“No. You were a rabble-rouser who had rabble-roused in other towns before this one. This was the one you knew would take your shit and spin it into gold.”
Karen couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re a good man, Tom.”
“I know. Don’t tell my kids.”
“Don’t tell my kids. They’ll convince you to run against me, because being the kids of the mayor is ‘so uncool.’”
“Is Xander trying to tell you that he’s not using it as a pickup line at frat-parties? I have it on good authority from my adult daughter that girls go for the legacy boys.”
“Legacy? Is that what we’re calling it?” With a little energy now fueling her veins, Karen pulled out the annual Paradise Pride whiteboard. Parts of it were already filled in with the recurring events that were around the same date and time every year. Yet there was much to fill in, now that Fourth of July was over and they no longer had to devote so much time and attention to it. Nope. Now they turned all their focus to Pride. For while Portland had their big Pride in the middle of June – and, to be sure, many townsfolk went to check it out – Paradise Valley had their own shindig in late July. It always made the news, and it always brought in the tourists. There were no corporate sponsorships, only local businesses and private donors who chipped in a few dollars to help cover permits and supplies. Booths were stocked with handmade gifts, books, art, and charities that directly helped both local and statewide LGBT communities. Sometimes the bisexual governor dropped by for a photo-pop. Kate Brown wasn’t due in Paradise Valley that year, but she had sent her regards to Karen.
“Is it time to talk Pride?” Sissy Clarence stopped by the office, her wire-frame glasses recently cleaned for consideration. “You know it’s my favorite time of year.”
Ah, yes, the only time when Karen and Sissy tended to see eye-to-eye about anything was when Pride was afoot. Because besides being civil servants, the only thing she and I have in common is queer woman status. Yet it stopped there. Sissy was a lesbian, and Karen was openly bisexual, like the good governor. They couldn’t even agree on how much they liked men! As long as she’s not also here to whine about Hibiscus Films…
No, but they were definitely brought up halfway through their morning meeting about Pride. While Karen went over yet another parade – this time with a rainbow theme, as opposed to the ol’ red, white, and blue – Sissy raised her hand and asked, “Will the film crew be there for this one, too? I’m assuming they care more about Pride than this weekend.”
The corners of Karen’s mouth twitched, yet she stopped short of thumping her pen against her desk. “I would suppose so. I haven’t talked to Dahlia in a few days.” That both suited her fine and infuriated her. Dahlia was rather captivating, wasn’t she? With her devil-may-care style that suited working on a film set more than going out on a date with anyone she fancied… and the cold, stern stare she always emitted when someone twisted her words or suggested she do something some other way. Dahlia was a woman very much in charge of her destiny, let alone her career. Karen admired that in women. One of the things to make her realize she was better suited dating women instead of staying chained to her ex-husband was meeting a no-nonsense CEO who waved her hand and got whatever she wanted. This was a woman with three kids of her own. And a wife. A stay-at-home wife, not that Karen needed one of those anymore. Raised my own kids myself after we moved here over a decade ago. People loved to tell her how strong and reliable she was. Honestly, she simply did what had to be done.
So did Dahlia, probably. Did she have kids? Hell, did she have a girlfriend? A woman so invested in Paradise Valley, let alone one who wears capris to her sets… oh, please tell me she’s gay! Karen could survive the news that Dahlia was already coupled if that other person was a woman. That’s how it worked, of course.
“I hope they get my good side this time.” Tom sighed, pencil falling from his hand. “If they insist on filming me, that is. There were a few shots of me at the parade. They let me review the film, but I only signed off on it because… well, what else was I supposed to do?”
I wish Wanda were here. Not only should the parks commissioner talk about pride, but she was much better than Karen at keeping Tom and Sissy focused. Those two could ramble and digress like nobody else.
“Is it me,” Sissy said, prepared for one of her digressions, “or does it seem weird that a bunch of straight people, let alone men – no offense, Tom – are doing the brunt of the filming and interviewing.”
The smile fell off Karen’s daydreaming face. She may or may not have been imagining Dahlia lifting a boom mic all by herself. Just slapping it over her shoulder and strutting across the atrium like a badass. Karen didn’t know if that was a proper way to carry a boom mic, but she didn’t care. Fantasies didn’t follow the rules of good handling.
“Come again?” she said.
Sissy looked askance at her. “The film crew. It’s all straight people, and dudes.”
“What are you talking about? Ms. Granger is… you think she’s straight?”
The only thing keeping that laughter in Sissy’s face was decorum. Had to be, otherwise she wouldn’t think twice about letting a cackle slap Karen on the cheek. “What? You think she’s queer? You’re kidding, right?”
“I…”
“Just because you cross this city’s limits, doesn’t make you a card-carrying member of the Rainbow Alliance.” Sissy finally let a guffaw choke her right in the throat. After she was finished covering her mouth and brushing the sounds away with her fingers, she continued, “That woman is as straight as an arrow. Even when I didn’t overhear her talking about all her male exes with one of those guys, I can tell. Really, Karen, you need a better gaydar.”
Tom looked between them, eyes widening. “Why would the mayor care if the woman is gay or not? Unless you think she’s…”
They both turned to Karen, who was blushing so hard she swore Sissy really had slapped her on the cheek. “I don’t fancy her, if that’s what you’re about to accuse me of thinking.”
“Fancy. That’s one way to put it. Come on, Karen,” Sissy settled into her seat, that smug look amusing Tom, “you’re going to deny that you have some of the hots for her?”
“Excuse me. That would be grossly inappropriate.”
“Why?” Tom asked. “It’s not like you hired her for something. She came here looking to get into our town.”
“Why? Because… well, it would simply be inappropriate. It’s a conflict of interest.”
That made both commissioners raise their eyebrows. “Explain?” Sissy said.
It took a lot to fluster Karen Rath, who often faced hard-hitting questions with the determination of a woman who had never backed down from a challenge. Yet here she was in her own mayoral office, sputtering words she didn’t know the meaning to, and swearing to God and his Holy Son that she had never, ever been attracted to a woman in her life. That was blasphemous! Everyone knew that if a mayor wasn’t already engaged or married, then she was destined to be celibate for the rest of her incumbency. That’s just how it worked.
Probably. It had been seven years. Things might have changed in the 2010s.
“I have to remain neutral, you see?” Yes, that sounded good. Surely, Sissy would understand that. “I can’t be seen paying the film crew any favors. Any favors. I’m already up to my ass in complaints.” Susie Pate counted as more than one complaint. The commissioners would understand. “If people get wind that I might ‘fancy’ the woman in charge of the cameras around town, there’s going to be hell to pay. I would greatly appreciate it if neither of my commissioners in this room spread that unfounded rumor.”
Sissy slouched as if she been told she couldn’t go to Disneyland that year. “You’re not fun, Karen. I’m poking a bit of… never mind. Honestly, you doubling-down like this only makes you look guiltier, but it’s no skin off my back.”
Yes, Karen understood how it looked when she vehemently denied an attraction to somebody like Dahlia. Great. They’re
on to me. She needed to quash any thoughts she had of Dahlia. Any that could be misconstrued as attraction.
Any thoughts at all.
As they proceeded to talk about Pride, however, Karen found it increasingly difficult to follow that manifesto.
Chapter 8
DAHLIA
Wasn’t it great when a plan started to come together? Dahlia looked upon the empty café she had reserved for the next hour. Heaven, the barista, told her she didn’t often keep the café open so late on Mondays unless there was a function going on, but when Dahlia promised her more visibility in the documentary, well… who was Heaven to tell Dahlia she couldn’t host a small interview roundtable in the café? Bonus points for her ordering a pot of coffee and a small tray of pastries. Even if her interviewees didn’t eat them, the crew could take everything back to Waterlily House and chow down for dessert.
“I would simply love it if you could join us for our roundtable about life in this town,” Dahlia said to Heaven’s girlfriend, a young woman in a canary yellow hijab. “You’re exactly the type of person we would love to get some perspective from.”
The woman mounted her hands upon her hips. “Is that so?” she cautiously asked.
“Ah, yes.” Dahlia had to think fast. “You say you moved here less than a year ago? That makes you perfect. We want a panel of recent transplants and people who are from the area.”
Heaven looked up from her scrubbing. “How about that? I grew up here. Yet I don’t recall you asking me for an interview…”
You’re getting yours later! Haven’t you gotten enough yet? Some people were insatiable when it came to fame. Not that anyone appearing on this film would be famous by any stretch of the definition.
The first invited guest to arrive apologized for being so late. Her bold and striking makeup cued Wayne to rearrange the lighting where Meadow Hobfield sat, since her large hoop earrings reflected the bar of fluorescent lighting flickering overhead. He also had to pull the camera back a little ways to frame her afro. Dahlia side-eyed him as he conspicuously did his work. Meadow merely chuckled. She suddenly didn’t seem to care about being so late anymore. Or maybe that was her realizing that, aside from Heaven’s girlfriend, she was the first one there.
Slowly, more women trickled in, each one lifting their sunglasses upon entering the dimly lit café. They said their hellos to everyone else, especially to Heaven, who perched behind her counter and watched the goings-on as if she were somehow a part of them. Of course she’s a nosy busy-body who has to know everything that’s going on in “her” town. There’s always one. Dahlia kept her back turned to Heaven so she could address her small crew and the women quickly filling up the corner tables. When Heaven’s girlfriend – Salama, was it? – finished with her chores, she took off her café apron and joined the others.
Excellent. Everything was slowly coming together. There was Meadow on the far end, her clothing, makeup, and perfume everything Dahlia conveniently associated with a stylish florist. Frankie Nicolauer from across the street looked like she’d rather be anywhere else, but after a lengthy conversation with Dahlia earlier that day, was convinced to join in on the supposed fun. Padmini Singh, the owner of the highest-rated antique shop in the area, wouldn’t stop looking at her phone until she realized the camera was rolling – that prompted her to put on a large smile and position herself so her “best” side showed. I would argue that this is not her best side. The person sitting on Padmini’s other side was someone who proclaimed herself “the only Asian in town,” which made Padmini roll her eyes. Yet Yi Chen loved to point out that she was actually born and raised in Asia, unlike Padmini, who grew up in Portland.
“I will ask any questions you’ve got.” Her slightly-accented voice dominated the conversation. “I’ve got a green card going back fifteen years. So good at English I’m a librarian. Do you know how many people in this country try to become librarians and never do it? Meanwhile, I did it!”
Whatever good humor everyone had soon disappeared. When Padmini wasn’t back on her phone or Frankie bothered to glance into the camera, Meadow and Salama were looking like they’d rather be hanging out with their girlfriends.
“We’re only waiting for one last…”
The door slammed open, bell jingling. In bounded a young woman with curly hair to rival Heaven’s and a backpack sliding off her arms. Her baggy sweatshirt did nothing to conceal the generous curves making up her young body. When she saw who else was in attendance, Anem Singer instantly shouted, “The gang’s all here!”
“Oh, no,” Frankie said with a snort. “Bad enough I’ve gotta see her at the store all the damn time.” Meadow agreed with her on that. The only one not side-eyeing Anem as she squeezed in on the far end was Salama, who offered her a small wave and a smile.
Yet Yi was not afraid to say what everyone else was thinking. “You invited the loud one?” Big of her to say when she was stuck right next to Anem. “She’ll never shut the hell up unless you tape her mouth shut. I’m always telling her to shush at the library.”
Anem could have taken offense, but she was more inclined to wrap her arm around the town librarian and say, “You’re always so funny, Ms. Chen!”
“Yes, so funny! Get off me!”
“We’re gonna need more snacks,” Heaven muttered behind Dahlia, before slithering to a back room. “I’m gonna need more snacks.”
“Ladies,” Dahlia said, once Wayne gave her the go-ahead on the camera, “I’d like to personally thank you all for taking time out of your day to come down here and have a roundtable discussion about what it’s like for you living in Paradise Valley.”
Everyone was momentarily quiet – including Anem – as they glanced at the other people at the table. Finally, Frankie spoke, as if on behalf of everyone else there. “You mean what it’s like for a non-white girl to live in a town full of white folk?”
Padmini sputtered on the coffee she had picked up. Salama let out a huge breath, relieved she didn’t have to say it. Yi fell into a fit of cackles loud enough to rouse Heaven from the back room again. The only ones not exploding in reaction were Meadow, who merely pursed her lips, and Anem, who did a double-take of the table and said, “I’m white!”
“Whatever. You’re Jewish. I’m guessing that’s why you’re here,” Frankie said. When Anem to scowled at her, Frankie continued, feigning indifference, “You’ve gathered every non-white, non-Christian or atheist in this town and stuck them in this café. Bold.” She sat back in her seat, arms crossed. “I can’t say if I admire you, or think you’re full of shit.”
Meadow shook her head so furiously that Wayne readjusted the camera one last time. “Nope. Not doing this.” She grabbed her purse and scooted out of her seat. Since she was on the end, it didn’t take much effort for her to escape the table. “I thought this was about people who weren’t from this town. Now I see why you invited me and not my girlfriend.”
Salama furrowed her brows in Dahlia’s direction. “Same. What is this really about?”
“Ladies, ladies.” Dahlia was used to conducting damage control before these roundtables ever began. People were always heated about something. Slighted. Offended. It didn’t bother her as much as it probably bothered them. Good thing she couldn’t care less about offended sensibilities. Wouldn’t be much of a filmmaker if I did. “This isn’t what it looks like. We’re not singling you out because of your ethnicity. I want to get the real story of what it’s like living here. Paradise Valley purports itself to be a sliver of paradise because of its progressive views on sexuality and gender identity, but it’s still a small Oregonian town, which are historically…”
“We don’t need your researched reminders,” Frankie said. “We know. We know plenty. Really rich coming from you, lady. Jesus, I shouldn’t be surprised that you duped me into coming here when I could be at home watching the new Avengers movie.”
“Yeah. Bye.” With another disbelieving shake of her head, Meadow strung her purse strap over her shoulder and
exited the café. The door shut with finality behind her. Sunglasses were soon back on her face as she marched down the sidewalk, never looking back.
“Hmph. Go figure.” Padmini pushed herself between the two tables that offered her a way out of there. “I’ve got more important stuff to do than rehash the same ol’ crap over and over again. I’m definitely not doing it on camera. You all have a good day.”
“Aw, man, everyone’s leaving?” Yi slumped against the table. Beside her, Frankie grabbed her jacket and laughed with mild amusement. “Not fair. I wanted a good show.”
“You knew what was going on, huh?” Salama asked her.
“So obvious, isn’t it? I see everything in the library. Saw these two,” she pointed to Dahlia and Wayne, “going around asking everyone who looks a little bit different to come down here tonight. Then they asked me! You ask me, they got a big agenda. Even if you tell them all the white lesbians threaten you every time they see you, they’re gonna pick and choose answers to make it look worse or really not as bad. That’s what film people do. They did the same thing in Taiwan whenever the Chinese film crews came down to make us look like we love China so much. Everyone does propaganda. Learn to see it better.” She said all of this while standing up and wagging her finger at Salama and Anem. Frankie didn’t need her admonishments, apparently. “In Taipei, we laugh at these people. So let’s laugh at these ones now!”
While she didn’t directly laugh in Dahlia’s face on her way out the door, the effect was felt all the same. “Well…” Dahlia began. She looked to Frankie, waiting to see if the owner of the local deli would stick around.
She didn’t.
Soon, it was down to Salama and Anem. Salama was trapped there as long as the café was open. Anem looked like she wanted to still be interviewed, but she became more visibly uncomfortable as the seconds went by. “I should probably go home, too. My parents don’t like it when I stay out past dark.”
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