I feel a little silly driving the tiny U-Haul up to the big lake house, but all I really need is in the back. Actually, even the fourteen footer’s too big, but I needed the space in the back to ratchet down my bike. I might not have a Harley, actually all I’ve got is a little Honda Zoomer scooter, but it’s all I need until I can get me a truck or something more appropriate for living here in Lakeville.

The rest of my stuff is clothes (okay, okay, I’m a bit of a closet queen even if most of it is blacks and grays) and my art supplies. Three cases of photography equipment, two types of easels, paints, and a lot of canvases. Not all of them, of course, the gallery has most of the ones I’ve completed, but still a lot.

I park and get out, inhaling the sweet country air. When I was little, I’d come out here with Grandma in the summertime for only a few weeks when we could take vacation, but after she retired Grandma gave up her apartment in the city to come out here to Lakeville. This house has been in the family for… well, a long damn time. My great-grandfather built this place nearly eighty years ago I think, and since then it’s seen four generations of my family visit.

“Bet you’ve seen a lot of memories,” I tell the stairs, patting them affectionately. In what can only be called lakeside eccentric chic, the main doors to the house are on the upper floor, while the basement’s only got a narrow door to the outside, on the lake end of the structure. “Let’s hope I can make some good ones here too.”

The stairs still feel familiar even though it’s probably been nearly four years since I last climbed them. Grandma understood, and when we got together she’d come to see me in Chicago. I mean, the art world just doesn’t come to you when you’re trying to make it, and I’d already put myself at enough of a disadvantage by not trying to make it in New York or LA or London.

In fact, I’m still sort of struggling, apartments in the Windy City are a motherfucker when it comes to rent, and art supplies aren’t super cheap once you get past paint by numbers stage. Starving artist I’m not, but I’m not exactly socking it away in a 401(k) either.

Now though, this house is all mine. Grandma passed away a month ago, and thankfully it was quick, a massive stroke as she was shopping for her weekly groceries. She didn’t suffer, she didn’t have to sit in a nursing home… and she died doing what she liked, dropping while haggling with the butcher over cuts of pork. That was Grandma, the quintessential bargain hunter.

I reach the deck that surrounds the house on the second floor and walk out to the railing, noting that Grandma kept the house in good shape. The wood’s strong, and looks freshly stained. I’ll have to keep up the tradition. All those thoughts are obliterated though when I see the lake.

Technically, it’s a reservoir. Back in the Great Depression, right about the time that the government was trying to think up jobs to get people back to work, someone came up with the idea of damming the river that flowed through a valley and making a hydroelectric station. The result was the lake, sixty square miles of blue water that provides electricity for the entire county plus some, and a new town, Lakeville.

Whatever you want to call it, it’s beautiful. Even for me, a self avowed finicky artist who often finds the beauty in the darker side of life, I had my breath taken away the first time I came here, and it’s still the same. I watch as an eagle glides over the water before alighting in a tree off to my left, where there’s another house. It’s more of a cabin, and for most of the time I’ve ever been up here it’s been empty. Now though there’s someone living there, if the truck parked outside is any evidence.

I inhale deeply, relishing the clean air and soft scent of the lake, smiling as I let it out. “That’s what I need,” I say to myself. “Clean air. Chicago air’s just too dirty. Now I can get some real work done.”

Before I can get any art done though, I need to get my truck unpacked. For the next hour and a half, I carry my stuff inside, taking a little bit of time to try and find the exact spots where I want to put it. Again thankfully the house is fully equipped, although someone was up here to clean out the fridge.

“Well… if I want to eat anything besides dry pancakes, fruit salad, or Spam, I’m gonna have to make a food run,” I remind myself as I look in the kitchen. If I remember right, it was people from Grandma’s church who cleaned the place up, and I hope they put the milk and eggs to good use. “Ah well, gotta take the truck back anyhow.”

I jump into the U-Haul, leaving my little Zoomer in the back to ride back to the house afterwards. Driving into Lakeville itself, I’m reminded of a town that hasn’t quite decided to enter the twenty first century. Sure, there’s a Starbucks, but the supermarket isn’t a supercenter, the roads through town are only two lane, it’s the sort of place that adults wants to live because they want to raise a family, and the kids hate because nothing goes on here.

For me, I think it’s a little slice of retro heaven as I roll through downtown, looking for the gas station with the U-Haul sign. I find it just before the road splits back out into a real highway, and the guy inside is nice, helping me with the ramp on the truck while I roll my scooter down. I fill up my tank, and with a double beep of my horn head back towards downtown.

Deciding to skip the supermarket for a bit, I park and walk down the street to a little cafe that I remember used to serve the world’s best grilled cheese sandwich. It’s still on the menu, five different types of cheese, bacon, and more, served all on fresh baked bread. Sure, I won’t be able to eat for a week and a half if I want to keep any semblance of a figure, but right now, I don’t care.

I’m two bites into my sandwich when a throaty but pleasant voice asks behind me, “Mind if I take a seat?”

I look around, seeing a drop dead gorgeous brunette with long hair, dark eyes, and a body that I would kill to have. Her makeup accentuates her eyes, and if I had to guess I’d say she’s going for a bit of a pinup look above the shoulders. She’s dressed pretty normally, a silvery-gray sleeveless top that clings to her curves like a lover and jeans that aren’t quite painted on but certainly show that this woman’s got enough to please anyone.

“Sure,” I respond, scooting over. “I know this place gets busy.”

“That, and your boots kick some major ass,” she says, setting her plate down. “Willow Trapham, by the way.”

“Chrissy O’Hara,” I respond, shaking the offered hand. Willow’s taller than I thought at first, and she’s got pretty big hands for a woman. I can see a few locals glancing our direction as Willow settles in, adjusting her plate until her BLT is just the way she likes it. “So you’re local?”

“For the past three years,” Willow confirms with a laugh. “I moved out here after too many years in Los Angeles…  just got too goddamn tiring. It might be a way to make your name known in the industry, but I was born a country girl and I don’t need to be there all the damn time.”

“Industry?” I ask, wondering if Willow’s in movies or something. She could give Megan Fox a run for her money in looks. “What’s that?”

“Adult videos,” Willow says matter of factly. “Best pussy eater and bitchboy pegger in the biz, if I say so myself.”

I half choke on my sip of Coke and sputter, setting my glass down. I’ve been trying to make it in art for nearly a decade now, so I’ve met plenty of gay people, but… “Sorry, just you’re very… honest.”

Willow grins and takes a bite of her sandwich. “Thank you. I’ve heard that before, once in LA I even got offered a job to be a model for a swimsuit company… right up until they saw what’s on my resume.”

I can’t help it, her bald honesty makes me laugh. “I bet. So people don’t give you shit around here?”

Willow shakes her head. “Not the ones I care about at least. The others I give zero fucks for, although I’m sure a some have sneaked a few looks at my Instagram and website. The mayor around here, Dirk, he’s an old hippie who moved here to go back to the land and sort of stuck around. Next time I see him I’ll tell him to pay you a visit, give you the whole welcome to town speech. So what do you do?”

“I’m an artist,” I reply, going silent for a moment as I savor the first bite of my sandwich. “Goddamn this is better than sex.”

“You haven’t been laid in awhile I take it,” Willow teases. “I’m not saying it’s a bad sandwich, but there’s no amount of cheese and bacon that can equal a good hard pounding until your body’s in heaven.”

I hum, wishing I could argue, but the fact is it’s been a long time since I’ve had a lover. “Point taken. So you switch?”

“Top, bottom, boys, girls, black and white… I’ve worked with all of them,” Willow admits. “But on a private level, I’m into nice blue collar studs myself. So… O’Hara… you’re Winnie O’Hara’s granddaughter, right?”

“You knew Grandma?” I ask, and Willow nods.

“Not personally, but Lakeville’s one of those towns, you sort of know what most people are up to. And she used to brag about you to just about anyone who’d give her half an ear. Kept saying you were a great artist, although she never mentioned how cute you are. I’d kill to have hair like yours.”

I laugh, blushing a little. “Yeah, well premature white runs in the family and I just said fuck it, I’d rather dye it to look good before I’m forced to do it anyway. I’ll admit when you walked up I told myself I’d kill to have curves like yours.”

“Good set of Spanx and a shitload of dieting and they’re all yours,” Willow jokes. “You’ve got the DNA for the curves. Guess the silver hair’s a lot less painful. Thankfully, I’m in between shoots, so I can eat like a normal girl for a bit.”

We chat and eat our sandwiches, just talking. The connection is nearly instant, despite our lifestyle differences. But it doesn’t matter what she does to earn a paycheck, Willow’s funny and interesting, and while she’s open about her work, she’s a lot more too. “So yeah, I host a weekly podcast, do some blogging and then I go out to do scenes and shoots about every other month. A week of intense schtupping and photos, and it’s back to the boring life for me. Trust me, a week in the scene is about all I can handle nowadays, too. Too many broken ass bitches in the game nowadays.”

“Well, I’ve got a gallery show in Chicago in about six weeks,” I admit. “Think you might want to stop by?”

“For damn sure,” Willow says. “Artsy types are fun. Think I might be able to get a preview?”

“I’ve got everything but maybe one or two pieces already in Chicago, but you can come out anytime you want. You know where my house is, right?”

Willow nods, grinning and taking a sip of her tea. “Oh yeah.”

“What’s that mean?” I ask, giggling at the naughty twinkle in her eye. “Something you want to fill me in on?”

“Not really,” Willow admits, “but you’ve got some interesting neighbors. Since a lot of people talk shit about me behind my back, I won’t share any tales though. You’ll just have to find out for yourself, but you shouldn’t be bored.”

I nod, grinning. “I think I’m already not going to be bored. Say, speaking of rumors, anyone I need to keep an eye out for? Just to avoid issues?”

Willow reads my meaning, and nods. “Won’t be able to avoid her though. Bobbi Valentine is pretty much the town’s resident grapevine grower. She’s one of the cashiers at the supermarket though, so good luck trying to get your weekly cornflakes without running into her.”

I shrug, unconcerned. “If she doesn’t like silver haired goths, I guess she’ll just have to deal with it. I’m not going to change who I am for someone like that.”

“Good policy,” Willow says. “Well, I gotta run, I’ve got a hair appointment in ten minutes. I like to change colors from time to time. Hey, got your phone on you?”

We swap numbers, and Willow offers her hand again. Despite the brazen up front attitude about her work, there’s nothing about her that’s in any way uncool, and I can’t help but think of her as my newest girlfriend. “It was fun to meet you, Willow. Let’s get together soon.”

“Damn right, honey. You can show me how you do the goth makeup without looking all depressing. I’d love to learn how,” Willow says, giving me a wink. “Gotta be… versatile. Laters.”

She walks off, hips swishing back and forth, and I do notice a few guys checking her out as she leaves the cafe. I smirk, and take a deep breath, relaxing.

Looks like I’ve got a good reintroduction to Lakeville.