courthouse. They included several boutique restaurants, the boutique woman’s wear store, followed by the boutique deli, the upscale bookshop, drugstore, and antiques store. Louise realized that ordinary businesses such as hardware stores or repair shops had been driven from the area to make way for tourist-oriented enterprises.
Wandering around a corner they found another village delight—the-post office. It was lodged in a charming old white Federal building, and its windows were filled with huge flowering and tropical plants. Louise thought ruefully of the tan postal station she took her packages to in northernVirginia: Its homeliness and grime discouraged would-be postal customers.
Litchfield had to be one of the most idyllic little communities in the United States. It appeared to be buffered from the evils and problems that beset most places. No wonder she was attracted to it:
You could come here
, she thought,
and hide from the real world forever
.
It was only a short walk to the first house on the garden tour, where they met Doug and the rest of the TV crew near a big white van. Doug stopped busily unpacking equipment to come over and embrace Louise like an old friend. She introduced him and the others to Bill and Nora, and with amiable, quick glances, the New York contingent checked Louise out. She gave them an enthusiastic hello. Then, one of her fingers went up and touched the skin under her eyes in a reflexive female gesture.
“It’s okay, Louise,” said Doug, slipping an arm around her shoulders and walking her a ways down the sidewalk. He reached over and straightened a piece of her long brown hair. “You don’t look that bad. You look wonderful, in fact.”
Cameramen, on occasion, were known to stretch the truth, especially if it meant reassuring the talent. Doug was about her age, and the same height as she was. As she looked at him she saw real sympathy and affection in his friendly, luxuriously bearded face. Along with Marty, this was the man who had helped make her a Saturday TV personality, who made her look good week after week. He ranked right up there with her favorite people, like Bill and Janie—and Marty, of course. “You can tell, can’t you, Doug—I was up late last night. I hope my cover-up masks the circles under my eyes.” Her hand strayed to her face again.
“Babe,” he said, stretching out the “a” sound, “you look great. Terrific dress.”
She looked down and gave the skirt of the peach cotton creation a little pull. “You’re right—the dress will help a lot. It’s a color that even a dead cat would look good in.”
He grinned. “So that’s why you bought it. You’ll look good today, Louise, even if you are coming off a bender.” He looked down the street at the idyllic village center. “But how could you find anything to do in this place? It doesn’t look like it has much life in it.”
“It wasn’t that, Doug—it was just insomnia.”
Unlike the tourists who lined up in front of the house with their umbrellas opened to protect them from the residual raindrops, the crew was allowed to photograph the inside of the house. The photo ban for the general public was a necessity, Louise had heard, for the owners of these beautiful two-hundred-year-old houses didn’t know who was in that line out there. Some visitors could be burglars who would use a photo record of the place to help them decide what to steal in a break-in.
Today, her crew would tape inside only one house, and in three of the gardens. A hip-roofed carriage house was the first stop. Much more elegant as a fine residence than as the horse-and-carriage storage place it had been centuries before, the home was surrounded with informal gardens that Louise was a little disappointed to see contained only standard plants. But next they visited a two-hundred-year-old home in Early Federal style. Louise had heard that through the years the various residents had insisted on gilding the lily, adding to
Wandering around a corner they found another village delight—the-post office. It was lodged in a charming old white Federal building, and its windows were filled with huge flowering and tropical plants. Louise thought ruefully of the tan postal station she took her packages to in northernVirginia: Its homeliness and grime discouraged would-be postal customers.
Litchfield had to be one of the most idyllic little communities in the United States. It appeared to be buffered from the evils and problems that beset most places. No wonder she was attracted to it:
You could come here
, she thought,
and hide from the real world forever
.
It was only a short walk to the first house on the garden tour, where they met Doug and the rest of the TV crew near a big white van. Doug stopped busily unpacking equipment to come over and embrace Louise like an old friend. She introduced him and the others to Bill and Nora, and with amiable, quick glances, the New York contingent checked Louise out. She gave them an enthusiastic hello. Then, one of her fingers went up and touched the skin under her eyes in a reflexive female gesture.
“It’s okay, Louise,” said Doug, slipping an arm around her shoulders and walking her a ways down the sidewalk. He reached over and straightened a piece of her long brown hair. “You don’t look that bad. You look wonderful, in fact.”
Cameramen, on occasion, were known to stretch the truth, especially if it meant reassuring the talent. Doug was about her age, and the same height as she was. As she looked at him she saw real sympathy and affection in his friendly, luxuriously bearded face. Along with Marty, this was the man who had helped make her a Saturday TV personality, who made her look good week after week. He ranked right up there with her favorite people, like Bill and Janie—and Marty, of course. “You can tell, can’t you, Doug—I was up late last night. I hope my cover-up masks the circles under my eyes.” Her hand strayed to her face again.
“Babe,” he said, stretching out the “a” sound, “you look great. Terrific dress.”
She looked down and gave the skirt of the peach cotton creation a little pull. “You’re right—the dress will help a lot. It’s a color that even a dead cat would look good in.”
He grinned. “So that’s why you bought it. You’ll look good today, Louise, even if you are coming off a bender.” He looked down the street at the idyllic village center. “But how could you find anything to do in this place? It doesn’t look like it has much life in it.”
“It wasn’t that, Doug—it was just insomnia.”
Unlike the tourists who lined up in front of the house with their umbrellas opened to protect them from the residual raindrops, the crew was allowed to photograph the inside of the house. The photo ban for the general public was a necessity, Louise had heard, for the owners of these beautiful two-hundred-year-old houses didn’t know who was in that line out there. Some visitors could be burglars who would use a photo record of the place to help them decide what to steal in a break-in.
Today, her crew would tape inside only one house, and in three of the gardens. A hip-roofed carriage house was the first stop. Much more elegant as a fine residence than as the horse-and-carriage storage place it had been centuries before, the home was surrounded with informal gardens that Louise was a little disappointed to see contained only standard plants. But next they visited a two-hundred-year-old home in Early Federal style. Louise had heard that through the years the various residents had insisted on gilding the lily, adding to
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