Page 2 of July Skies
“Heeeey, Mom.” Xander’s drawl soundedjustlike his father’s. It played into Karen’s paranoia that said her son was seeing his father behind her back. Granted, he was twenty-one. He could see his father all he wanted, and Karen couldn’t say a single word about it. Yet it worried her that the impressionable young man might pick up the wrong behaviors from the guy who left them in the middle of the night.Okay, so he came back the next day. Then we agreed to get a divorce.Karen had to put her foot down, anyway. If that man thought he could leave when it was inconvenient and come back to resounding applause? He could get the hell over himself. “Do you know anything about the ground beef in the freezer? Thinking about grilling something up tonight. You know, so you can have a Fourth of July cookout before you’re too busy with the actual event.”
Karen couldn’t help but smile. All right. Maybe Xander was a fine young man after all. The boy had been helping out around the house while working a part-time online gig. He abused the heck out of their internet doing it, but the only person to suffer was his sister Christina, who often complained the moment Karen stepped through the door of their Victorian home on Florida Street. She liked to blame the old wiring of the house. Christina would always remind her that those houses were built in the ‘80s and had “perfectly fine wiring!”
Karen texted her son that he was more than welcome to use the ground beef for his cookout. In fact, she looked forward to it.
Chapter 2
DAHLIA
The woman awaiting them on the front porch looked nothing like her description. While Dahlia knew the proprietor of the estate was off on her honeymoon, she didn’t know what she expected from the part-time help that would drop by about once a day to check in on the film crew taking up residence at Waterlily House.
Such a quaint name, wasn’t it? When Air BnB failed them, thanks to the deluge of tourists filing in for the holiday and taking up the short term rentals around town, Dahlia was ecstatic to find Waterlily House. The reviews were superb and the photographs lovely. The proprietress, a cheerful woman named Sunny, originally told them that the place would be closed while she was off on her honeymoon. Yet Dahlia had buttered her up and convinced her to rent out a few rooms to them and no one else. Her small crew at Hibiscus Films were self-sufficient and respectful of the places they inhabited. She assured Sunny that they could cook for and clean up after themselves. Although they would certainly enjoy seeing her when she returned from her honeymoon two weeks into the month.
Yet the woman standing on the porch was a far cry from the one Dahlia had spoken to for the past week. Her tall stature made her summery cotton skirt swish with her steps as she extended veiny hands toward Dahlia. Dark brown hair shimmered in the bright sunlight. The healthy complexion insinuated that she was well-rested. Either a stay-at-home type or a schoolteacher on break.
“Evening!” The woman, Anita Tichenor, was all smiles as she brought the crew inside and showed them around. Their rooms were small but cozy. Fresh linens awaited them should they desire it, and the fridge was already stocked with local farm eggs and other such sundries. Of course, Hibiscus Films were more than welcome to bring in their own groceries to use. They had paid a deposit to use the kitchen, after all.
When asked if everything was satisfactory, Dahlia turned toward the stand-in proprietress and said, “Can you tell us a good place to grab a bite to eat tonight?”
Her reasons for going into town for supper were two-fold. One, they were too tired from their overnight drive up from California to properly cook themselves dinner, and two, Dahlia was determined to get a feel for the town before they started formal production. They were due to meet the mayor the following morning. Whatever Mayor Rath deigned to show them would be heavily filtered through a positive lens. Dahlia wanted to see therealtown. Before they began to put on any show for the film crew’s benefit.
They were directed to a dive bar that supposedly served the freshest cod in town, not that it impressed Dahlia.Cod? Really?She came from a fishing community around the bay area. Nobody could impress her withcod,the very stuff her father sometimes brought home because he couldn’t sell it. While it tasted perfectly fine, she supposed, she would be more impressed with decent home fries.
Wolf’s Hill Dive welcomed them with passing interest. In true small town fashion, the locals looked them up and down before going back to their drinks and dinners. Although a rainbow flag hung outside, the place was filled with men. Straight men, supposedly, since this was alesbiancommune first and foremost. Some of them were there with wives or female coworkers. Others flew solo as they watched baseball on TV. The guys on Dahlia’s crew ordered their burgers and wings. Dahlia was a bit more observant, probably because she was more aware of dirty looks than others. Oregonian townsalwaysserved up the best dirty looks.
They had left their camera equipment at Waterlily House, of course, but locals knew who was from out of town and had a bit of business there. Even in a place known for its high tourism… well, they didn’t look like tourists. Dahlia was the only woman in the group, and she knew what it looked like when she told the three men on her crew what to do and how to do it. She had been called many things during her film career. Tyrant. Dictator. Ice Queen. Others went straight to the point and called her bitch. The guys she worked with hadn’t made it to Hibiscus without proving themselves as not only capable at what they did, but easy to get along with, too. They had good synergy. Not so fantastic that Dahlia didn’t have to jump in at least once a day and crack the whip, but good. She trusted them. They listened to her. She was the boss, after all, not that it stopped many men from challenging her authority.I wish more women would apply to my openings.There was a dearth of qualified women in her local field. The only ones she personally knew were Pink Dew Films. The owner, Rachel Gibson, had applied to join Dahlia’s crew that month. That was no surprise. Pink Dew focused on “lesbian” interests, and Rachel’s overenthusiasm put Dahlia off enough that she considered it a bad idea to mix too much business with pleasure. She only needed a couple of professionals with her, anyway, and she already knew the right ones for the job.
Hibiscus Films was a small, indie production company established by the woman at the corner of the table. She had seen multiple crews beneath her wings. Released a few award-winning documentaries that kept the funds coming in, but would never make her rich. This was a woman who had given up meals to keep her studio afloat during the lean times. Granted, a “studio” those days meant a decent computer, some audio equipment, and a couple of cameras. Most of them were one-time investments she could make when funding came through. Otherwise, Dahlia spent her time networking, editing old film on her hard drive to see if she could turn it into something, and working part time jobs to keep a roof over her head.
Her last documentary release,The Lives They Lost,had been about a Native American reservation in Washington. The stories they unearthed had been heartbreaking enough to not only garner national attention, but to cement funding for Dahlia’s next production. She had done dementia, racism, women’s rights in the south, and tensions between Israeli and Arabic communities around New York. (Or, sometimes, the lack of tension that threw a wrench into her script.) Dahlia strived to be both current and to shine light on little known issues that greatly affected the people suffering them. When she first heard of Paradise Valley on the news, it was during the bru-ha-ha over some actress dating a local. It had been the nation’s first exposure to a living, breathing town founded by the lesbian community. Women? That had been done before. LGBT groups in general? Old news.Lesbians?Out, proud, family-having lesbians who gravitated to a slice of rural Oregon in the hopes of finding their people? That had intrigued Dahlia. After pitching it to her crew, they agreed it might be a good lead for their next film.
The first step after establishing oneself in a community was to try to blend in. If the locals immediately caught whiff that they were a film crew out to tape and interview them, people got… scarce. This also wasn’t a reservation or a single neighborhood. This was a whole town that functioned like the rest of small town America. They had a mayor and a city council. They sent most of the kids to the local school district. They received state and federal funding for this and that.
They were also, according to the last official census, 53% lesbian identified. That wasjustlesbian. Bisexual women made up another ten percent, although Dahlia suspected that the next census would skew the percentages a little more. Gay and bisexual men were another ten percent, with the remaining 28% made up of heterosexual men and women. When her head cameraman Wayne asked her, “Did they ask about sexuality on the last census?” Dahlia did some digging and discovered it was a census Paradise Valley took upon themselves, because they saw it important enough to their identity.
That was when she knew this was the place to head next. A place that put so much pressure on themselves to be gay was exciting documentary material.
Interesting, though, that their first night in town should be at the “straight” bar, as she soon discovered upon Google Review research. Most of the reviews said it with tongue firmly in cheek.“Nobody cares if fellas show up to Paradise Lost,”one male commenter said,“but you best not be flirting with none of the ladies there. They’ll tell you what’s what before you have the chance to reassess your wounds! Go down to Wolf’s Hill Dive if you want the kind of bar experience you may be more used to.”
Dahlia looked around the bar while her crew talked about the most harrowing parts of their drive. Two men played pool while shooting the breeze. A husband and wife had a Monday night drink while discussing where to send their kid to college. Two middle-aged woman talked with an old-timer, one Dahlia would soon learn had been living in Paradise Valley since it was called Cedar Plain. The bartender was a gruff man who stroked his beard when he had nothing else to do. Yet the flag pin on his leather implied he was a different kind of gay from the ladies running the town.
The rainbow flags, the gay bartender, and the fliers advertising LGBT events said this location supported the women. Yet Dahlia couldn’t help but wonder how theyreallygot along.
“Uh oh,” Wayne said with a snort. “She’s writing the script before we start filming.”
The guys chuckled. Dahlia framed her fingers, imitating the shot of a camera as it focused on the women and man at the bar. It included a shot of the bartender checking his phone while the women laughed.
“Paradise Valley is an eclectic mix of new and old. Walking through it, you don’t get the feeling that you’re anywhere unique. Not until you step into a bar or talk to your first local. Even if you’ve found the rare person in town who is heterosexual, you can bet they’re supportive of the people who aren’t. They’ll also be the first to tell you about the differences in Wolf’s Hill Dive and Paradise Lost, the two bars in town. Trust us. There’s a difference.”
That was her working opening statement. Dahlia may not have started filming yet, but a good filmmaker had an angle she worked before the first shot was taken.
Some people may have argued with her on that. There was a reason she kept those thoughts to herself, even when out among colleagues.We all do it. We all have biases. We all have narratives we want to uphold in our work.She wasn’t afraid to admit it. She simply made sure to keep it from the people she filmed.
Tomorrow, she would be meeting with the mayor for the first time. That was the make it or break it point. When Dahlia’s biases might fly out her mouth and ruin the entire thing.
Good thing she had the best poker face in the room.Ask these guys right here. Ask them how much money I’ve won off them.Considering how long they were staying in Paradise Valley? There would be many late night poker sessions for her to win some quick cash – and she wasn’t ashamed to admit it.
Chapter 3
