Dahlia continued to loop that video on her computer, wondering how to angle it into a video. Wayne glanced over her shoulder and shook his head.
“If you’re looking for a dark side to this town, forget it. The Fourth of July stuff was tame in comparison to some towns full of anarchists.” Ah, yes. Wayne had quipped that Dahlia might find political dissidents all over town, but so far, all they found were the usual grumblings about presidential candidates that were heard throughout the country. The reservation in Washington had been more vocal about it. “If you’re worried about a boring documentary, don’t be. There’s still lots of cute stories to be had here. Show them crying about how happy they are. Damn, find the right people to give you the dirt about their pasts, and you’ve got an Oscar.”
People weren’t willing to do that, either. Dahlia knew that part of it was building a rapport with the community, but by the end of that Fourth of July weekend, they had hit a wall. Seemed the townsfolk had spread enough about the camera crew to make others wary. The mayor had shut Dahlia out after they last parted at a Sunday morning brunch for the Chamber of Commerce. Dahlia had hoped to meet a few leads there, but everyone politely kept their opinions to themselves in front of the camera. She had, however, written down a few follow-up names.
The mayor…
Did Karen have something to do with this? How many people did she actually have under her thumb in this tiny town? Because Dahlia had never seen anything like it. A place that liked their mayor this much was like townsfolk who liked the whole damn town this much! It didn’t happen. Dahlia didn’t care if people had it better here than wherever they came from before. Nobody likes where they live to this extent.
There was certainly something about Karen. Something Dahlia couldn’t quite put her finger on, because she had never encountered this kind of roadblock before. The mayor wasn’t simply charismatic and intelligent. She genuinely cared for this little redneck town. Dahlia could see as much whenever Karen intervened on someone feeling uncomfortable by the interviews, whether Dahlia agreed or not. Does she think I haven’t been interviewing people for years? I know when they’ve had enough!
Dahlia already had enough of the mayor. When Karen wasn’t hanging over everyone’s shoulders, she was sitting in the corner, smoldering in both her convictions and her confidence. This was a woman who often went unchallenged in local elections. Her approval rating was in the eighties. Her daughter was a high school softball star, and her son attending one of the top private universities in the state. People loved her for existing! Granted, Dahlia had always come up against leaders who hovered like the documentarian was about to showcase everyone in the “wrong” light, but Karen was an enigma. She wasn’t a tribal leader trying to keep her people afloat. She wasn’t the head of a family with much to lose. Nor was she the CEO of a mid-sized company on the brink of bankruptcy. Those people usually operated under at least a mild sense of panic. Emotions were high and the stakes raised with every passing second. That’s what Dahlia was used to in the world of documentaries.
What did Karen have to panic about? She was solidified in her position as leader of Paradise Valley. There were no outside threats to her town. Her people were generally taken care of or, at least, the local government and sheriff’s office had no qualms with them. Gay rights floundered in some parts of the country, but Oregon enjoyed a level of acceptance that had been unheard of ten or more years before. People weren’t about to be run out of their homes. Money was all right. So what was her deal?
Why did Dahlia keep thinking about her, although most of her time with the mayor had come to an end with this project?
She wasn’t particularly stunning to look at. A run-of-the-mill woman approaching middle age, with light brown hair she always wore back or up in a bun. Her pantsuits were department-store quality, but hardly bespoke. Some of them made it obvious that her weight fluctuated as much as any other woman’s. She was soft-spoken in that fake politician way, but when she was angry or trying to be heard, her voice carried half the length of Main Street. Yet Dahlia couldn’t stop thinking about the cold stare of those icy blue eyes or the confident way Karen shrugged whenever correcting her posture. She was a force to be reckoned with, wasn’t she?
Dahlia always admired women like that. I like to think I’m like that, too. Whether she was or wasn’t didn’t matter. Karen Rath understood confidence as well as Dahlia did. The more confident a woman was, the more likely she was to convince everyone else around her that she was someone worth listening to.
Infuriating, wasn’t it?
Dahlia sat in the waning light of Waterlily House, where she wadded up another piece of paper and tossed it into a paper bag full of trash. Wayne heaved a heavy sigh and got up to use the bathroom. The other guys tossed a football in the backyard, near the flowers that bore Dahlia’s name. Freakin’ dahlias. Her mother’s favorite flower, of course. She never saw anything special in them. Luckily for her, the guys on her crew didn’t know a rose from a tulip, so they never thought to make fun of her name when in a garden full of dahlias.
“Are y’all doing okay?” That came from the young girl standing in the kitchen doorway. The teenager who helped out around Waterlily House didn’t look a day over seventeen, although she assured the crew she was turning eighteen in August and perfectly capable doing most of the chores and forwarding issues to the owner off on her honeymoon. Dahlia wished she was surprised that someone as young as Leigh Ann wandered around every other day. She took turns with her own English teacher, the woman named Anita Tichenor who often showed up around lunch, when the crew was out doing their work.
Leigh Ann seemed like a sweet girl who knew her way around Waterlily House, but she didn’t exactly inspire confidence in Dahlia, who was used to seeing child labor in the worst of America. I did a whole documentary about unpaid farmhands in Texas. Not that Leigh Ann exhibited any of the signs of a modern-day slave who had no other choice for her family. Yet Dahlia couldn’t say she often stopped thinking about it.
“Everything’s fine, thank you.” Dahlia returned to her empty script before realizing a piece of her puzzle might exist within the twig-like girl standing before her. Leigh Ann rolled up the sleeves of her flannel and pulled down the curly hem of her denim shorts as she turned around. “Wait,” Dahlia said. “Would you mind if I asked you a few questions about this town?”
Leigh Ann glanced over her shoulder, her hazel eyes sparkling with curiosity. Naturally, young women loved to be asked questions. Especially in small towns, where one was not often to attract outsider attention. “Sure, I guess.” Leigh Ann completely turned, although she didn’t come any closer to the farm table. “Although my mom’s expecting me home in half an hour.”
“How long does it take you to bike home from here?”
Leigh Ann shrugged. “About fifteen minutes.”
“So you have fifteen minutes to spare.”
“I guess.” The girl shuffled forward. She grabbed the chair nearest her and sat down, eyes never leaving the blank piece of paper in front of Dahlia. “Are you gonna record me? Because I’m still a minor until this time next month.”
“Does that make you the oldest girl in your class? The cutoff is end of July, right?”
“Yeah. Whatever, though. I ain’t in no hurry to go off to college.”
Interesting. Most small town girls couldn’t wait to get the hell out of Dodge. “Please feel free to tell me if you don’t want to answer anything. Also, none of this is on the record. It won’t go into the documentary. Not without your mother’s permission.” Dahlia cleared her throat. “I’m curious about something, and your answers may help give me direction on where to go.”
Slowly, Leigh Ann nodded.
“Do you mind if I ask you what your sexuality is, Leigh Ann?”
The girl’s cheek pinkened. It’s always best to come out and ask what you’re thinking. Some interviewees were worth buttering up, but Dahlia didn’t want to waste any time tonight.
�
�I don’t really think about it,” Leigh Ann meekly said. “Straight, I guess. I’ve dated a couple of boys. There aren’t many people worth dating in a small school.”
“Interesting.”
“Is it?” Leigh Ann asked.
“I only say that because, from the sounds of it, many youngsters in this area feel freer to come out while still in school. Did you know that your county has a higher rate of LGBT youth than any other in Oregon? More than Multnomah or Lane counties. If any cities in Oregon were bound to have higher rates of LGBT teenagers, one would think it was either Portland or Eugene, the so-called “liberal bubbles.”
“No, I didn’t know that.”
“It’s true. Suppose I was wondering how that really played out at your school. Clark High, right?”
“Yeah. I go to Clark High.” Leigh Ann shifted in her seat. Had Dahlia already made her too uncomfortable to continue? Probably.
“Are there are a lot of kids in your class who identify as part of the LGBT community?”
“I guess so. Again, don’t really think about it.”
“Would you say it skews more toward the girls?”
“I guess?”
Typical teenagers. They never wanted to commit to their answers.
Leigh Ann fidgeted with the buttons on her flannel before continuing. “I don’t think most of the kids in my school really identify as anything. They go out with whomever they want. There’s a lot of experimentation going on.” She blushed again. “Not like… that…”
“Would you say most of the kids in your school have lesbian moms? Or gay dads, for that matter?”
“Maybe it’s fifty-fifty between gay parents and straight ones? My parents are straight. It feels normal no matter what.”
“I see. Do you feel there is any pressure to identify as a certain way? Either coming from adults or your peers?”
“No,” Leigh Ann was quick to answer.
Dahlia’s mouth twitched. “Thank you, Lee Ann, that was very…”
“Leigh Ann.”
“Excuse me?”
The girl stood up and scooted the chair back beneath the table. “My name is Lay Ann, not Lee Ann. I guess it’s a regional thing.”
“Right. Sorry for mispronouncing your name.”
“Happens all the time. Have a good night, Ms. Granger.”
Leigh Ann was halfway out of the kitchen before Dahlia stopped her again. “Wait, hon. Do me a favor and don’t mention what I’ve asked you to anyone, including your parents. It would… taint the bias, so to speak.”
Leigh Ann’s last, non-committal shrug was all Dahlia saw as the girl turned the corner. Soon, the front door closed with a thud of the screen. Wayne reentered the kitchen, a strange look on his face.
“What?” Dahlia asked.
He opened the fridge and pulled out his personal carton of orange juice. “Stooping low enough to ask little girls their sexualities, huh?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Please, Dahl. I’m starting to see what your issue is around here.” He took a swig of his orange juice and let out a sigh. “Try not to piss off the locals with your latent homophobia, huh?”
Dahlia said nothing as he left the room again. She merely picked up her pen and, pretending she hadn’t heard anything, jotted down a few new notes for the next day’s filming.
Chapter 7
KAREN
The first day back in the office after Fourth of July weekend was always a crusher. I’m hungover. There’s no other way to put it. Karen was lucky if she ever slept over Fourth of July celebrations. When the damn day fell into the middle of the week and things extended into the following weekend? God, it was like banging her head against the wall. Her eyelids were practically taped open. Air horns always blew in the distance. If it wasn’t one child wanting her attention in the middle of the night, it was a townsperson rapping on her car window at two in the afternoon. There were a million functions to attend and photo ops to indulge. When the weekly newspaper wasn’t interviewing her, someone like Dahlia Granger disturbed the locals.
Oh, word had gotten out. There wasn’t a person in Paradise Valley unaware of the camera crew filming this and that. Some of the parents of the local homeschooling group were at city hall first thing Monday morning, asking the mayor what the hell was going on with these model releases and the filming of their underage children.
I don’t recall telling them they could do that. Hibiscus Films worked by the book when they got permission to film children playing at the park, but Karen would have much preferred them going through her instead of disturbing half the young moms with their double-wide strollers and light-up frisbees.
“That’s not all I’ve heard about them, Ms. Rath.” That was Susie Pate, one of the loudest homeschooling moms of the group. She was their de facto leader, really. As if a group of half a dozen moms needed a leader to approach the mayor on her first day back in city hall. A steaming cup of coffee awaited Karen’s attentions, but she was too busy popping Tylenol and rubbing her temples while Susie yammered on about nothing. “They’ve been interviewing people ‘off the record,’ so to speak. I spoke to Leigh Ann Hardy’s mother yesterday, and she says that her daughter was asked all sorts of questions about the sexual makeup of the high school! Can you believe it? They’re asking minors sexual questions.”
Karen helped herself to a hearty sip of her coffee. Finally. Please, warm these old and tired bones. Karen was barely forty-five, but this job made her feel as old as she was young. “If Mrs. Hardy has any issues she’d like to bring up to me, she’s more than welcomed to do so. As for them filming in a public space like a park, it sounds like they followed the proper procedures of asking for parental permission and securing signed releases. It’s my understanding that it’s mostly stock footage they’re filming for their documentary on Paradise Valley.”
Susie flared her nostrils, the death grip on her stroller making little Connie Pate whimper beneath her snotty bib. “I understand they have permits to film in public places, Mayor, but I’m really not happy that this documentary was kept from us constituents until the moment they started filming. It should have been brought up in a town hall meeting, especially if the contents of the film is about us.”
“A town hall was absolutely unnecessary, considering they went through all the proper procedures of procuring permits and running things by us. Honestly, Hibiscus Films has been nothing but professional to work with.”
“Oh, really? I see how it is.” Susie turned her stroller around, as if to march out the door. I wish she would. God, I wish. Karen didn’t have the stomach for this right now. She had to get started on the next big thing on the city’s list, and Deal With Susie Pate was not it. “I didn’t know you two were so cozy.”
“Huh?” That allergy medication Karen took the moment she got up hadn’t kicked in yet. Neither had the caffeine. Was she so stuffed up and tired that she was hearing things? Again? “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“The city government and this film company! In bed together!”
Karen slowly shook her head, fingers digging into her temples. “I don’t think it’s quite like that, Susie. We’re cooperating with them, yes, but…”
Susie stormed out of the office, one of the wheels of her stroller screeching so loudly that Karen had to tape her forehead to her desk. It took three minutes for Tom to show up in her doorway, head turned over one shoulder as he watched an irate Susie Tate wheel her daughter out of city hall. “What was that all about?” he asked.
“Apparently, our friends the documentarians were filming kids at the park. With permission from the parents, even.”
“The problem with that is…?”
Karen shrugged. “It’s Susie Pate. What do you expect from the woman who is in here once a month to scream about something? Last month she wanted me to use my ‘personal connection’ to Brandelyn Meyer to convince the doctor to cut her honeymoon short by one week. In case little Connie caught a bug over Fourth of
July. Can you believe it?”
“Does she go to Dr. Meyer?”
“I have no idea.” Karen sighed. She may have been close enough to Brandy to attend her bachelorette party and officiate her wedding, but she wasn’t BFF status. She couldn’t ask Brandelyn to cut her well-deserved vacation in half in case little Connie got sick! That’s what I deal with around here. Crazy people like Susie. In her more naïve days as mayor, Karen assumed women like Susie were simply… overeager. Thinking about what was best for their kids and the people of their town. She quickly learned, however, that many people simply wanted to talk and be heard. It didn’t matter if their “ideas” were crazy or so self-serving that Karen would be crazy to try it. Only faster way to lose an election is by outright embezzling funds to my own accounts! “Please tell me that you’re here to talk Paradise Pride. I need to take my mind off things. You know, because I have so much mind to apply to anything right now.”
Tom chuckled, pulling back a chair to have a seat. “It never gets any easier, no matter how many years go by, huh?”
Karen shared in his laughter. “If anything, it’s getting worse by the year. More people, more events, more complaints… but, you’re right. When I was new at this, I was fueled by pure adrenaline. Everything was a lot more fun back then. Brand-new. Now it’s kind of old hat.”
“Is that your way of saying you might not be running for reelection in a couple of years?”
“Oh, hell no. Y’all are stuck with me until I’m either ready to retire or someone manages to beat me. You never know. Some young ingenue might roll into town one day and take over everything with her brash mannerisms and…”
“You mean like you did?”
Karen showed him mock offense. “I beg your pardon, Mr. Deacon! I was hardly young when I…” She cut herself off. “I like to think I wasn’t quite a ‘young ingenue’ when I first came to town.”
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