Greeted by sounds of laughter drifting out the open door, I walk past a stunning, emerald green sequined dress hanging by the bookshelves. I turn to see the promised pitcher of margaritas, an empty glass awaiting my arrival, and the four women known as the Hot Flashes. They are busily checking their schedules, looking at calendars, and discussing who’s going where and when they can squeeze in another rehearsal. Delighting audiences with glamour, glitter and style, the Hot Flashes have been singing together for more than five years.
Donna, a biologist who’s traveling most of September, is creating a challenge for arranging rehearsals anytime soon. But it’s just not the same without all of them present, so they hash it out until they figure out when they can meet — to sing, choose costumes, dress up, and put on their hair, shoes and accessories, which often include dark-rimmed, pointy glasses and gloves decorated with rhinestones.
The Hot Flashes are (from left to right): Laurie Gardes, Donna Holmes Parks, Terri Grzebielski and Lois Melina.
If they ever get stuck about what to wear, Laurie, a financial manager, brings up the Excel database on her computer screen and checks their list. Who has gloves to match the short black dress with white sequined daisies? What size shoes match the long sequined gown just purchased off eBay? It’s all there, every item, over 65 sequined dresses in all, along with all their CDs, documented for easy access.
Of course getting to the appropriate closet is another thing. Lois, a writer, keeps her clothes in her downtown office; Laurie’s are stored in her attic; and Terri, a physician’s assistant, has a rental house with extra room for her dresses. Donna proudly rents a temperature-controlled storage unit from U-Haul.
Laurie’s database is helpful, but not without the individual gifts the other three Hot Flashes bring to the group. Donna is in charge of the sound system, and Terri, the choreography. Lois, the organizational force and “patter-mistress,” captures the audience and helps the group come up with one-line zingers.
Laurie pours my margarita and offers an apology because their attire isn’t quite coordinated for the interview. Laurie and Donna have one style of outfit, Terri another, and Lois yet another. I can hardly tell; they look good to me. But after I learn about the Excel database, I understand Laurie’s guilt; they could have been perfectly coordinated.
As the conversation warms up, one of them says, “We make people laugh and that’s a good feeling,” while another one adds, “And we got to meet Elvis!” What they’re talking about is their recent TV commercial, an advertisement to attract commuters to ride a local van pool. Laurie, who works for the Palouse-Clearwater Environmental Institute, the organization founded by MaryJane, sprouted the idea with one of her co-workers at a staff meeting.
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Baby, baby, don’t you drive that car.
Don’t you know this van will take you far?
Baby, baby, don’t you drive that car.
Palouse-Clearwater you trust, so ride with us.
It turned into quite the production, with Tom, PCEI’s executive director (and my husband), appearing as Elvis in the 30-second spot. Relieved that he wasn’t expected to actually sing with the lovely Flashes, Tom can’t wait to see if the number of van pool riders increases after the commercial is aired.
I show them a proof of the PCEI newsletter I brought with me, knowing they’ll want to see the photo chosen to accompany the lead article. Reading the caption, Laurie asks the group, “Do you want to be the ‘fabulous’ or ‘famous’ Hot Flashes?”
“Fabulous!” rings out from four directions.
