Second Time Sweeter

by Ros Baxter

  Brodie tasted bitterness in his mouth. No, he did not know how it was. Two kids with Gen sounded like the kind of thing he had dreamed about his whole childhood.

  ‘In the end, it was a girl from work.’ He grinned. ‘Younger.’ This time there was definitely a leer. ‘Twenty-two.’

  By now Brodie was actively visually re-enacting the punch of ten years before. ‘You must miss the kids. I’ve met them.’ He paused. ‘Around the traps, you know. Cute kids.’

  Mac’s face softened. ‘Yeah, they’re great.’ He did another one of the long-suffering sighs. ‘But it’s busy, you know? New partner, business is going off, yada yada. Hard to get over to SP to see them all the time.’

  Brodie thought about the sad little boy he had gotten to know on the weekend; the little boy who had fallen asleep from sobbing when he had arrived on Saturday morning, and who had so bravely gone skydiving a few hours later. He slammed his beer down on the table. ‘How about some of the time?’

  Mac’s face closed up. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean …’ Brodie leaned forward so Mac wouldn’t miss a syllable. ‘How about you get your arse over to Sweetiepie some of the time to see your two little kids? How about you sort your shit out and get Gen some money? She’s struggling down there; anyone with a set of eyes and a brain can see that. How about you be a fucking man and take care of your responsibilities?’

  Mac stood up. ‘What shit has she been spinning you, Bro? You always were a fucking worm on her hook, buddy.’ He held up his hands as if he was okay with that. ‘Hey, mate, you’re obviously banging her again, and you know what? Go right ahead. Although you never struck me as the kind of guy who liked seconds.’

  Brodie felt like he was in a slow-motion replay of the scene ten years before as he stood up and pushed back his chair. As he moved towards Mac, a goofy grin spread across his ex-best friend’s face, as if he knew exactly the kind of violence Brodie wanted to wreak upon him and he was glad of it. Brodie knew that if he hit Mac it would prove just exactly how little Brodie had evolved, what a hopeless Neanderthal he was when it came to matters of the heart and anything to do with Genevieve Jenkins.

  On the other hand, Brodie could visualise his fist connecting with Mac’s slack jaw.

  He could feel how satisfying the impact would be as that stupid grin slid off Mac’s face.

  But he was older now. He’d seen more, done more and had had a long time to regret youthful rashness. Instead, he stormed up to Mac, grabbed him by the collar of his denim shirt and slammed him against the wall of the office building. ‘Grow the fuck up, you wanker,’ he snarled in his face. ‘Go see your kids. I don’t give a shit what issues you have with me, but what kind of man lets kids down?’

  Mac tried to wriggle out from under his grasp, but Brodie was bigger and fitter by a country mile.

  ‘Let me go or I’ll call the fuckin’ cops,’ Mac spat.

  ‘I’ll let you go in a minute,’ Brodie said quietly, pushing him hard up against the wall again. ‘First, you’ll listen to me.’

  ‘Why the hell should I?’ Mac’s face was red and his eyes were round and furious.

  ‘Because you have no idea what you had,’ Brodie said, letting Mac go and stepping away. ‘You have no idea what you threw away.’

  Mac straightened his clothes. ‘Really? You think I don’t know shit, Brodie?’

  ‘That’s exactly what I think.’ Brodie turned and walked down the three stairs back to the lot. He wouldn’t turn back. He wouldn’t look at Mac. He was done. He’d said his piece.

  But clearly Mac hadn’t. He came down the stairs after Brodie and pulled at his shoulder from behind, turning him around. ‘I never had Gen,’ he said, that bitter smile twisting his still-pretty features again. ‘She was never mine. I may have married her. I may have had two kids with her. But it ain’t no fun lying beside a woman with another man’s stamp on her.’

  ‘Boohoo.’ Brodie turned and walked away.

  ***

  Gen slid the little packets of papers onto each chair, mentally running over everything she had prepared. Mac had agreed to drive over and get the kids mid-week, by some kind of miracle, and KD was staying with Mum, so they were two less things she needed to worry about tonight. She looked around the meeting room. She’d set it up round-table style, like Brodie had suggested, to make it look more cooperative and less like the DB, which was typical of agricultural associations in most country towns—stuffy and formal, even though it descended into profanity and name-calling when the shit got real.

  She had prepared her presentation well. She was going to start with the burning platform, although she was pretty confident they all knew it was burning as they were standing on it—dead broke and being screwed over by The Big Cow. Then she was going to move to thier options; they were already on board with moving to certification, but she needed to convince them they needed another way to get to the kind of production that would land the big contracts. Then, trickiest of all, she was going to finish up with the various mutual or cooperative options. Trickiest because Sweet Pocket folks liked each other well enough, and were used to relying on each other when times got tough, but convincing them that their economic future rested on all the other people around them was going to require a helluva mind shift.

  Farmers were natural small businessmen and women—used to going it alone, toughing it out and calling on more and more internal resources as required. And if that killed them, well, that was just what happened. And dairy farmers even more so. Their scale of production tended to be smaller, margins lower and assets fewer. What Gen was about to propose—formalising their casual forays from farmers to boutique producers, and suggesting they band together to make it work—was either going to be seen as heresy or revolution. Maybe a little of both.

  Lucky she’d worn her best blue jeans and prettiest pink checked top. If nothing else, she intended to look the part of organic dairy darling.

  As she straightened chairs, Brodie poked his head in the door. He looked outrageously handsome in dark jeans and a black shirt, his trademark cowboy hat on his head.

  ‘I see you’re in uniform?’ She grinned.

  ‘Gotta look the part to get the deal done.’ He smiled back.

  It felt good to joke and tease with him again. The last week had been lovely. Brodie had taken to calling in on her each day, helping her out with the pitch she was preparing, dropping in for a cuppa, or walking down to the milking sheds with her. It was sweet of him, because she knew from their conversations Nelly had set up a punishing schedule for him on her own farm, and apparently his PR guys had arrived a few days earlier as well, taking every opportunity to get snaps of him hanging out where he grew up.

  Gen wasn’t sure where this thing between her and Brodie was heading, but she knew it felt good just to be near him again. She avoided inviting him in when Sarah was up and about; she knew they weren’t quite ready to cross that bridge yet. But the kids had taken to looking for his car in the drive and squealing with excitement as he loped up the stairs. The last bit worried her. She knew better than anyone that Brodie was here for a purpose and once it was done he would be gone, back to his business and his life and player city. Still, neither she nor Brodie were making any secret of that fact, and Gen trusted Brodie enough to know he would stay in touch with the kids once he was gone.

  Gone.

  The thought dropped like a stone in her stomach as he frowned at her from the doorway. ‘What’s up, buttercup? Nervous about pitching to Buddy first up?’

  Ugh, thanks for the reminder.

  Yes, she was nervous as hell about having to convince the mayor of her plan before the meeting. But whether Thompson agreed or not, she was pitching to the committee. She was too invested in this now not to do so. But that wasn’t where her mind had been when Brodie asked his question.

  It was the thought of him racing back out of town in his snazzy car—taking his laughter and energy and ideas with him. She’d worked hard to avoid thinking
about it over the last week. Instead, she just enjoyed being with him, feeling the old easy, lazy vibe they had always enjoyed slip back into place. Sometimes the shadows of what had happened between them ten years before seemed to darken the moment, but for the most part they laughed, talked, walked, and did all the things they always had.

  Well, almost all, Gen reminded herself. Sometimes Gen caught Brodie looking at her with that heavy-lidded stare that made her think of lazy afternoons in Nelly’s barn. And sometimes she would find herself wanting to reach out and squeeze one tanned forearm, below where he rolled his shirtsleeves, or wipe that grease smear from the back of his right hand. And okay, maybe once or twice she may have checked out his fine, tight butt as he walked away from her in faded jeans. Maybe even imagined reaching over and giving it a quick pinch. But she didn’t. The main thing was she didn’t. They had a deal.

  Friends. Starting over. The detente was too precious to mess with just because their bodies remembered each other in a whole different kind of way.

  Gen dragged herself back to the moment, looking at her watch. ‘He’ll be here in five. I think I’m good.’

  ‘I’d better make myself scarce then,’ Brodie said, not looking very happy about the idea. ‘I don’t think he likes to see me hanging around with you.’ His jaw set. ‘And while I couldn’t give two fucks what the old sleaze wants, I don’t want to ruin your chances to get what you need from him today.’ He looked at her carefully. ‘Unless you want me to stay and help.’

  It was bloody tempting. Gen had now seen firsthand just how good Brodie was in business, the contacts he made and maximised. She had no doubt he’d be a great asset in the discussion she needed to have with Buddy. Except that Buddy had made it pretty clear that he wanted Gen, and that he saw Brodie as an obstacle to that. ‘I’m good.’ She sighed.

  ‘Okay.’ He nodded, but loitered a second. ‘Just remember. You’re his equal, not his sweetheart. You’ve got no apologies to make if you don’t want what he’s offering up. He should be thanking you for what you’re doing for this town.’

  Warmth flooded through Gen at his words. He always knew the right thing to say. ‘Check,’ she said. ‘Not get lost before he gets here and I lose my nerve.’

  ***

  Gen wondered why Buddy Thompson felt all wrong. He sure was easy on the eye, in a smooth kind of way. The mayor had tan skin, soft almond-shaped brown eyes, full, sensual lips and greying hair that looked as if it would feel soft and be satisfying to run your fingers through. The women of Sweet Pocket loved him (well, except the one he’d divorced, but no one talked about her too much; after all, she’d been from Out of Town).

  He sauntered into the meeting room in black suit pants and a pink business shirt without a tie, open at the neck and rolled to the elbows. Gen had to hand it to him. Not many men in SP could wear pink and still expect to command the attention of a room full of farmers. That was how confident this dude was.

  ‘Hey, Genevieve.’ He smiled. ‘All set for your presentation?’

  What the hell was it that always made Gen think that even though he was so friendly to her, he was somehow humouring her? That he thought her business interests were kind of cute? He was much more serious when he discussed her kids with her, or her mum. It was as if he thought they were more appropriate interests for someone like her. Someone like her being a woman. A young woman. A woman he had made no bones about showing how attractive he found her.

  ‘Yep,’ she said briskly. ‘And I’d like to run you through some of the main points before we hit the meeting.’

  ‘Gen.’ Buddy smiled broadly, spreading his hands as if there was really no need for such details. ‘You know I’m on your team. I don’t need the hard sell.’

  ‘Still,’ Gen said, smiling hard into her cheeks, ‘I reckon it will help if you really get what it means. I’ve learned a lot the last few weeks, and in Sydney I—’

  Buddy cut her off, taking a chair next to the one she had sat down in and leaning close. ‘Ah, yes,’ he started, picking up the papers she handed him and flicking through them. ‘Now I heard about that trip. With Brodie.’

  Gen swallowed, remembering Brodie’s words. You’re his equal, not his sweetheart. He should be grateful to you. ‘There’s a lot we could get from considering mutualisation. It was very instructive. ’

  ‘I just bet it was.’ Buddy’s tone was a fraction sly, but not mean. Yet. But Gen could feel mean dancing around the edges as she studied him.

  She put the papers down and returned Buddy’s stare. ‘Is there something you want to say, Mr Mayor?’

  ‘Oh come on now, Genevieve,’ Buddy said, using that hypnotic voice that had got him everywhere he had ever been, including, no doubt, between the legs of half the women in town. ‘I think we know each other better than that. You know you should call me Buddy.’

  Gen forced a smile. ‘Well great, Buddy.’ She pushed down hard on the bitter rush of irritation that rose up in her. ‘Because I know once you read this stuff, and let me talk you through it, you’ll see the benefits of—’

  He cut her off again, leaning ever-so-slightly closer. ‘I’d really rather talk about us.’

  The air thickened in the room, and Gen worked hard to stay cool. ‘Us?’ Gen was sure she was squeaking, but was finding it hard to find her lower register.

  ‘You and me,’ he said softly. ‘I’d like to help you out, in all kinds of ways. I’d really like to be there for you.’ He shot her a look he no doubt felt was worthy of Richard Gere in An Officer and a Gentleman.

  Was that what this was? Was she some kind of project for him?

  Gah. She really did not need this right now, not just as she was about to head in to the biggest pitch of her life. But neither did she want the scene of having to call him on what he was doing, tell him how inappropriate it was, tell him what a pathetic fool he was being. So she smiled, like women have been smiling at men who were doing the wrong thing since forever, and she swallowed it down and gave him a soft look. She felt like the worst kind of gender traitor for not telling him to quit the shit and listen to her ideas.

  But time was a’ticking and she needed him on side.

  ‘I know that, Buddy,’ she said. ‘I know there’s nothing you’d do for me that you wouldn’t do for anyone in our special little community.’ She smiled at him again, as if he was just the best, most precious gift of a politician a small town could ever hope for. ‘I feel like you’re really there for the town at this time, and that’s why I know you’ll get what this can do. For me, and for all of us.’

  Buddy looked momentarily blindsided at the dazzling smile she gave him. Then he straightened in his chair, adjusting his sleeves a little. ‘Exactly,’ he said, looking at the door like he was concerned lest there be any hint of impropriety.

  Gen felt the dangerous moment that had fogged up the air in the room slip away. Buddy knew the council chambers were not the place for such conversation. He also knew she had subtly reminded him of it. She hoped he wouldn’t hold it against her when the meeting proper came.

  Buddy slid his glasses out of his pocket and popped them on his nose, flapping the papers she had handed him self-importantly. ‘Now,’ he said. ‘Let’s see what this is all about then, huh? I want to make sure I’m across it before the meeting starts.’

  Gen exhaled slowly. Everything was going to be okay.

  ***

  ‘Do we look like a bunch of fucking hippies?’ Ralph Stewart was red in the face and hitching his pants up furiously, as though Gen’s intentions might rob him of every last shred of dignity.

  Nelly rolled her eyes in Ralph’s direction and hissed, ‘Mind the profanity.’

  ‘Settle down, RJ.’ Brodie had heard enough. Gen had done an excellent job of explaining the benefits of mutualisation to this pack of dinosaurs. She had calmly and methodically laid out the problem. Essentially—they were screwed. No markets and no buyers. They all knew they needed to shift gears, but certifying as organic alone was not going to be e
nough. They had to be able to produce, or on-sell for someone else to do that, and almost everyone had had just about enough of doing the back-break only to watch to someone else skim the real profit through value-add. But there was no way a dozen little home dairies could offer what the modern organic industry needed. They either got into bed with another big production house, which none of them were keen to do after their experiences with The Big Cow, or they opened up their own show.

  It all seemed pretty simple to Brodie. But then maybe he was just a simple kind of guy. Everyone had been nodding agreeably until it came to the notion of mutualising.

  ‘We’re not bloody pinkos, Brodie,’ another man yelled. He was tall and skinny and while Brodie couldn’t quite remember his name, he knew he was from one of the oldest farming families in the area. His word would matter. Brodie shot a glance at Gen. She was holding it together well, but he could see the frustrated set to her lips. She never did have a great poker face.

  Brodie stood up and jammed his hat, which he’d laid on the table at the start of the meeting, onto his head. It was a tactic, pure and simple. He was the Crop King, and that was how they all knew him. The hat was a prop, a mental reminder to them all that he may be young but he knew his shit.

  ‘No one’s trying to pull any Marxist shit on you,’ he assured them. ‘Cooperatives, or mutuals …’ he shrugged, ‘… depending on the model you end up considering, are pretty standard business structures these days. They protect your share, allow you to punch above your weight.’ He looked around the room, working to take them all in, let them know that maybe he was observing them and finding they weren’t doing so well to protect their interests the way they were going. He blew the air out of his cheeks. ‘Right now I’m not hearing a lot of good ideas. You guys have got a lot riding on certification, but what then? The places I play, not many folks are interested in Mum and Pop outfits that can’t pull enough produce together to meet a contract. So what’s the plan, guys? How else are you going to do it?’