| Wes Boyd's Spearfish Lake Tales Contemporary Mainstream Books and Serials Online |
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| Wes Boyd's Spearfish Lake Tales Contemporary Mainstream Books and Serials Online |
Though Blake was gay, watching Jenny while she was shooting the climactic sex scene with Richard Riley got to him a little. As usual, they had to shoot the scene over and over and over, and watching Jenny and Riley caress each other and roll around in the bed perked up an interest he wasn’t sure how to handle.
He wondered a little how Jenny would have made out in the scene if she hadn’t been brought up as a nudist. Though the American version of the film would be carefully cut to avoid showing Jenny’s bare breasts, they were also shooting the European version that afternoon. Though the American viewer in the theater wouldn’t see much more than Jenny’s bare back and the top of her bare butt, the crew in the studio was seeing a whole lot more.
Jenny was really composed, and really into her character, he thought. Even he found it hard to tell that Jenny had little serious interest in the scene, although he knew it was the case. The same couldn’t be said for Riley; Jenny was getting to him before the afternoon was over with, and the scenes kept getting more passionate. If Jenny were anyone else, I might not be taking her home tonight, Blake thought to himself.
"OK, cut," the director called finally. "That’s a wrap for today."
If Riley thought he didn’t quite want to quit yet, he wasn’t given any choice. He soon found himself being supported by thin air as Jenny swung out of bed. "You think you shot this damn scene enough?" she said to the director.
"Well, it’s one of the pivotal scenes," the director said, fading for the back of the studio. Blake could pick up on Jenny’s disgust with him as she headed for her own dressing room, wearing only panties, leaving Riley without a chance to get a word in edgewise.
In a few minutes, she was back, wearing jeans and a blouse. "Come on, Blake," she said. "Let’s get out of here. I’ve had enough of this place for today."
It was the first time that Blake had seen Jenny really upset in months, but he thought he knew why: they had shot the scene over and over and over, each time trying to get it a little dirtier. "Pivotal scene, my ass," Jenny said as soon as they were in the car. "Simple gratuitous sex, just to punch the damn turkey up to make it deserve an ‘R’ rating. That goddamn Riley smells like a goat, and he’s about as horny."
"I did think they overdid it a little," Blake commented neutrally.
"I don’t know why these sons of bitches think they’ve got to have an ‘R’ rating to make money," Jenny continued her tirade. "It’s a proven fact that good ‘G’ rated movies make out like bandits. People still like to take their kids to movies. There’s nothing in this story line that needs a scene like that. A chaste kiss under an apple tree, the way they did it back in the thirties and forties, conveys every bit as much message as having Riley paw me all afternoon. Why the hell don’t they make movies like that anymore?"
"Disney does," Blake commented.
"And Disney makes out like a bandit," Jenny said. "That proves my point. And even they’re starting to miss the point a little. Why take a perfectly good story, add blood and guts and sex and dirty it up unnecessarily? Hell, I could make a better movie than that, and make more money."
"Maybe you ought to," Blake said. "There’s no reason you couldn’t produce your own movie. Maybe even direct it, like Streisand."
"I know for sure I could do a better job of directing than that idiot," Jenny went on. "I’m not a sicko like that bastard. That’s the last time I’m doing a movie with him, no matter what Knox comes up with, and that’s the last time I do a movie like that, no matter how much money is involved. I don’t need the money, and I don’t need the aggravation. Why the hell can’t someone come up with a good action-adventure script that isn’t blood, guts, and sex? You don’t need them to get an audience on the edge of their seats. Maybe I’ll just stick to doing rock videos, although some of them are getting pretty bad, too."
"You don’t have to lecture me," Blake said. "I agree with you a hundred percent. But, they don’t write scripts like that. Somebody tries to write a clean film, and it doesn’t get out of square one. I know; I tried to be a script writer, but start with a decent script, and they keep punching it up, and soon you’re looking at an "R" rating.
"The beauty of the whole thing," Jenny smiled, "is that I don’t have to do another one like that. I mean, with this one, my sentence is over, and I don’t have to do another one if I don’t want to."
That was a better mood, Blake thought. This was a healthy mad for her, and she seemed to be getting over it. And you couldn’t blame her for being mad, after all.
"That’s true," Blake said. "Knox will have other ideas, though."
"Fuck Knox. He’s the one who talked me into this turkey, anyway."
"Thanks, I’d rather not, either," Blake said. "I mean, I may be gay, but I’m not that desperate."
Jenny laughed at that one. "Let’s not be in any big hurry," she said, "but with all the reading you’re doing, why don’t you keep your eyes open for a story that might be something like what we’re talking about? Maybe try a quick treatment? If it looks like it could be something, maybe I could take an option on it."
"Probably about done reading for a while," Blake said. "You’ve only got about a week to go on this movie, and then there’s the tour, and then Spearfish Lake."
"There’s no hurry on it," Jenny said. "I don’t even really want to start thinking about it for a while. But, there is something that we do have to think about. We both need costumes for the Halloween Party in Spearfish Lake, and that’s something I want you to pull together before we take off on the tour."
"I don’t have to go with you to the party," Blake said.
"I want you to," Jenny said. "It’s a good way to get to know Spearfish Lake, and some of the people. I haven’t been to one in three years now, and I’ve always been sorry I’ve had to miss them. It’ll be good to make this one. It’ll make me feel like I’m coming home."
"Well, I suppose."
"Look, you’re not going as my bodyguard, you’re going as my friend," Jenny said. "I don’t want you to feel like a stranger when we move back there."
"I’ll do what you want," Blake said. Besides, her mood was so much better now that he didn’t want to argue. "What do you want to do for a costume? Something Halloweeny?"
"Let’s not get too far out," Jenny said. "There’ll be plenty of far out costumes there. I mean, with all the costuming talent in this town, we could come up with something that would blow people away, but I don’t want to overshadow people by doing that. Just something that’s recognizably a costume, but one where I still look like me. Nothing too sexy, either."
"That might not be too hard," Blake said. "Look, while you’re shooting tomorrow, I’ll talk to a guy I know in wardrobe. He’ll probably have better ideas than I would."
Jackie was already in bed, sitting up and reading a book when she heard the pickup drive in. It was late, and even though it would take a few minutes to get the dogs staked out, she expected that Mark would be in before long.
After a while, she heard Mike’s Rabbit start up, and a few seconds later, she heard Mark come in, and come right up the stairs. "How did it go?" she asked.
"Pretty good," he told her as he stopped off at the bedroom door. "Mike’s really one happy camper tonight. I’m going to get a shower, then I’m going to be right in."
In a moment, she could hear Mark singing in the shower; in a few minutes, he joined her in bed. "What kept you guys so late?" she asked as she put down her book and turned off the light.
"We figured that as long as we were out at the course, we might as well try running the dogs at night in strange country," Mark said. "It went pretty well."
"What’s Mike so happy about?" she said as she slid down in bed and snuggled up next to her husband, resting her head on his shoulder, with his arm around her.
"We ran Ringo in single lead all evening, and George in wheel. About the only thing that went wrong is that Cumulus isn’t too crazy about running in swing, so finally, we took out all the older dogs and put them back in the truck, and spent the evening working with just the five Beatle Hounds."
"It went well?"
"It went great," Mark said, "considering that Ringo doesn’t have Cumulus’ experience. You don’t want to give him a come gee or come haw, because he’ll turn on a dime, and you get the damndest knot of dogs and lines you ever saw, but I think we can train him out of it. He does take commands well, maybe even better than Cumulus, and he’s fine on trails, but get him out in the open, and you have to steer him. He’s still a little unsure of himself, but that’ll come out in time. That was a good idea on Mike’s part."
"What was that?"
"Taking Ringo out every evening and giving him obedience-school-type training. That dog needs more people contact than other dogs, and the sit and heel and stay and commands like that have given Ringo the confidence to follow instructions, anyway. He’s going to make a good leader."
"Is that why Mike is so happy?" Jackie said, rolling a little to put an arm over her husband’s chest. She had an activity in mind that didn’t involve dogs, but knew that Mark would have to talk his way out of the evening before they could start in on it.
"Because now that we’ve got two leaders, we can run with two teams," he said. "Before much longer, we want to move the other Beatle Hounds down to Mike’s place for the winter. He doesn’t want to mess around with buying a snow machine and is going to try to make do with just the dogs."
"I can just see him driving the dog team to work, and having the dogs staked out in back of the Record-Herald all day," Jackie laughed.
"Well, we’re kind of hoping that he won’t have to do that much," Mark said. "Those columns he wrote about the Road Commission seem to have gotten their attention."
"Yeah," Jackie said. "It’s really nice to have the road graded this time of year. I just hope it lasts."
"Mike said that if it doesn’t, he’ll run a picture of the dog team tied to parking meters on Main Street, and say it’s because the Road Commission can’t get off their dead asses," Mark laughed. "That may rattle their chains a bit."
"If we even get plowed out a couple days after a storm, it’ll be a big improvement," Jackie said. "They’ve been real good neighbors. I’ve enjoyed getting to know Kirsten again. She left Susan with me for a while when she went to town today, and she’s a real sweet baby. She’s got me to thinking about whether we might want to have one of our own, after all."
Mark squeezed Jackie tighter. "It’s like I told you long ago," he said. "It’s your decision, and the question we have to ask is whether your concerns are still valid."
"I’m not as worried about them as I once was," Jackie admitted. "The thing is, I’m not getting any younger, and if we’re going to do it, we’re going to have to do it pretty soon, like maybe the next couple of years."
"If you want to, that’s fine with me," Mark reiterated. "But, I agree, I’m not getting any younger, either."
"It’s a month before we can even get started," Jackie said. "That’ll give us some time to think. We don’t even have to do it then. We could take all winter to think about it."
"Well, let’s think about it, then," Mark said. They had been wrangling about babies for over fifteen years, and were no closer to a conclusion than when they started. He changed the subject. "You have any thoughts about going to this Halloween Party? Mike jumped me about it again."
"If we’re going to this party, have you got any idea of what we’re going to do for costumes?" she said. They had never been to one of the Halloween parties at the West Turtle Lake Club, although there had been offers a couple times over the years. However, once they’d thought it over, this invitation had been almost impossible to turn down, so even though they weren’t really party people they’d finally decided to go.
"Nothing," Mark said. "I’m at a loss. I guess I just don’t think that way."
Costumes were a problem they had discussed before. "You could go as a dog musher," Jackie suggested.
"There’s no way in hell I’m going to wear mukluks and a parky all evening," Mark protested. "I’d roast. How about you?"
"I haven’t got the foggiest notion," she admitted.
"Well, we’re going just to please Mike and Kirsten, after all," Mark said. "There’s no need to get too elaborate. Like, maybe you could go as a basketball player. You’re tall enough, that’s not out of line. Maybe we could even borrow a uniform from the school."
"I never played basketball when I was in school," Jackie protested. "I was still too clumsy then."
"Yeah, but how many times did they bug you about playing basketball?"
"It might work," Jackie said. "Let’s think of something for you."
"That’s a stumper," Mark admitted.
"I talked to Kirsten about it yesterday," Jackie said. "She says it’s always tough for her, too. She says that the only advice she has that always has worked for her is to be what you always wanted to be."
They laid back and kissed for a while, and the kissing led elsewhere. Some time afterward, exhausted from their exertions, and cuddling to relax, an idea came to Jackie: "You wanted to be a fighter pilot once, didn’t you? Do that."
"Yeah," Mark said as the thought immediately took hold. "Maybe a World War I fighter pilot. You know, long white scarf, leather jacket, flying cap. That might work."
"Even better," Jackie smirked, "a German World War I fighter pilot. Gray puttees, peaked hat, monocle. You could be the Red Baron."
"Yeah," Mark said, "but I always wanted to fly jets."
"Perfect," Jackie said. The vision struck both of them hard, and their ideas piled one on top of another:
"Motorcycle helmet . . .
"Bet we could get Johnny’s old one . . .
"Do we still have that face mask from the oxygen system we tore out of the 1-26 . . . "
"Those custom aviator sunglasses . . . "
"You can buy flight jackets Air Force surplus, but they’re awful expensive . . . "
"What can we do for a G-suit? We’d have to fake one somehow . . . "
"I think I saw your old combat boots up in the attic . . . "
"I always knew there was a use for the parachute in the 1-26, other than to just sit on . . . "
"It’s getting due for repacking, anyway . . . "
Finally the flow of ideas wound down. They lay there, visualizing the costume. It would work. "One thing’s for sure," Mark commented, "if we get invited again, there’s a theme that we can draw on for years."
"The hell with basketball," Jackie said. "I think I’ll go as the Red Baron."
The phone rang on Jack Musgrave’s desk. He put his feet down and leaned forward to pick it up. "Waste Water Treatment Plant," he answered.
"How’s it going, Jack?" the voice in the phone said. Jack realized it was Don Kutzley he was talking to.
"Pretty good," he said. "Plant’s running smooth, right now."
"You got a few minutes so we can go someplace and talk?"
"Sure, Gary’s here, he can keep an eye on things," Jack said. "I’ll be right up."
"Not here," Don said. "Let’s go someplace. I’ll come down and pick you up."
"Whatever you say, Chief," Jack said, wondering what was up. "I’ll be here."
A few minutes later, Musgrave was standing outside when Kutzley drove up in his recycled police car. Jack got in the right side, and Don started out of town. "Who have you been talking to about the retention pond?" Kutzley asked.
"I haven’t talked to anybody, except the engineers," Musgrave said.
"Well, I just got off the phone with Mike McMahon," Don said. "He said someone he knows saw you with that crew taking soil borings out off of 427, and he wondered what the hell was going on."
"I didn’t tell anybody outside of the engineers," Jack reiterated.
"Mike smells something, I can tell you that," Don said.
"He’s going to smell quite a bit," Jack said. "That area down the hill from his house, towards the state road, is the best site they’ve found for the retention pond."
"I don’t want to have him on my case," Don said. "Jesus, he got the manager of the road commission fired after that series of columns he wrote on how they’re wasting money, and I know for a fact the real reason he was pissed off with the road commission is that they didn’t grade the road past his house."
"Hey," Jack said, "You’ve got to figure that he’s going to find out sooner or later."
"The later, the better," Don said. "The closer this thing is to a done deal, the less time he’ll have to react. I don’t want to have to go through with it at all, but if we don’t get some sort of a ruling or waiver or something from the EPA, say by the end of the year, we’re going to have to do something. Either go through with the separation project, or the retention pond, so we’ve got to have both the projects pretty well pulled together, pretty soon."
Jack realized that was the direction Kutzley was driving – the possible site of the retention pond. "Have you got a report back from the engineers yet?" he asked.
"Yeah, it came in the mail this morning. Something like five and a half to six million."
"That’s a million more than the separation," Jack observed.
"Yeah, every penny of it. Just from a cost viewpoint, I’d rather we went through with the separation, but I don’t know if we’re going to be allowed to, not while the EPA and the Fish and Wildlife Service are trading memos and not making any decisions. The thing is, we can probably go ahead with the retention pond, but not without a lot of flak from McMahon."
"It’ll be more than flak," Jack replied. "You must not have looked at the plat out there very closely."
"What do you mean?"
"Of the site, about two thirds of it is owned by Binky Augsberg," Jack said. "Mike owns the other third."
"Jesus, you’re just full of good news, today, aren’t you? We could get it through eminent domain, I suppose."
"Not without a fight," Musgrave said. "I don’t think Mike has a lot of money, but he’s good friends with Colonel Matson, and he’s not exactly your greatest fan. He could keep this tied up with lawyers for years, if he’s of a mind to."
"Why the hell is it," Kutzley asked, "there’s only the one site within miles where we’ve got enough clay to be able to come up with a good seal for the retention pond, and it’s the one site that will get both the local newspaper and the local moneybags pissed off at us?"
"It wouldn’t be a heck of a lot more expensive to build it out back of the plywood plant," Jack said. "True, it’s more work, but I think Clark would go along. He’s kind of between a rock and a hard spot, as the mayor."
"It’s only about a million and a half more expensive," Don said. "Somehow, this lousy snake has turned a three million-dollar project into a seven and a half million-dollar project."
"It’d be cheaper to operate in the long run," Jack said. "It costs money to be able to pump that far, with the kind of volume we’re talking about. There isn’t exactly a lot of fall, and you’d have to pump it back from the 427 site, too."
"It’d take a long time to go through a million and a half dollars worth of electricity," Don said. "You got to figure that end of it, too."
"I guess it’s going to be up to council," Jack said. "Have you talked to any of them, yet?"
"No," Don admitted as he drove by the corner to County Road 427; he didn’t want anybody to notice them driving by to take a look at the site. "I told them that we’re exploring some alternatives, but I haven’t been any more specific than that. I know damn well that if I tell them anything too specific yet, it’ll be to McMahon before I could say ‘shit.’"
"You’re not planning on bringing it up tomorrow night?"
"Not hardly. McMahon will be there, and Heather Sanford will be there, too, and that would really let the cat out of the bag. I thought of pulling an executive session, under the real estate transfers clause, but that won’t keep the secret. The heck of it is, there’s a good chance the Fish and Wildlife Service will cave in to the EPA, at least that’s what Blackbarn thinks. If that happens, we’re going to have Heather Sanford and the Defenders of Gaea on us so quick it won’t be funny."
"You know, maybe we’re rushing into this," Jack said. "Maybe we ought to just sit back and let the situation develop a little. After all, we’ve had a fairly dry year. We’ve only overflowed six days. If we have a dry year next year, we might get out of it with only having to pay maybe sixty or eighty thousand dollars in fines. We can absorb that into operating costs for a year, if we had to."
"Yeah, and if we get a wet one, then we could be eating a quarter of a million bucks, too. I think the EPA will cut us some slack if they see that we’re working on the problem, but they’re not likely to if we’re just sitting and waiting to see what’s happening. They can still say that we have to protect the snake, and still not allow overflows, and then we’re into the real problems." There was a corner coming up; Don used it to turn around to head back toward town.
"It’s a mess, all right," Musgrave said.
"Yeah, a tough one," Kutzley said. "Don’t get me wrong. The retention pond is a good idea, and it may save our asses yet. I’m just not real anxious to pay the price to go that route if we don’t have to. Who knows? With a million and a half bucks worth of taxpayers’ money riding on the deal, maybe McMahon won’t feel like he has too much room to bitch. I mean, let him see what it’s like to have the shoe on the other foot."
"You’d better plan on having a solid gold backup ready to roll if he decides he wants to fight," Jack suggested. "If he does decide to fight, then you’re in trouble."
"The hell of it is, when you get right down to it," Kutzley said, "this whole deal rides on that one snake, which may or may not be a Gibson’s water snake, and if it is, there might not even be any more of them left."
"Yeah, one lousy snake," Jack agreed. "Think how much simpler things would have been if Mike’s wife had just flushed the goddamn thing back down the toilet."
