a good book and a sleepy dog at my ankles; Bruno was all tuckered out from a long day of playing out by and in the lake. Yeah, washing and drying, then brushing, a German Shepherd is not fun at all, even when he's as well behaved as Bruno. Look who his owner is, after all.

“I was thinking of taking a drive,” he said.

Had I not been struck completely dumb by his statement, I would have laughed. The whole room had gone completely silent, save for the buzz of electricity in the lamp next to me.

“Oh! That's a wonderful idea. I've heard that the moonlight on Lake Michigan is absolutely gorgeous.” Candy gave a saccharine-sweet smile and I could almost see cancer growing in her cheeks. That had to be the boldest move she'd made yet!

“As have I,” he replied. “Miss Benjamin, would you care to join me?”

Wow, that electrical buzz was loud! I could feel Candy's eyes boring holes into my head, little lasers she would set to kill if her poor eyesight didn't prevent her.

“You know the area better and might have some decent suggestions.”

“Gee, thanks.”

There was an honest-to-goodness debate going on in my head. On the one hand, I would get to ride in the Jag. With a supremely good looking Welshman. On the other, that same Welshman was an anal-retentive weirdo bent on ruining my life and those of the people I cared about, namely Jason Palmer (he's cute and interested in me. Smart, funny, and articulate. `Nuff said, in my opinion). On the other, I'd get to ride in the Jag.

In the end, there really was no decision to be made. Cars win out in the end.

“Sure.”

Candy still finagled a spot in the Jag, though she was relegated to the back seat with Bruno. Gina and Byron decided to join us as well, and Sandy suddenly decided she had a headache and stayed behind. I suspected that one of Candy's designer suits would be in shreds when we returned.

Whatever grumbles Candy had about my sitting shotgun she kept quiet. As navigator I got that plum seat and I thoroughly enjoyed it. The top was down on the gorgeous automobile and the roads were just deserted enough so that we could cruise slowly on the way to the lake, just fast enough to beat the sunset. I only had to give two or three directions, seeing as the main highway went straight to the nearest state park.

“See, now, this is stuff you can't get from a computer,” Byron said as he and Gina settled down next to each other in the sand.

Davlin walked further down the stony beach and stared out at the setting sun, the redness in the sky bouncing off the water and his white shirt. A breeze ruffled a few curls and for a moment I forgot how much of a jerk he was. Man, but he was handsome!

“How can you say that, Byron? You can get almost anything from a computer. You just have to know where to look.”

“Come on, Candy, you can't get this online. Not unless they can simulate the feeling of sand between your toes or that sensation you get when looking at real beauty.”

Of course, he wasn't looking at the sky when he said that last bit.

“Still, the internet is such an integral part of everyday life now. Just imagine how much longer it would take if you had to look everything up in a library or wait for the mail every day?”

“Aw, hell, I don't use email all that much. I hate writing. I'm a much better talker, prefer using a phone.”

“That's because you can't spell worth a damn and leave out half the words you want to write!”

“Spelling wasn't a focus when I was in school.”

I bit my lip at that. Byron was a nice guy, not worth my sarcasm. At least not that night.

“Davlin, on the other hand, writes beautifully,” Candy continued. “Everything is perfect when he sets out to accomplish something.”

Of course it would be, I thought. Thank you for stating the obvious.

“I do strive for perfection in my work,” he said. “But I am far from perfect.”

“Oh, certainly. If one was perfect, there would be nothing to work toward.”

I was having fun watching this. Mr. Fredericks stared at Candy, sitting there in the sand while she blathered away, a pensive expression on his face.

“...But in all I've observed of you, Davlin, you are as close to perfect as a person can get. I can't detect any real faults in you.”

I had to cough at that and covered it with taking a swig from my water bottle.

“A man without fault! How rare are you!” After so many weeks of having to deal with his faults, and knowing full well of my own seeing as he took some pains to remind me of at least one a day, I had to laugh.

“Miss Benjamin!” Candy was shocked that I would do such a thing as laugh at the illustrious Mr. Davlin Fredericks. “That is a very rude thing to do, laughing at a person when it is uncalled for!”

This only made me laugh harder.

“I have faults enough, as anyone may see, but I hope that faults in understanding are not included. My standards are high and I will only yield if absolutely necessary; I have problems forgiving those people who have acted against me and harmed those I care about-in fact, it would be safe to say that once a person loses my favour that it is lost forever.”

“I've never said a word about your understanding, Mr. Fredericks,” I managed as my laughing fit stopped. “Don't worry about me teasing you about that. And if anyone has lost your favour,” as weird as it sounds, this elevated language, “I hope it was for a very good reason.”

The night air got very tense, him and me locked into some insane staring contest.

“Everyone has their own failing.”

“Yours seems to be to hate everyone and everything not hermetically sealed!”

“And you choose to misinterpret everything that does not gel with your ideals.”

His expression was unreadable and after a few moments he broke away, moving again to study the effect of dim moonlight on the breaking waves. It was a long drive back to the resort.

Chapter Nine: Turtle

The parties, such as they were, went off fabulously. Just ask any casual observer.

Then ask me. Both nights were rough, to be accurate and euphemistic. The first, simply because it was; when all was said and done, there were a lot of employees at White Pine Lodge. And since my family all works there, I could not escape them. To make matters worse, Mom insisted that cousin Toddy come too. All I could do was keep busy.

And of course, as a mark to my own efficiency, that was difficult to do. Thankfully Jason Palmer was there, and he was able to deflect certain awful people from overly bothering me, namely cousin Toddy and Davlin Fredericks. The former followed me like a lovesick puppy, which unnerved me to no end, and the latter made a few attempts to approach me for goodness knows what reason, though he never got very close.

All I can say is thank goodness for Jason Palmer. He saved me from at least two hours worth of inane chatter and idiosyncratic tics. And it was interesting watching him and Mr. Fredericks studiously avoid each other. Entertainment like that is hard to come by, I find. It was certainly better than what my sister provided.

Now, I love my sisters. Kinda have to, seeing as we're related. It does not mean that I have to like them or even speak kindly about or to them. Megan, for all her technical expertise, fancies herself a singer, and a good one at that. The reason for this is that nobody has told her that she had better leave the singing to the drunks at the karaoke bar or at the very least join them there and not impose her warbling on the rest of us.

In all honesty, though, she's not that bad. She's not that good, either. She can carry a tune but it's with both hands. Anyway, the DJ I hired for the employee party decided that he would graciously add in a karaoke machine to the mix and Megan, after enough to drink made straight for it. Her rendition of “Nothing Compares 2 U” was... memorable. I know that I would like to have that memory completely erased from my mind, but luckily by the time she had given in and gotten drunk enough to do it, most everyone else was plastered. A few of us weren't, though we wish we had been.

That, coupled with my mother and youngest sister flirting with anything with an XY chromosome without discretion, helped my evening die with gasping, languorous breaths. The final nail in the coffin was Toddy introducing himself to my boss.

“Not a good idea, Todd,” I muttered, once he had declared that he would.

“Oh, but I must! I need to tell him that his Aunt is anxiously awaiting his next visit, and is very put out that he has delayed it so long, what with his being in the area and all.”

“Joy.”

Mr. Fredericks was quickly found, as he was the only person in attendance other than myself who was not enjoying himself. Gina sidled up to me while I stared in blank disbelief.

“Is he doing what I think he's doing?” she whispered.

“Yep. I'm changing my name as soon as I can justify the money.”

“Eh-lise.” Gina can manage the exasperated, `you're joking, right?' tone quite well.

“Look. He's embarrassing all of us, on top of Mom and Lyddie's rampant trouser-chasing and Megan's insistence on her vocal abilities. I'll never be able to look these people in the face again. Not while I'm associated with this family.”

“You're overreacting, Elise. Nobody's going to care in two days what happens tonight. Everyone knows about Megan and Mom and Lydia. Hopefully Todd will be gone soon too, and they'll forget about him in time. It's not that bad.”

Gina was tipsy. Byron had her by the hand and was talking to someone else during this interlude, but Gina was... well on her way to being drunk.

“Sure, ducky. Thanks for reminding me.”

She grinned that mega-watt grin and giggled, swirling back into Byron's arms for a slow dance. My turn to go check on Bruno.

-~-

There was no mention of the employee party all that week, building up to the big public shindig where tickets had sold for over $300 a pop. Only myself and Gina were going to be there, she as Byron's date and me in an official capacity, though I was able to bring a date. Three guesses as to who I asked, and the first two don't count.

The unfortunate thing was that I got a call from Jason that morning saying he had to run down state for the weekend, an emergency something-or-other for work. I was fully prepared to go stag until Lydia, ever the helpful bi- brat, suggested Todd. Naturally, he was keen on the idea and I was unable to talk my way out of it. As mentioned before, I love my sisters, I love my sisters, I love my sisters...

Though I ended up dancing four or five times with Toady Toddy, I managed to keep myself busy enough to avoid him. One more time out on the floor with him and I'd need foot surgery. The head caterer seemed understanding about why I kept checking on him, especially once he saw Todd and his attempt at a foxtrot. I did everything: I brought wine out from the cellars, I brought drinks for the band, I took out garbage. I went and checked on Bruno at least four times; each time he was happy to see me, for all I woke him up. Lucky dog!

With no Jason and an abundance of Todd, I was ready to give up and die. The problems compromising the presence and/or lack thereof of those two people were compounded by a third: Mr. Davlin Fredericks was everywhere I turned! I couldn't get away from him, it seemed, and that drove me stark raving bonkers.

There came an unguarded moment with me chugging water at the rate of half a litre a second-highly improbable, but it felt like it-where Todd caught up with me. Water dribbled down my chin as I tried in vain to find some excuse to take me far away from him, but I came up empty. No trash to take out, the band was watered, caterers catering, and I had just checked on Bruno. I was stuck.

“Elise, I've been looking all over for you! Come on, the band's starting up again. Let's dance!”

“Uh-” As much as I wanted to be crude and tactless, I couldn't just burst out with `No, you greasy swine, I don't want to dance with you.' I'd hear it for a month if I did that.

“Actually, Miss Benjamin has all ready agreed to dance the next with me. Isn't that right?”

Davlin Fredericks! Asked me to dance! What the fu- fundamental freak did he mean by that? Mr. Fredericks' hadn't danced with anyone else that night or the one a week previous.

On the other hand... Dancing with Todd would put me in traction and at least Mr. Fredericks was good-looking. And Toady Toddy was in such awe of Mr. Fredericks that he might just leave me alone.

“Yes. Yes, it is. Thank you for reminding me.”

The man was wearing gloves. Does this surprise anyone?

“The evening is going very well, don't you think?” I asked after several moments of severe silence.

“Yes.”

More silence.

“It's your turn to say something.”

“Is it? Can't I simply enjoy the moment?”

“Talking is best, I think. It helps pass the time.”

“I thought that was what dancing was for.”

“At social functions, talking is better. That way we don't have to say as much.”

“Are you following a common social custom here, or do you think you're appeasing me?”

I could not be sure, but I think there was a fragment of humour in his voice.

“Both, I think. Silence lasts forever, and we neither of us like speaking in large groups unless we're going to say something earth-shattering. Besides, neither of us really wants to be here.”

“I think you're talking more about yourself than me.”

“Really? Then you should certainly talk more, so I can get a better idea of who you are.” Gosh darn it, but this song lasted forever...

“You don't want to get to know me better.”

The music stopped a second after he said that and he let me go. I blinked and tripped a little, regaining my balance before a catastrophe. There had not been one hint of malice in his tone, not one note of warning. It was almost like he had read my mind, or thought he had, and expressed a fact. He was wrong, of course, at least because I wanted to know how his mind worked, convoluted and compulsive as it was.

“What if I said I did?”

“I may or may not believe you.”

“And why is that?”

Some people were beginning to stare, so he extended a hand and we began to dance again once the music started.

“You've all ready made your mind up that you don't like me. I don't know why, exactly, but you have. I can only imagine that you are taking cues from others in that, which I would discourage.”

Of course he would discourage it, when the information gathered was unfavourable! Naturally he would want to spin things to put him in a better light.

I was interrupted in my reverie by Manny Lucard, who bumped into me and Mr. Fredericks completely by accident, making us stop dancing and break apart, for which I was eternally grateful.

“Party's a smash, innit, Fredericks? I've never seen so many people here, having such a good time! And look, over there, Byron and Gina. Such a cute couple. Hey, have you thought about renting this place for wedding receptions? It'd be gorgeous, and you can start with those two! It's only a matter of time, I think, completely besotted...”

He wandered away after that, leaving me once more with Moody Mr. Fredericks, who was by then glaring in the direction of my sister and Byron Clark. They were a cute couple, really, and seemed to have missed the music change.

“Pardon me, Miss Benjamin,” Mr. Fredericks said. He actually bowed and walked away.

He didn't come within ten feet of me the rest of the night and I was strangely disappointed.

-~-

I had two days off after the party. That night I went home and burrowed under my sheet, the window a/c unit going full blast and still not able to eradicate the humidity from the air. I couldn't sleep. The conversation with Demented Davlin Fredericks kept playing over and over in my head, and I couldn't make heads or tails of it.

Since I didn't sleep well that night, after finally drifting off somewhere around four and waking up a little before eight, I was in no mood for just about anything. Mom and Lydia were about to head out for a whirlwind day of spending money they didn't have; Megan was ticking away on her computer, and Gina had yet to make it home from White Pine Lodge.

Thank G- Thank Goodness she made it home before Mom realised that she wasn't there. Gina fairly swam in, glowing fresh and rosy.

“I think I'm in love,” she sang. Normally, not a problem. That day, it was like she was rubbing it in my face.

“Please tell me you didn't sleep with him.”

“Oh, no. Just stayed up all night talking. And he kissed me.”

“Joy. Thanks for sharing.”

“You're not going to ruin my mood, Elise. There's someone out there for you. Maybe it's Mr. Fredericks!”

I walloped her with a pillow. She laughed. The sound of a car bottoming out on our driveway signalled that someone new was coming; or at least, someone who wouldn't learn how to enter the lane. Todd Collier.

“Elise! Someone special's here to see you!”

“Oh, why?” I wailed, falling back onto my bed.

“Because he likes you,” Gina said. “Whether you want him to or not.”

Still in my pyjamas, even at ten a.m., I shuffled out into the living room. There he was, the Toady Toddy, in what looked to be a new suit that didn't fit right and holding a single rose.

“Oh, my word,” I muttered. “You wanted to talk to me?”

“Please, sit down.”

“I'd rather stand, thanks.” It would be easier to run away if I were all ready standing...

“Well, all right then,” he murmured. He cleared his throat. “Elise, I've reached a point in my life and career where I can slow down a bit and think about me and what I want, and I've found that I'm really lonely. I'd like someone to share my life with, and Mrs. Van Burke agrees with me on that, she says I need someone to take care of me and make sure I don't work too hard and eat well and get enough rest.”

“O-kay.”

“Which brings me to why I came out here for a visit. I remembered how nice you all were to me when we were still related, so I thought I'd come see you and since then I've felt this real connection to you, you know? You're everything I want in a wife: responsible, efficient, and pretty, and when that's tempered with the restraint and respect that Mrs. Van Burke requires, you'd be my ideal. Whaddaya say?”

It was a very good thing there are not sharp and pointy things around my house, or else they would all have been in Toady Toddy's quivering, gelatinous body. Bad enough that he was making such a half- Half-baked proposal, but to say he wanted to marry me because I was efficient? Responsible? Pretty? Man was delusional. And to marry because he needed someone to take care of him? Puh-lease!

Yeah, I was doing just that for Mr. Fredericks, but I was getting paid for it, and well; I wasn't about to go off and agree to be someone's live-in maid for free.

“I say no. I'm sorry, but I'm not interested.”

“I know you're just saying that. Most girls, I understand, are in the habit of saying no first and then mean to accept when asked a second time. I'll come back later.”

“I'm not one of those girls. I'm not going to toy with you, Todd. I'm not interested in marrying you. I'm not even interested in dating you, which is my pre-requisite for marriage.”

“You can't be serious! I'm a catch! I've got a good job, a good home, and- and it would get you away from here!” At this he gestured wildly around my home, my trailer. “You're not likely to get a better offer!”

“I'll take my chances,” I hissed. “Now get out.”

He opened and closed his mouth a few times, taking him from Toad to Trout in a matter of seconds, then back to Toad.

“Good-bye,” he said. He turned on his heel and walked out.

“Good riddance,” I muttered. I sank down onto the battered sofa and turned on the TV. Time for cartoons.

Chapter Ten: Cherry Cordial

The house was a minefield over the next few days. Mom was mad as a wet hen that I had refused Toady Todd Collier and officially was not speaking to me, though she could be heard “not speaking” for miles around. I kept to my room for the most part, seeing as if I was within sight range, I was within abuse range, and that was bad. Not even a call from Dad would calm her down.

Gina, on the other hand, was walking on air. Things were going extremely well for her, with Byron following her around like the big puppy we all knew him to be. If anyone were going to be leaving our little burg of Preston, it would be her. Byron would take her away to Chicago and we'd never really see her again, save on visits. That thought was sad.

As far as I was concerned, I was stuck in Michigan. Jason Palmer had yet to reappear and Davlin Fredericks just got more... weird. He actually tried talking to me on a few occasions, but I was always saved by Ma Bell and I'd have to run off to get the phone. I have never been more relieved to talk in my life.

By the next weekend, things had returned to almost normal. The grand opening of White Pine Lodge was scheduled for the end of the month, a mere two weeks away, and I was busy getting everything ready.

Spa ready? Check.

New linens washed and pressed? Check.

Bathroom goodies stocked? Check.

Housekeeping staff properly trained and threatened with firing if caught stealing the bathroom goodies and/or linens? Check.

Restaurant plates and flatware washed and polished? Check.

Pantry and wine cellar stocked? Check.

Restaurant staff properly trained and threatened with firing if caught stealing the flatware and/or wine? Check.

Pool cleaned? Check.

Windows washed and sparkling? Check.

Electrical and phone/internet wiring installed and working properly? Check.

Front desk staff properly trained and threatened with firing if caught looking at porn on the company computers? Check.

I had everything spic and span, neat and clean, perfectly ordered and ready to go. I was exhausted. And in heels.

Yes, the new dress code had me not only in heels, but a skirt as well. And pantyhose. I had not been made the manager, just the manager's assistant, basically doing the same job I had been with Mr. Davlin Fredericks but without playing with the dog and making those insanely precise breakfasts. I got to be the b- bad cop when a customer complained; I got to breathe fire and brimstone to whichever of our staff stepped out of line. I had the fun job, and I liked it.

I was given this fun job the day before Mr. Davlin Fredericks et al packed up and left. That's right, gone. I would have been fine with that, truly over the moon, save for two things: One, I was losing out on some serious fundage with my return to regular work. I had a raise, actually, but that was still not as good as what Mr. Fredericks had been paying me.

The second thing that I didn't like: Byron didn't say goodbye to Gina. Ever. I knew he had her email address and our phone number, but he never called or emailed, or wrote, or visited. As time wore on, Gina faded a bit, just enough for those who knew her best to notice. She was broken-hearted, naturally, and while most people were content to blame Byron (and thus re-igniting the feud between Rawley and Preston), I knew better.

“Byron would never have left, at least without saying goodbye, if Davlin Fredericks hadn't influenced him!” I hacked into an obliging watermelon, slicing off the end and handing the bowl to Jason.

“I'll believe it. Davlin likes running things his own way.”

A few days after the Chicago faction had left, Jason reappeared, and a day or two after that it seemed that everyone knew about Davlin's less-than-nice side. The result was unanimous: Poor Jason Palmer! It was the combination of an all ready established general dislike of the weird man from Chi-town, Jason's sob story, personality, and surf-god good looks. Yes, Davlin Fredericks was handsome, but Jason was drop-dead gorgeous!

Life had pretty much returned to normal, save Gina's heartbreak. Too bad things never stay that way for long. It was Carla's turn to drop a bombshell: She was engaged to Todd Collier!

“But, Carla, why? Toady Toddy?”

“It's not like I've gotten any better offers, Elise. This town's not exactly crawling with decent guys. You seem to have landed the last nice guy. Anyway, he's not completely heinous.”

“But- Toady Toddy! You want to be stuck at that stupid winery with Mrs. Van Burke breathing down your neck? You had such plans! What happened to having your own studio?”

“It was a dream. Dreams don't always come true. And I was never like you, Elise. I'm not romantic. I need to get out of here, and if marrying Todd Collier is the only way I can, so be it. Mrs. Van Burke sends him places over the winter, to California and Australia and Europe. I'll be able to get out of Michigan on occasion! I would think you would be supportive of that, and be happy for me.”

For a moment I hated myself. She was right, she'd be getting out of Michigan, sort of, in the winters at least. It was an opportunity, even if Toady Toddy was part of the deal.

“I'm sorry, Carla. I am happy for you. It's just gonna take me a little getting used to the idea, that's all. I might even be a little jealous.”

At least she laughed at that. This was ending up to be one weird summer.

-~-

August pushed forward, and with it came truly awful humidity. I joked about finding a production of Annie to join, my hair was so frizzy. Nothing helped Gina, though. A month gone and still no word from Byron.

“You know, Gina, Aunt Sarah's been thinking about going down to Chicago in a couple of weeks for that Japanese exhibit. I'm sure she wouldn't mind if you tagged along. And you have a load of vacation time coming up that you'll lose if you don't take it.” I loved playing Devil's Advocate like this.

“Are you suggesting that I go looking for Byron, since he won't come see me? Doesn't that seem a bit desperate?”

Crickets were playing out in the field behind our house, the night air slightly cooler than the daytime air, but no less thick.

“Who, me? I would never suggest that. Now that you mention it, though- No, Gina, I mean simply that you need to get away from here for a while, and Chicago's a big place. You probably won't run into him, but you could.”

“I'll think about it.”

-~-

She went. That seemed to be the time for travelling, the second week in August; Jason was on his way to a new worksite in the Upper Peninsula. The whole town was sad to see him go, it seemed, and few would apparently miss him more than my dear littlest sister. She insisted on throwing a party for him. Mom provided the libations, and it turned out to be a pretty big shindig, all things considered; I lost track of how many well-wishers there were. It was late when I finally got to talk to him.

“So. And you're leaving now, too,” I said.

“I can't help it, Elise. Gotta go where the work is.”

“I know. But why does it have to be so far?”

“It's only across the bridge. I'll call, I promise.”

He didn't. I should also say that I didn't expect him to; I knew how busy he would be and that he'd be going out. I had low enough expectations of him; it wasn't like we were dating or anything.

About that same time I was invited to visit the newly married Carla Collier and her husband at Ridgeway Winery, a mouthful however it was said. They had a little house across the road, the main view being that of the winery itself, which was situated snugly on top of a hill, the various vines and the like making all in all a very pretty picture.

“Todd likes to keep an eye on the winery at all times,” Carla said as she gave me the penny tour.

“So his office is right here. Excellent.”

“And he can see when Mrs. Van Burke comes and goes, and he will often rush out to see if she needs anything from him. Occasionally she will come in to see if I need anything from her, and never leaves without dispensing some advice.”

“Such a helpful neighbour.”

“And landlady. Thankfully she never goes much further than Todd's office.”

“Which is why you like to be in the living room,” I said, grinning. The living room overlooked the pretty part of Grand Traverse Bay.

“Naturally. It's very quiet here, and I can escape some of the more mundane parts of life.”

Those mundane parts of life didn't need explaining. We both knew what they were.

“One more thing, Elise. We've been invited to dinner up at the big house. It seems Mrs. Van Burke has company.”

“Joy.”

-~-

If I had know just who comprised Mrs. Kathy Van Burke's company, I would have faked a headache and stayed home!

The first of the two guests was fine, no problem with him: A handsome young man, a little older than his companion, fresh open face, generally pleasant kind of guy. The second... Mr. Davlin Fredericks! Despite my dismay, I forced a smile that I hoped wasn't too obvious.

“Ah, you must be Miss Elisa Benjamin,” the lady who could only be Kathy Van Burke said.

“Yes, I am,” I replied. “And it's Elise, not Elisa.”

The woman studied me like I was some insect in a display. I could almost feel the needle through my belly. It was difficult not to squirm, but I managed. I used the time to study both her and her daughter, a mere slip of a thing, too emaciated by half and ghost-pale. Not a very inspiring person, Miss Anne Van Burke, unless that inspiration was of pity or sickness.

Dinner conversation was mostly a one-sided affair, with Kathy Van Burke supplying it. Mr. Fredericks and Anne said nothing, Carla got maybe a word or two in, Freddy Richardson (who turned out to be Davlin's cousin) said what he could, and Toady Toddy was his usual sycophantic self. Then the Van Burke bi- woman turned her attention to me.

“So tell me, Elisa, where exactly do you live?” She ignored my correction.

“How do you mean, Mrs. Van Burke?”

“What is your living situation? Certainly you've managed well enough for yourself, working for my nephew these last few months.”

“I have, thank you, though it's none of your business my financial state.” A moment of stony silence-I'd apparently hit a nerve, but continued on. “I live with my mother and sisters.”

“Your sisters must be very young, then,” the woman continued. She all ready had a neat little rosy picture of my family set in her head.

“The youngest will be finishing high school next year.” If she doesn't drop out.

“What, all of you living at home yet when you should be out making your own way? What a strain on your poor mother!”

“Well, now, my mom wasn't too keen on all of us moving out, and we all contribute to the care and upkeep of the house. It's an ideal situation, really, especially in this economy. I can focus on paying off my student loans without having to worry about making rent.”

“Oh, so you have a degree, then? What about your other sisters?”

“I can't help but wonder why you're interested in knowing all this, Mrs. Van Burke.”

“I simply wish for information, girl! Is any of this highly classified?”

“No, it's simply personal! We all run our own lives, thank you, and don't necessarily need guidance.”

Another wonderfully silent silence followed.

“And what did you study, Miss Benjamin?” Kathy Van Burke said.

“Photography, Aunt.”

I nearly choked on my water. Davlin Fredericks, answering for me, and in my defence!

“Oh, we have to talk!” Freddy said, relieved for a moment to break the tension. “I've got some questions for you.”

Anyway, that shift in focus lasted only long enough for dessert to be demolished. Afterward it was brought right back to me when Kathy Van Burke spotted me talking with Freddy.

“Now, really, Elisa, don't you know it's rude to focus your attention on just one member of the group?”

Todd naturally chimed in, which gave her the appropriate segue into a lecture on rudeness and the general state of society, as far as manners were concerned. I got the distinct impression she didn't think very highly of Northern Michigan, or the people who lived there, myself the obvious target and example she drew from for that diatribe. I think I cracked a tooth or ten that night alone, clenching my teeth as tightly as I did. Luckily Freddy was able to distract both myself and Kathy with intelligent questions that I answered, but she had problems with. Score one for the little guy!

Chapter Eleven: Cherry Tart

For all I managed to talk my way out of most future meetings, lunches, dinners and what-have-you Kathy Van Burke decided to invite the Collier household to, Davlin Fredericks managed to find me. He would never say much, just ask the usual niceties and pleasantries and all sorts of other -ities, then silently walk or stand beside me. That man was creeping me out something major.

One afternoon Freddy found me walking through the vineyard, camera in hand, photographing whatever I could. I hadn't been able to just wander around for a while, what with the changes at the resort and everything, and my poor camera was just gathering dust.

“Hey there, chica,” Freddy called. “Where have you been hiding?”

“The outhouse behind Casa del Collier. The fumes are great for relaxing my hair.”

To his credit, he laughed. My hair was still a bright orange fuzz-ball, and being that close to Grand Traverse Bay was not helping in the slightest.

“I was beginning to think I was annoying you,” he said.

“Nah. Not you. Other members of your family, maybe, but not you.”

“Yeah, Kathy can be rather abrasive at times.”

“At times?” My eyebrows went up. “Let me ask you a question-”

Freddy looked down at his feet. “Has Davlin always been that peculiar?”

“Well, I was gonna say crazy, but `peculiar' works too.”

“He's always been a little twitchy, if that's what you mean. He got worse a year or so ago.” The moment the words left his mouth, Freddy got that `Aww, crap, I said something wrong,' face and clammed up.

Now I know how to take a hint and that one was clearly marked. Do you think I let it go? If you do, you may as well stop reading now. Better yet, keep reading. This will be fun for you.

“Oh?”

I like Freddy. He makes such funny faces! He was thinking hard, determining what he could and could not safely tell me. Davlin Fredericks was apparently a very, very formidable cousin.

Instead of spilling the beans, which I'm fairly certain he wanted to, Freddy took a different tack.

“Look, Dav's been under a lot of stress lately. He's had a hard life-”

I had to interject. “Define `Hard.' To the best of my knowledge, he's never had to worry about where his next meal is coming from, or if there'll be a roof over his head, or if he'll have clothes to wear to school.”

“Maybe not, but that doesn't mean his life has been idyllic. His parents split when he was 14-”

“My dad walked out on us when I was 10.”

“So you know how sucky it is!”

I had not expected him to say that in the manner which he did; it was pretty funny.

“Anyway, once his parents split, his mom dragged him and Evey back to her hometown in Wales. Transferring high schools is hard enough when you're a kid (I should know, I'm an Army brat), but transferring to a school in another country? It's brutal, let me tell you.”

“I'll give him that.”

“You're so generous,” he said with a handsome amount of sarcasm and a cheeky grin. “But it gets better! His dad, who owned AmCo, died while Dav was in college and left the whole shebang to him, making Dav one of the youngest CEOs in the country. To top that, his mom wrapped her car around a tree a few years later, and suddenly Dav had custody of Evey. The poor guy's been through the wringer.”

“Okay, okay. You got me. So what happened a year ago?” See, I remembered. Freddy had tried to distract me with his Mr. Exposition story, but I wasn't about to forget what got us started on that conversation in the first place.

“Oh, just teenage dramas with Evey, but you know that girlie stuff creeps most guys out.”

“Uh-huh.” While I was sure that what he said was true, I was also sure that it was just the tip of the iceberg.

“Hey, that's Dav's business. I know part of it, but I've been sworn to secrecy. You know how Davlin is, though. You've worked with him.”

Yeah, I knew him well enough. If he didn't want to talk about something, it wasn't talked about. His word was law.

Silence reigned for a moment or two, and me being one who dislikes silence on the whole, changed the subject. Slightly.

“Do you know Byron Clarke at all?”

“I've met him a few times. He's nice and all, but a bit dopey.”

“He was a football player in high school.”

“I should've guessed!” Freddy laughed. “I was in marching band. Color guard, actually.”

“I'm not surprised,” I replied. I had no problem whatsoever picturing him twirling batons or waving flags. “I'll bet you looked good in those leggings.”

“Naturally!” Freddy put his head to one side. “But Byron Clarke. Yeah. I know Davlin was talking about having to bail him out of a bad situation. Something about the girl he was dating while they were up here working on the resort.”

My ears pricked up. “Oh?” Sometimes only one word is needed to open the floodgates.

“I don't really know that much about it.”

Or not.

“Just that the girl was nice and all, but no good.”
“How was she `No Good'?” I tried, somewhat unsuccessfully, to hold back the yelp at the end of the sentence.

“He didn't say, really. Something about her family being really messed up.”

Ooh, no he didn't! A white-hot shard of hatred buried itself in my heart.

“And Mr. Fredericks decided that himself?” I asked quietly.

“That's what it looks like. From what I know of Byron, he's not the sharpest knife in the drawer. Are you all right? That little vein in your forehead is throbbing.”

“What? Oh, yeah. I'm fine, it's just a bit of a headache just came on. I think we'll be getting a storm in here soon.” It was a little lie. “I think I'm going to head inside. Batteries are almost dead.” I lifted the camera as evidence. It was another little lie: I had just put new batteries in that morning.

“I'll walk with you. Who knows what could happen; one of those giant mosquitoes could fly up and carry you away.”

His joke earned a weak chuckle. At that moment, I was too angry to do anything else.

-~-

Back at Todd's house I locked myself in the spare room and sat on the bed, legs and arms crossed, staring at the wall so hard I was sure I saw scorch marks. How dare Davlin Fredericks do something so loathsome and foul as to mess with someone else's happiness? How dare he judge my family like that? Granted, his assessment was by and large correct, my family was really messed up, but no more than anyone else's. Byron's family was no Norman Rockwell print either, and if Mr. Fredericks was using his own family as a comparison, well, he was crazier than I thought.

Carla knocked once to remind me that we were supposed to be up at the Big House for dinner, but like Hel-sinki I was going to be in the same room with that pompous a- arrogant blowhard for more than five minutes. I begged off with a fictitious migraine and waited for them to leave.

Half an hour after my semi-half-cousin and my best friend left I was still seething. Every little thing royally torqued my bobber, from the birds twittering outside to the air conditioning kicking on. Part of me wanted to calm down, since being in such a rage was never healthy for me (or anyone foolish enough to come near me when I was in that state), and another part of me wanted to let the fire burn, which would ultimately see me willfully destroying property that did not belong to me.

When I had finally gotten the anger down to a healthy smolder, I went and sat in the living room and stared out at the vast expanse of Grand Traverse Bay. The sun was setting, turning the water vivid scarlet and orange. There was a slight breeze coming in off the water and all else was quiet. I closed my eyes and imagined that there was nothing wrong with my life, that this was my house that I didn't have to work for to make the mortgage payments, that every thing and every one was perfect. For one brief moment I had reached a small stage of calm and peace.

It was far too brief a moment, however, as the sound of car tires crunching gravel reached me. I looked at the clock; Todd and Carla never left Mrs. Van Burke's house before 9, and it was barely 7:30. Who in the world could it be?

I lurched to my feet and shuffled across the polished wood floor to peek out the front window. That small stage of calm and peace was quickly forgotten, and the lightly smoldering anger flared up like a campfire doused with kerosene. The car in the drive was a midnight blue Jaguar, the driver Davlin Fredericks.

A real migraine started this time, two razor-sharp ice picks jammed into my temples. He started walking to the door and I scooted back to the comfort of the sofa, first being sure to draw the blinds mostly shut to cut the harsh light of the setting sun.

Without so much as a knock to signal his desired entrance, Mr. Fredericks walked himself into the house and straight into the living room. I looked up, blinked a few times and made, in my estimation at least, a fairly artistic impression of being in intense pain.

“How are you?” he asked, fiddling with the cuffs of his shirt. Even when on vacation, the man was wearing a properly pressed button-down.

“As good as can be expected,” I said sweetly. “What with having a migraine. Yourself?”

“Well, thank you.”

He fiddled with his cuffs a little longer, then began to pace. I watched him as much as I could as he crossed the room again and again. Then I got a crick in my neck and had to stop. Thankfully he did too.

“I love you,” he blurted, facing me, hands at his sides. “Marry me.”

“Eh? What?” I swear there was rug burn on my chin.

He sat down next to me and took one of my hands in his. Yes, he did. I was to be further shocked.

“Miss Benjamin- Elise, I love you. I think I always have.”

“You've known me for less than six months.”

“I don't care about that. I don't seem to care about anything anymore. I don't even mind that your family is entirely unsuitable!”

“Excuse me?!” Since when does family matter in marriage?

He just kept going. The man must have been practicing. “You're so much better than this place, for all your rough edges. You are so full of vivacity, so full of fire! You are being wasted in this backwater dung heap.”

And you're so full of bull, I thought. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Nothing at all. You know I don't drink.”

“Then why in G- the world would you think I would ever consider marrying you?”

It was his turn to be shocked. I pulled my hand from his. “I don't understand.”

“Then let me spell it out for you. You have just insulted me and my family, as well as where I grew up. You are the reason my dearest sister Gina is depressed- She is the sweetest, kindest girl you could ever meet, and she deserves to be happy! Can you deny your part in breaking her and Byron up?”

Mr. Fredericks stood up and backed away from the sofa. He opened his mouth to speak, but I beat him to it.

“And what about Jason Palmer? You ruined his career out of spite! He's working in construction, earning half of what he could be as a mail room clerk, and it's all your fault!”

“I have offered you a way out, a life that would allow you the freedom of pursuing any career you would like, and this is my answer?” he said after a moment of very pregnant silence.

“Mr. Fredericks, I wouldn't marry you if the continuation of the species depended on it. The very thought of tying my future to yours is utterly repugnant, especially after you treated me like an indentured servant while you were renovating the Lodge. I have only ever seen you as selfish, conceited, and heartless. Topping that is your hideous treatment of my friends and family, as well as your downright bizarre behaviors! There is nothing you can do or say that would make me change my mind.”

“Thank you for that precise, if somewhat inaccurate, dissection of my character. I know better than to try to dissuade you from this train of thought, and so I will now take my leave and wish you all possible happiness in your chosen path.”

The eloquence of that final exchange was fascinating. For a few seconds I thought that maybe Dad was right, the English language affords better comebacks than common curses. While I was contemplating the wisdom my father had imparted Davlin slowly walked out the door. I watched him go and felt the temperature drop a few degrees as the door shut behind him; perhaps a chill breeze had snuck in while there was an opportunity.

The weight of what had just occurred pressed down on me all of a sudden. A very rich and handsome man had just proposed marriage to me, and I had refused him. I was completely justified in my refusal, but some part of me argued that I had maybe been a little harsh. OCD is not something that should be counted as a character flaw; it was not like he could just flick a switch and not obsess about things.

And the look on his Pretty Welsh Boy face when I called him out... that was heartbreaking. If I was not so rock-solidly set in my conviction that I was right, and maybe a touch more romantic, I would have felt really guilty about hurting him. A little, teeny, not easily silenced voice cried out that I should feel guilty about that.

Headlights flashed in the hall window; Todd and Carla were home.

“What was Mr. Fredericks doing here?” Todd asked. “We passed him coming down the drive!”

“He was just checking in,” I said, my voice unnaturally flat. Maybe I did feel guilty. “Wanted to see how I was doing.”

“Well, that was nice of him!” Trust my cousin to be Mr. Oblivious.

Carla, at least, was more observant. She handed me a bottle of Excedrin, courtesy of Kathy Van Burke, and made my excuses for me. I went upstairs and cried myself to sleep.

---