July Skies

by Billings, Hildred

  “M… Mom!” Christina saw Karen before Dahlia did. Yet within two seconds, the pair had gone from discussing their nefarious plans to jerking upright at Karen’s presence. “What are you doing here?”

  That shock on her daughter’s face said everything Karen needed to know. “You. Car. Now.” She snapped her fingers and tossed a thumb over her shoulder.

  “Mom, let me…”

  “I said now!”

  Christina slipped out of her seat. Back hunched and head down, she rushed out of the study with her metaphorical tail tucked between her legs. That left all of Karen’s attentions for the woman casually sitting in her seat, one leg hooked over the other and her fingers drumming on the table. Any shock Dahlia hosted had now been replaced with mild annoyance. Probably because Karen ruined yet another stunt for the filmmaker.

  “Are you out of your mind?” Karen snapped. “She’s a minor, and I definitely did not give either her or you permission to…”

  Dahlia held up a hand. It shouldn’t have made Karen stop speaking, but how could she continue when she was so coldly interrupted? “Relax. It was an off the record conversation. That bit about makeup was because she wouldn’t stop talking about being ‘in a movie.’ I had to throw her some kind of bone.”

  “I don’t want to hear about the bones you’re throwing my underaged daughter.”

  Dahlia knitted her brows halfway down her face. “There was nothing untoward going on here, I assure you. Christina offered herself as an interviewee because she heard her friend Leigh Ann didn’t want to do it, and we need a youthful perspective for the film.”

  “I don’t care whose daughter you rope into it, but you are not using mine.”

  The slow shake of Dahlia’s head should not have enflamed so much of Karen’s body. Was it attraction? She wasn’t convinced. How could she be attracted to a woman who subverted so many of the rules? Who went out of her way to make people uncomfortable? Who carried such a chip on her shoulder that she was willing to villainize an entire town for who they were?

  That only made Karen angrier.

  “Look, it’s clear that you don’t like me or my crew.” Dahlia didn’t get up, but she also didn’t bother to look Karen in the eye. What a coward. Or, maybe, Karen was too put out by having to look at the little, curly ringlets dangling over the back of Dahlia’s ear. She had a striking profile, didn’t she? That’s how she weaseled her way into people’s good graces, probably. Probably. “We’re trying to make a documentary here.”

  “You’re making a documentary that turns this place into something it isn’t! Now you’re interviewing children because you can’t get adults to talk to you?”

  Was that a hearty chuckle Karen heard? Did Dahlia think this was funny? “How can you discern my narrative when I don’t have one yet? Everyone in this town is so closed-lip. You’d never guess we were anywhere else in America. You small town people are all the same. Don’t wanna talk about how this whole place is your identity. Doesn’t matter if that identity is logging, making soap, or…” Was she about to say something rude? Something about carpet cleaning? Karen could practically smell it on Dahlia’s breath. Or maybe that was the large glass of lemonade sitting on the table. “Same-sex marriage. Guess what, Mayor? Nobody wants to watch a documentary about a lesbian utopia. Because nobody buys utopias, especially in this day and age. There’s always a downside to everything. Hey, I’m not trying to make you all look like racist hicks who pressure their kids to be gay, or whatever you think I’m doing. I’m chasing angles until I get a feel for what will make a compelling story. I don’t care if that story is, ‘We moved here ‘cause we’re gay, but it makes us sad we had to leave our old homes.’ Nor do I care if it’s, ‘It’s great to live in a place where we all come together over sexuality, but humans are humans, and there are other issues that leave things to be desired.’ Come the hell on.”

  Karen unclenched her fists and took a deep breath. “I don’t pretend to know much about filmmaking, Ms. Granger, but I know a thing or two about you. And I don’t think it’s a good for someone with so much negative bias stemming from her own personal life to be heading this project. I think I speak on behalf of a lot of my citizens of Paradise Valley when I say that.”

  Dahlia uncrossed her legs and slowly stood from the table. She was careful to not knock over the glass of lemonade when she faced Karen and said, “The only person who keeps bringing that up is you, Ms. Rath. I’m starting to think that you’re the one with a chip on her shoulder.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  A snort of mischief fired from Dahlia’s nostrils. “You’re attracted to me, aren’t you? Must really bust your bubbles to know that the woman you liked so much is as critical as she is. You weren’t willing to listen to your daughter’s reasonings for doing this. She was sooo ready to tell me about what a great mom and mayor you are. Apparently, almost everyone loves you. Isn’t that nice? Simply beside myself with how much love people have for you.”

  “Attracted to you?” Yes, that was the only thing Karen latched onto. “Don’t flatter yourself, Ms. Granger. Not every woman in this town is waiting for the right lady to come along for them to seduce. Nice try with more lovely stereotypes, though.”

  “Who is stereotyping anyone? I’m merely calling out what I’ve noticed about you, Mayor. Just because I’m not experienced in the ways of lesbian love doesn’t mean I don’t recognize when a woman is into me.”

  Karen gasped. What shocked her more? Dahlia’s bold assertions, or being called out like that? “I beg your pardon…” She fumbled for more words, each one more accusatory than the last. Did Dahlia enjoy the flushed cheeks and the drying lips, though? Karen had worked exceptionally hard on those. Why, it was almost like she barely worked on them at all! “You know what, Ms. Granger? I think it might be best if you simply leave.”

  Their gazes locked for a heady moment. Karen had too much experience standing up to bullies in the world of politics to back down now, although that heavy, steady look dancing in Dahlia’s hazel eyes almost felled the mayor where she stood. This is so unfair. I’m kicking out the first person to come to this town who I actually… No. She had to do this. For the good of Paradise Valley and all the lovely – and curmudgeonly – people who lived there.

  “Perhaps it is best.” Dahlia only briefly glanced at Karen again as she showed herself out of the room. “I’m sorry things couldn’t have worked out better between us, Karen.”

  The use of her first name was what shocked Karen the most. After that, it was the dour visage that followed Dahlia out of the room.

  Chapter 14

  DAHLIA

  Hibiscus Films packed up their equipment the next day. Wayne wasn’t surprised by the decision to halt production, but Kurt immediately questioned Dahlia’s sanity. Didn’t she know how hard they had worked? All the money invested and spent? If there wasn’t a film, then where would the paychecks come from? Dahlia assured him he and the guys would get paid, as promised. Even if she had to take the money out of her personal account to make it happen.

  That wasn’t enough to sate Kurt, however, who aspired beyond money. The hard work hadn’t paid off. This wasn’t like Dahlia, who had hired him for other jobs and always did professional work. Wayne had to take him aside and inform him that some projects were “cursed.” Take, for instance, Aaron ending up in the hospital. That was a sign of worse things to come. The mayor had made it clear that they weren’t welcomed anymore. Although Dahlia took full responsibility for that, Kurt asked what the hell they would do with the film. Sell it for stock?

  Such things weren’t for him to worry about. He was paid a flat rate for his time and expertise. Dahlia was the one who worried about profits. She assured Kurt that, as soon as they returned home, she would sift through the digital files and see what could be salvaged – either for other projects or to, yes, sell as stock. Their full-length documentary might turn into a small segment for national news. That required a different kind of shopping
around, however, and Dahlia dreaded it.

  She dreaded facing her feelings back home, alone, more.

  Back when she first rented her spacious apartment overlooking a large, bustling city, she adored the floor-to-ceiling windows and goldfish views that brought in so much air and light that she never flipped a switch during the summer. Now she cursed the bright sunlight filtering through the glass windows that surrounded her like judgmental panes. Her corner workstation, which included an all-in-one, a MacBook, and enough hard drives and cameras to make a maid dread the dust, only reminded her that she had come back nearly empty-handed.

  Even so, she opened a bottle of scotch and began the task of sifting through film files.

  There wasn’t enough to create the narrative she sought. The last half of the month was supposed to be a combination of filming Paradise Pride and wrapping up interviews. Instead, Dahlia was left with hours of kids playing at parks, Fourth of July parades, and townsfolk who danced around her questions. With the exception of Karen, of course.

  Dahlia replayed that interview, studying the reactions of the woman who was asked to detail her personal history for an international audience. Now that Dahlia knew what was coming at the end of the interview, she could see the little smirks and the inflections of Karen’s voice that announced she knew the reasons for these questions. I remain flummoxed that she figured me out. Someone had to have told her, although Wayne claimed to be mum. There was no way, though. How could she have figured it out? Was the mayor as smart as she came across?

  “My marriage taught me that I’m probably not compatible with men for more than a few months at a time,” the recorded Karen said on the camera. She pressed a bejeweled hand against her chest, a sentimental move that humanized her as she spoke of an uncertain past. “I moved here partially to start a new life, partially to take a chance with the local dating scene I had heard so much about.”

  “Are you with someone now?” Dahlia’s voice came from off screen.

  “No, actually.”

  Dahlia stopped the video and looped it back again. This time when she pressed play, she paid close attention to the look in Karen’s eyes. The woman staring into the camera held the answers Dahlia continued to seek. Why? Who? What was this about? What drove a woman to leave her husband? Although Karen had brought her kids with her… it reminded Dahlia so much of what she had seen with her mother.

  “No, actually.”

  That was sadness in her voice. Reluctance to admit that she was single, and probably had been single since moving to her paradise. This was a woman who immediately dug into the town’s way of life. Its politics. What made it tick and how she could contribute in a positive way. Yet she remained single for that whole time. Originally, Dahlia assumed it was by choice. She was a busy woman. She had two kids to take care of by herself. Then, she had a whole town to look after. Of course she didn’t have time to date. Even in a town full of “lesbians,” Karen Rath had no time to carve out a proper personal life for herself.

  Dahlia had foolishly assumed Karen was all right with that. Now, looking back at this interview, she realized something unfortunate.

  Karen was lonely.

  It was in her eyes. In the curve of her lips and the sag of her shoulders as she admitted her singledom. Karen was alone. She had her children, but that was a different kind of love. Most of the town respected her, so her job gave her purpose, but what else was there? What could she hope to achieve when her kids were gone and she had to retire?

  “No, actually.”

  Dahlia fast forwarded.

  “Naturally, it was an adjustment.” Karen lifted her eyelashes and looked directly into the camera. “You have to understand, though, the deal I had in my divorce was that my ex-husband got the house while I got the kids. There was no having both.”

  No having both? That was decided by her ex, but the concept of either having the house or kids, but not both… Dahlia had sympathized with Karen back then, but now she truly understood the great weight that had been upon the mayor’s shoulders. Fresh from a divorce and willing to do whatever it took to keep her children. Her spiteful husband said she could have them as long as he kept the house. He was willing to make his children homeless to rub Karen’s nose in their mutual shit. My mother wouldn’t have done that. She didn’t stick around for a choice. She had made her decision when she left me with my dad and barely talked to me again. Dahlia knew where her mother was now, but their relationship was so strained that it was pointless to contact her. They had no mother-daughter relationship.

  Meanwhile, Christina Rath had been prepared to defend her mother on camera, even without Karen’s permission. Had the mayor not barged into Waterlily House and dragged the girl away, Dahlia didn’t doubt that Christina would have said whatever was necessary to make Karen look like a saint.

  Dahlia closed out of the file and got up to refill her coffee cup. When she returned, she dove deep into the other files.

  There was Joan the craftswoman, talking about how Paradise Valley was her chance to have the family “of her dreams.” An elderly woman named Abby Marcott declared this place her haven when she left her husband and brought her kids to town – a tale Dahlia had heard more than once before. Notes she had recorded about her talk with Leigh Ann reminded Dahlia that there were plenty of straight parents in Paradise Valley who instilled into their children the importance of accepting people’s differences. The teacher, Anita Tichenor, had offered an interview on one of the days she came by Waterlily House. She had grown up in Paradise Valley, like her best friend Sunny. She said it was a great place to grow up gay. Although she couldn’t tell Dahlia anything about nature vs. nurture. Nor did she take much stock in such debates. “My classroom is enough of a microcosm for me, anyway,” she said with a hearty laugh.

  Some of the citizens had been too tight-lipped or shy to say anything substantial, but if there was one common thread in what Dahlia did get, it was that Paradise Valley allowed them to leave some of their worries behind. Not all of them, but the ones that mattered most.

  No utopias. Just a nice small town that did its best.

  Dahlia had failed to see it while she filmed it. Not because she didn’t care, but because she lacked the proper perspective to know what to look for and what to really ask. These were women who felt more confident opening up to their own. More than one expressed surprise that Dahlia wasn’t queer. What was she doing there, and why did she care so much, if she wasn’t?

  She almost called Wayne to discuss her findings. Yet as her phone hovered over his number in her address book, she thought of something a little more radical. For her, anyway.

  “Hello?” came the feminine voice from the other end of the line. “Rachel Gibson.”

  “Hey, Rachel. It’s Dahlia, from Hibiscus Films.” Dahlia bit her lip. Was it too late for her to hang up and go back to the old life she understood a little too well? “Only wondering if you were still interested in helping with the documentary about Paradise Valley. You know, the lesbian town?” she cleared her throat. “Yeah, unfortunately, I lost one of my crew to an ongoing health issue, and we got held back long enough that the other two had to come back for other commitments. I still have much to do in Oregon, though. Was thinking of starting over, actually. So… are you…”

  Rachel Gibson had spent weeks trying to get Dahlia to take her input seriously. Now that Dahlia was finally calling her?

  Even after Dahlia put the phone down, she could hear Rachel chewing her out in between shouts of excitement. “Hey, babe, guess who’s calling me?” Rachel shouted to another woman. Dahlia sat back and sipped her coffee. She hadn’t turned on speakerphone, yet she heard the raucous laughter of two women while staring at another still of Karen on the all-in-one monitor.

  The Mayor all but dared her to try to come back.

  Chapter 15

  KAREN

  In the two and a half weeks that passed since the departure of Hibiscus Films, Karen Rath did her damndest to get back to busin
ess as usual. After all, there was a town-wide Pride to coordinate, and what better way to take her mind off things than to throw herself into work?

  Part of that work included reaching out to the members of her community who had expressed frustrations earlier that month. When Karen popped into Frankie’s Deli one afternoon for lunch, she had anticipated assuring the businesswoman that Dahlia wouldn’t be around to ruffle any feathers. Instead of pleasing Frankie, however, she received a countenance of consternation that suggested things could have gone another way.

  “Seems a shame that they gave up so easily,” Joan Sheffield said, when Karen purposely popped into Crafts & Things when she knew it would be slow. Joan sat behind the front counter, doing paperwork while carefully positioning herself on a cushioned stool. Although the temperatures had climbed to an easy eighty degrees that July, Joan sat in her semi-ventilated shop with a loose sweater and sweatpants. While she didn’t look unprofessional, necessarily, Karen couldn’t help but notice the strange choice in fashion. Who wears something like this during the summer? Even around here… Then again, Karen was a woman who donned pantsuits on days she didn’t go into city hall. Who was she to judge how the locals dressed in their offices? “I was interested in seeing what they’d come up with, even if it was less than flattering.”

  “Yes, well…” Karen cleared her throat. “We also have to keep in mind the image of the town. We rely so much on tourism, especially this time of year.”

  “Still, we know the truth about this town. Besides, the lady doing the filming was pretty to look at.”

  Karen raised her brows.

  “Oh, don’t tell Lorri I said that. She can get sooo jealous, you know? Anyway, I admit it. I have a type. I like women who are pretty tough and run things the way they see fit. Doesn’t matter if they’re making movies or working in a hardware store.” Joan chuckled. “Sorry. You don’t want to hear me ramble about that.”