unison.
“Exactly.” Thessaly’s eyes expand in excitement as she opens a digital sketch on her laptop. “We need to reinvent artisan honey. Look around us, we’re surrounded by six restaurants serving only locally-farmed ingredients, and ten stores claiming to have hand-crafted inventory.” Animated and hyper, she continues. “Artisanal coffee? What do those words even mean if everyone uses them?”
“Usually it just means homemade – which means a shitload of hands touched my food.” Seth growls.
“Right?” Thessaly concurs.
“What about all-natural or raw honey?” Meg suggests. “The Hive is keepin’ it real.”
Thessaly stands from the island and grabs a jar of Sinclair honey from the nearest shelf. “Basic marketing principle, Meg, people want a fantasy, or sex, or a fantasy including sex. They don’t want to visualize a hippie-chick with armpit hair pouring all-natural, raw honey into BPA-free bottles and then driving across the country with a truckload of crates to sell at farmer’s markets.” Positioning the jar in the palm of her hand like the forbidden fruit, Thessaly declares with carnal precision, “We’re not selling raw honey. We’re selling a confection of anarchy.” Her voice lowers to a rasp as she stresses each word. “Primitive. Uncultivated. Luxuriant. Nectarous. Sensual.” Pausing for effect, Thessaly watches as her friends’ faces flicker with excitement. “And starting in a few weeks, The Hive will be Lower Manhattan’s supplier of wild honey.”
Mouth open and eyes sparkling, Meg adds, “We’re like honey dealers!”
Placing the jar on the island, Thessaly spins her laptop around in order to reveal the new template for the upcoming brand.
“It’s brilliant – are these new labels?” Seth asks.
Thessaly nods while maximizing the screen.
Impressed, Seth adds, “That font is perfect. Is your family okay with this? Sinclair Wild Honey will move away from the current down-home feel.”
“Ah, I knew you would bring that up, Seth. Sinclair Wild Honey is a division of Sinclair Honey – it’ll be like the Sprite to the Coke. Mama filed for the trademark this morning before I left – she loves the idea.”
“So what’s the timeline? Are we doing a launch?” Meg asks.
“Always on point, Meg.” Thessaly winks. “July seventeenth is the perfect weekend to launch Wild Honey. We’ll open the doors to a sidewalk party. Maybe even have a cooking contest?”
“Eating contest!” Meg exclaims.
Smiling in agreement, Thessaly says, “I’m sure I can convince the Salt Shop to hook us up with some honey beer ice cream.”
“Do you want me to get started on the website?” Seth presses, being that graphic designer is his actual job title.
“Turquoise, yellow, and black – modern and sexy,” Thessaly instructs. “Meg, you’re in charge of social media, and see if you can have your friend at Time Out New York give us some love.”
“I’m having dinner with her on Thursday,” Meg offers.
Thessaly glances at her watch before saying, “I’ve only got one final question.” She smiles at her employees – her friends – her visionaries. “Are y’all fucking excited?”
“Oh, wow! Tess, the dirty-mouthed cheerleader from North Carolina – I’ve missed her,” Seth exclaims.
Mocking her southern roots, Thessaly drawls, “Meeting adjourned, y’all.”
The three stand from the marble island and gather their things. Thessaly returns the vase of sunflowers to the center, smiling at the promise of a vibrant summer.
“Shall we celebrate with some libations? I’ll even buy a round,” Seth suggests as the trio file through the screen door. As he locks the main door, Meg hops on and straddles his red bike. “Meg! Cherry Bomb is not a toy,” he hisses.
“Does your grandma know you stole her bike? And what do you put in this basket?” Meg asks, opening the lid to the wicker compartment.
“Kittens,” he deadpans.
Thessaly heaves her carryon bag
Steam Books, Shanika Patrice