on eBay? Or give a copy of the most provocative scenes to a tabloid like the
National Voice
?
Cosmo flipped through it. It was the story of Jack Shelton and Harold “Hal” Lord, two young American soldiers who met in Paris in early 1945, toward the end of World War II.
Hal was already a highly decorated war hero, and because he spoke fluent German, he volunteered to be part of an Allied team determined to find out whether Hitler’s scientists had succeeded in creating an atomic bomb. The movie alleged that Hal Lord was gay, but in total denial. He was not just in the closet, but he was sitting so far in the back with his eyes shut, he couldn’t even see the door.
Until Jack Shelton made the scene.
Jack was as openly, cheerfully gay as a young man could be back in 1945. He was a member of the Twenty-third Special Combat Group, and he was assisting a Hollywood costume designer who’d been brought in from London to create authentic-looking Nazi uniforms for Hal’s Allied team to wear on their trek behind enemy lines.
It was apparently love at first sight, which terrified Hal. Bringing his gay lover home with him after the war was not an option for a man whose father wasn’t exactly known as Judge Tolerance and who also just happened to be the leader of his local KKK.
In Hal’s opinion, he had no other choice but to get himself killed in the war.
The screenplay also included the story of the more traditional romance between real-life Oscar-winning costumer designer Virginia Simone and Hal’s team leader, Major Milton Monroe. From the looks of the gruffly spare dialogue and the physical description of the major with his Bronx accent, Mercedes had written the part of the major for Humphrey Bogart.
Or maybe Spencer Tracy. It was obvious she was a fan of Hollywood’s golden era, which was a point in her favor.
“Hal’s own granddaughter has given our movie her blessing,” Mercedes pointed out. “If you’re looking for the sex, the first gay love scene isn’t until page seventy-two.”
Cos looked up, directly into her eyes, which were a remarkably pretty color. She was talking to him. She thought he was flipping though, looking for . . .
“The hetero couple doesn’t get it on until close to the end of the movie, either—page seventy-nine,” she continued. “I think you’ll find it’s all tastefully done. We fade to black in both of the subplots. We’ve been very up-front about that, so I’m not sure why all those Internet crazies have their panties in a twist.”
“I wasn’t—” he started to say, but her attention was already back on Cassidy. Fine. Let her think whatever she wanted to think.
“The Freedom Network’s not too happy with Hal’s granddaughter right now, either,” Jules reported. “She’s gone overseas—she’s going to keep a low profile for a while. I would recommend—”
“No.” Mercedes cut him off, steel in her voice. “Not an option. I’m not going to hide. I have a movie to make, a schedule to meet.”
“Jane—” her brother started to say, but she hushed him.
She did, however, soften her tone. She even managed a smile. “Can we back up a bit? You said earlier that these Freedom people—all mega-thousands of them—have these weekend get-togethers up in . . . in . . . Monkey-Fuck, Idaho, where they sit around a campfire . . . Doing what? Reciting eighty-seven-verse epic poems lauding the glory that was Chester ‘Baby Lyncher’ Lord?”
“Well, we’re not exactly sure what they do during their retreats,” Jules told her. He was trying to keep this serious, but Cosmo could tell that “Monkey-Fuck” had him biting the insides of his cheeks. “They’re pretty adamant about not letting outsiders into their inner circle. Still, whatever they do up there, we think it probably has more to do with firearms than poetry.”
“But whatever they’re doing, they’re doing it in Idaho, right?” she asked. “So I should be okay as long as I stay in
National Voice
?
Cosmo flipped through it. It was the story of Jack Shelton and Harold “Hal” Lord, two young American soldiers who met in Paris in early 1945, toward the end of World War II.
Hal was already a highly decorated war hero, and because he spoke fluent German, he volunteered to be part of an Allied team determined to find out whether Hitler’s scientists had succeeded in creating an atomic bomb. The movie alleged that Hal Lord was gay, but in total denial. He was not just in the closet, but he was sitting so far in the back with his eyes shut, he couldn’t even see the door.
Until Jack Shelton made the scene.
Jack was as openly, cheerfully gay as a young man could be back in 1945. He was a member of the Twenty-third Special Combat Group, and he was assisting a Hollywood costume designer who’d been brought in from London to create authentic-looking Nazi uniforms for Hal’s Allied team to wear on their trek behind enemy lines.
It was apparently love at first sight, which terrified Hal. Bringing his gay lover home with him after the war was not an option for a man whose father wasn’t exactly known as Judge Tolerance and who also just happened to be the leader of his local KKK.
In Hal’s opinion, he had no other choice but to get himself killed in the war.
The screenplay also included the story of the more traditional romance between real-life Oscar-winning costumer designer Virginia Simone and Hal’s team leader, Major Milton Monroe. From the looks of the gruffly spare dialogue and the physical description of the major with his Bronx accent, Mercedes had written the part of the major for Humphrey Bogart.
Or maybe Spencer Tracy. It was obvious she was a fan of Hollywood’s golden era, which was a point in her favor.
“Hal’s own granddaughter has given our movie her blessing,” Mercedes pointed out. “If you’re looking for the sex, the first gay love scene isn’t until page seventy-two.”
Cos looked up, directly into her eyes, which were a remarkably pretty color. She was talking to him. She thought he was flipping though, looking for . . .
“The hetero couple doesn’t get it on until close to the end of the movie, either—page seventy-nine,” she continued. “I think you’ll find it’s all tastefully done. We fade to black in both of the subplots. We’ve been very up-front about that, so I’m not sure why all those Internet crazies have their panties in a twist.”
“I wasn’t—” he started to say, but her attention was already back on Cassidy. Fine. Let her think whatever she wanted to think.
“The Freedom Network’s not too happy with Hal’s granddaughter right now, either,” Jules reported. “She’s gone overseas—she’s going to keep a low profile for a while. I would recommend—”
“No.” Mercedes cut him off, steel in her voice. “Not an option. I’m not going to hide. I have a movie to make, a schedule to meet.”
“Jane—” her brother started to say, but she hushed him.
She did, however, soften her tone. She even managed a smile. “Can we back up a bit? You said earlier that these Freedom people—all mega-thousands of them—have these weekend get-togethers up in . . . in . . . Monkey-Fuck, Idaho, where they sit around a campfire . . . Doing what? Reciting eighty-seven-verse epic poems lauding the glory that was Chester ‘Baby Lyncher’ Lord?”
“Well, we’re not exactly sure what they do during their retreats,” Jules told her. He was trying to keep this serious, but Cosmo could tell that “Monkey-Fuck” had him biting the insides of his cheeks. “They’re pretty adamant about not letting outsiders into their inner circle. Still, whatever they do up there, we think it probably has more to do with firearms than poetry.”
“But whatever they’re doing, they’re doing it in Idaho, right?” she asked. “So I should be okay as long as I stay in
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