Chapter 17
After spending most of the morning driving around Blaire, we’re finally on our way to Bakersfield, which is still thirty miles away.
Thankfully Callie is as sociable as I am, and we find plenty to talk about on the way.
As she drives, Callie tells me about how Dr. Blaire worked with the town council to create the beautification fund that is supported by the proceeds from their booth at the farmer’s market.
This season, Callie hopes her family’s honey will be a substantial contribution.
“Eggs and dairy are year-round, but the honey and flowers are more plentiful in the spring and summer. So we’re hoping to make more progress this summer than we did earlier in the year.”
“How much have you collected so far?”
“Since we started this initiative in April, we’ve raised about a thousand dollars. We think we’ll be able to double that by the end of the summer.”
Although Callie seems full of hope, I’m less convinced. “That’s not enough to make substantial changes.”
“No, but it could buy the supplies we need, and we can all pitch in to do the work since the labor is what’s expensive.”
I admire Callie’s grit. She doesn’t hesitate to get her hands dirty if it means achieving the goal she has in mind.
And in a way it reminds me of me. We’re both willing to do what it takes to get what we want, and we’re not above doing the work ourselves.
I knew I would like Callie the minute I met her, but now I like her even more.
Thirty minutes later, we exit the freeway, and I see a large lot with tables and tents set up.
The parking area is off to the side, and we have to lug everything to our spot, which is inconveniently located at the far corner from our car.
We start with the cooler full of yogurt since it’s the heaviest. She takes one side, and I take the other.
“I can see why you need help,” I say, struggling to walk and talk at the same time. “There’s no way one person could do this job alone.”
“Yeah, I wouldn’t have been able to do this without Brennan. Thanks again for covering for him.”
“No problem. I’m glad it all worked out.” Though I originally offered my help in the hopes of spending more time getting to know Brennan, I’ll admit spending time with Callie is a close second.
Once we get all our items to our stall, we lay them out on a table with signs and descriptions of the products.
Before the farmer’s market officially opens, Callie says she’s going to check in with the organizer.
While she’s gone, I stand back to check the display, and something doesn’t look right.
So I take liberties with the table and reorganize it.
“Where’s all our products?” Callie asks when she comes back to a sparse table.
“It was too clutter-y. If people can’t see what it is we’re selling, then they won’t stop to find out more. The scene will be like white noise for their eyes.”
“Oh, I didn’t think about that. I just put everything out so everyone knows what we have to offer.” Callie scratches her head.
“We need to pick the best item out of the bunch.” I determine right away that Jean’s baby blue eggs are the most unique and eye-catching of the bunch, so I grab a carton and place it on the table.
“Next you want to dress it up with accessories that enhance but don’t overwhelm the product.
” Using one of Jean’s bouquets, I rearrange it to create a nest-like structure made of flowers and place the eggs gently on top.
“Now all we have to do is sit back and let the product draw in the crowd. Once they stop to gawk, we tell them about the honey that came from the nectar of these flowers. It’ll naturally lead us to suggest Dr. Blaire’s yogurt, which it pairs nicely with.
Maybe we can even get them to buy one of Hal’s cozies to use on the yogurt jars. ”
“You came up with all of that just now?” Callie is flabbergasted.
“What can I say? I’m a natural.” I play it off like the idea just came to me, even though I’m literally describing my role as an influencer.
As the one with the most influence in my circle, I always drew the biggest crowd, and my friends were noticed for it.
That’s how Willow got her first role starring in a new sitcom.
Anyway, it worked for me then, and I know it’ll work today.
At nine o’clock on the dot, the farmer’s market starts, and the customers begin flooding in.
The people here are exactly how Gavin described them, all Birkenstocks and reusable bags.
I notice the bags are filled with lush green produce and packages of homemade granola.
The closest thing to apparel is a hemp-woven scarf.
Gavin was right. I’m never going to sell his luxury silk tie and Italian leather belt here.
It isn’t long before I discover that this crowd also likes honey, artisanal yogurt, and fresh eggs.
We even manage to sell almost all of Hal’s handmade mug cozies.
The items are selling faster than Callie and I can handle the payments.
I’ve never worked retail, but I get a crash course in the rush.
It’s so busy that we don’t even have a chance to eat.
Finally, when it dies down, Callie gets us two bánh mìs at the Vietnamese food truck.
“I don’t know what it was like last time, but I’d call today a success,” I say with my mouth full.
“Today was definitely busier than last time. Thanks to your display.” Callie smiles. “It also helped that the granola people were placed right next to us. I had so many comments from customers who couldn’t wait to put the granola on top of the yogurt with the honey.”
“Same! That product placement was clutch.”
Callie raises a brow at me. “Charitable and knowledgeable. Can I count on you to come to the next one? Will you still be here?”
Dad said it could take up to two months before we know what his new role at It’s Ok!
will be, and I haven’t had the opportunity to sell any of the items Gavin gave me yet.
So the likelihood I’ll still be here the next time she comes to the farmer’s market is pretty high.
So I say, “Yeah, I’ll be here for the next one. ”
“Great,” Callie says with admirable enthusiasm. Callie’s optimism for my company is always at a hundred.
I see her eyeing the other products with a look I’m familiar with. “I’ve got this covered. Why don’t you look around?”
“Really?” Callie bites her lower lip, hesitating.
“Go on. There are only a few products left, and the crowd is dying down. I can handle this.” With my reassurance, she relents.
“Okay, but I’ll be quick.”
“Take your time!” I call to her as she leaves.
When she’s gone I make my move and pull out the items I brought with me to sell.
Carefully removing the display eggs, I put Gavin’s belt and tie on top of the flower nest. A few people stop by, more interested in the floral arrangement than the luxury goods.
I manage to sell the last bouquet along with the display nest, but the belt and tie are still left untouched.
Suddenly I spot something in my periphery that sparks hope.
An Hermès Birkin in a sea of canvas bags sticks out like an expensive thumb.
The lady carrying it saunters down the aisles with it hanging on her arm, and even though she’s wearing ill-fitting jeans with holes, the cut and color of the distressed fabric tell me they are the Balenciaga Super Destroyed Baggy Pants, which cost thousands (yes, thousands!) of dollars.
Believe me, I know my denim. Finally. Someone who has style and, more importantly, the funds to purchase one of my items.
“Hello,” I say as she eyes the items on our table. “Can I interest you in anything?”
She inspects the tie and seems curious. So I swoop in for the kill.
“This tie was purchased at the flagship store in London. It’s only been worn once, and the classic Burberry print never goes out of style.” Despite my best sales pitch, she puts it down, uninterested.
“What about that?” She points to my wrist. “Is that for sale?”
“This?” I clutch my wrist, caught off guard by her question. “It’s an original, made by Damiani himself.”
Her eyes widen at the designer’s name. I was right when I guessed she had a taste for the high-end.
My friends and I got these at Melody’s sweet sixteen.
Her parents had them especially made for us.
And we always wore them when we went out together.
As hard as it is to part with something that gave me so many fond memories, I know that holding on to it isn’t going to bring me back to that place. Only selling it will. So I agree.
“A thousand dollars,” I say.
She hesitates, staring at the piece.
“It’s very rare. Only five of these designs exist,” I say, trying very hard not to sound too desperate.
She reaches into her bag and my lips spread to a smile. “Do you take American Express?” she asks.
My smile instantly disappears. Although Callie brought a credit card machine, it’s only meant for the beautification fund. There’s no way I can process this personal transaction on it.
“Sorry, cash only,” I reluctantly say, no doubt effectively killing the sale. Even I never carried around that kind of cash before.
She begins riffling through her wallet. “I’ve got five hundred.”
Callie will be back at any moment, and soon it’ll be time to pack up and leave. Seeing as I don’t have a choice, I agree to the deal and the lady pulls out the cash, placing the crisp bills on the table.
Even though it’s more money than I’ve seen lately, it’s practically highway robbery.
This piece could have easily sold on eBay for ten times that amount.
But I have to count my blessings. I have five hundred dollars more than I had before I got here.
Which gets me that much closer to getting back to LA.
I wrap my bracelet in a piece of parchment paper that was used to wrap the jars of honey and hand it to her.