They reminisced, ate, drank, and watched the sun go down over Lake Manitou.
It was late July. Something about that time of year here let you know that things were fleeting. That summer was exiting faster than it entered. And you better squeeze every drop of sunlight out of the days. Maybe it was a Michigan thing. In California, July didn’t produce fear that the sunny days were on the way out. Maybe in Michigan, scarcity made you better appreciate days like today.
“So, what’s on the menu this week,” Libby asked Hope.
“Ah, about that, I don’t think we can open until Saturday.”
“Why?”
“The server issue, I’m down to two right now. We’re just not getting the customers to sustain them. Tips are their livelihood, you know?”
“Shoot, if I could just figure out how to pump up the eyeballs.”
“Isn’t North of Nash next week? My son’s a big fan. That ought to be a boon,” Joe said.
“What’s North of Nash?” Goldie asked.
“For the past few years, there’s this gigantic country music festival at the racetrack. I mean massive,” J.J. explained.
“If a tiny fraction, a tiny fraction of a fraction of that crowd came over to Irish Hills, that would make a nice impact. Which might work for next year, but this year I didn’t have lodging to offer or even a restaurant until a few weeks ago. So, well, I couldn’t really lure anyone.”
“You’ve done so much, so fast. We’ll survive the summer and plan for next, when we blow it out of the water,” J.J. said.
But Hope looked more sheepish and less confident. If she didn’t have a staff, she didn’t have a restaurant. Judging by the food that Hope had served tonight, the restaurant was probably amazing.
“Ugh, we shouldn’t have hid me. I should have put a flag hat on and said come and get me, I’ll be at the Green Street stop light.” Goldie wanted to help, but she didn’t want to be the subject of any more flying water bottles.
“We know your Hollywood people sold you out. Irish Hills will not get it,” J.J. said.
“Exactly,” Libby said.
J.J. squeezed Goldie’s shoulder.
But Goldie could see the worry in all their eyes. They had a mission to save Irish Hills. It was important to them. But they hadn’t given her up to accomplish it.
Goldie would figure out something to pay them back.
The next day she checked to make sure her little publicity stunt had worked.
“Well, you’ve created a mystery. Nice job.”
Hedda had called her this time. There were no script offers or event requests in her inbox. But the press inquiries were tenfold, according to Tally.
Goldie was in demand. At least, an interview with her was a hot ticket. No one was brave enough to cast her while she was on the outs with the Victor Superhero Universe machine. But she’d scored a little victory of her own.
“Thank you. Now, about managing the next phase of my career. I’m willing to listen to your pitch.”
“I don’t have the pitch for you yet. I think your current strategy of staying under wraps is still a good one. And you’re currently not on my roster. Don’t forget, I need the boys who run the VSU happy, too. It’s their town right now.”
Goldie ignored the fact that Hedda hadn’t agreed to represent her. She was still somewhat shocked to be in this position at this stage of her career. But nevertheless, Hedda was giving her advice, inching closer with each phone call to making it official.
“I’ve got some very quiet meetings going on here. It’s time I took control of my projects. Like Reece does, if you want to be on board with that kind of vision. I’d consider it.”
“Ha, interesting. I do have some good news. Your old friend Tommy, the DP on that picture, let me know that what they saw of Trevor’s footage, it was shaping up to be a cacophonous mess.”
“That tracks, shooting it was a cacophonous mess.”
“I haven’t seen anything with you in it, so that’s good news. No matter what Trevor says about you, it would be quite a trick to mess up the scenes you weren’t even in.”
