Chase Banter [02] Marching to a Different Accordion (12 page)

“Well, moving right along,” Lily said. She dabbed her forehead with a white linen hanky. “It’s Marsha’s turn.”

Marsha colored a little and then spoke. “This one is for Alma.”

Alma looked up from her notebook. “A philosophical question—how nice.”

Marsha looked uncertainly at Lily.

“How could yours be any worse than we’ve already had?” Lily said, shaking her head.

“Go ahead, Marsha,” Alma coached.

“Well, it just seems that lesbian culture has waned—what used to be their invisibility was eradicated by a sort of feminist outing of crones, separatists and ardent women fighting for their right to be recognized and that now all that movement has seemed to get for women was more work—they are still bearing children and cleaning the house and, in addition, expected to pull in half the family income. The separatists have seemingly disappeared, crones are in rest homes playing bingo and lesbians are buried under the dross of ‘hot,’ their whole sense of being tied up in acting out sex scenes for both straight and gay audiences. I mean, is all the culture tied up with the Dinah Shore weekend?”

They all looked at her astonished, none more than Sandra perhaps. “What the hell! Where’d you get all the info?”

“I researched it,” Marsha said proudly.

Alma looked thoughtful. “Yes.”

They all turned to look at her. “What do you mean?” Delia said.

“Yes, Marsha is quite correct—from what I know. I will turn to the rest of the panel for their opinion,” Alma said.

Even Bo seemed to ponder the question, Chase observed, or he was doing a pretty good job of looking like it.

The Sacred Muse of the Divine Vulva appeared and whispered in Chase’s ear. “See, you going off to Commercial Land is like leaving the island of Lesbos in exile. We can’t keep losing our talent.” She looked pleadingly at Chase.

“I think that Lesbian Culture
has
lost its way,” Chase said. “We no longer have a cohesive center and have now become a trophy at suburban dinner parties of the caliber of ‘Oh, we know a lesbian couple and they’re perfectly nice—and their decorating skills—to die for.’ Oh, don’t forget they are a hard-working bunch of overachievers.” Vulva beamed.

“Because we FEEL the need to make up for the one thing we can’t change about ourselves—that we are gay,” Jasmine screamed. “This whole fucking attitude drives me up the wall.”

“Better watch that or you’ll end up in SUP class,” Delia said. “But I feel your pain, sister,” she said, sticking out her fist so she could bump knuckles with Jasmine.

Lily clapped. “Now this kind of stuff will delight your audience. Yes, you are a downtrodden people, yes, you are the Bollywood imitations, yes, you are the indigenous peoples brought into the throng so that you will lose yourselves in a swirl of Othellian possession without love—always the outsider awaiting entrance, knowing this is your due—and yet never allowed in the front hall but only at the kitchen door.”

“We’re still better decorators,” Bo said.

“You are a simply amazing woman. Can we have lunch?” Alma asked Lily.

“I’d love to. Now, let’s go have a margarita and toast Marsha for bringing out the best in us all,” Lily said, getting up.

“Can we do that?” Isabel asked.

“It’s not an AA meeting despite the furniture,” Chase said.

“Of course we can. We are free peoples,” Lily said, happily leading them out.

Pale priest

Of the mute people.—R. Browning

“Can I go get the mail?” Graciela asked, as she rifled through the key rack by the kitchen door. She was dressed in camouflage pants and a black tight-fitting T-shirt.

She hardly looked like a successful realtor. Rather she resembled a mercenary, Chase thought. Great, the neighbors will love that. Instead of seeing us as we are, two sedate women with one child, living quietly in a hard-won garden paradise, they’ll think we’ve finally resorted to establishing that lesbian paramilitary training center they were worried about.

That had been one of the scenarios the “neighbors” had entertained about them when they moved out to Bum Fuck Egypt as Lacey referred to it or, as Chase saw it, a piece of property nestled in the mountains just outside of Albuquerque—along with rumors of a separatist commune and an art colony specializing in Fiesta Ware. Everything related to stereotypical lesbianism had been explored, it seems. It hadn’t helped, of course, that Graciela had enlisted several of her friends to help them move and they’d all dressed in combat gear. Nor had it helped that she had announced their arrival by hoisting a rainbow flag atop the studio that Chase, who’d been embroiled in unpacking, hadn’t noticed for several days. Chase had been furious about the flag, but Graciela had only laughed. “We were just claiming the place for you. This is now officially lesbian ground.”

“Tell me again why you’re here?” Chase looked up from her notes. This panel thing was taking up way too much time. She shoved the notes away. She’d just have to wing it. Besides she was already behind on her third novel in the mystery series, as her muse, Commercial Endeavor, was constantly reminding her. The lesbian novel, on the other hand, was coming along nicely, much to the delight of the Sacred Muse of the Divine Vulva.

“To see my beloved niece and my beautiful sister—and you too,” Graciela said, gleefully clutching the mailbox key.

Bud coughed. Chase leaped up and grabbed a tongue depressor from the emergency medical kit she kept at the ready. “You’ve got a cough. I hope it’s not strep.”

“ON, on,” Bud said, pushing her back. “Suoitecsaf.”

“Jesus, that’s a word,” Graciela said.

 For some uncanny reason, Graciela was one of the few other people who could instantly translate Bud’s speech.

“She’s got a collection of dictionaries. She probably has a better vocabulary than the average high school senior,” Chase said, not without a little pride.

“Yeah, but what’s it going to take to squeeze it out of you,” Graciela said, plucking Bud off the kitchen stool and squeezing her until she squealed with delight.

“Don’t do that. You could burst her spleen.”

“You’ve got to stop worrying. You’ll curse us all with the horrors you imagine,” Graciela said, setting Bud back down.

This had occurred to Chase, who was bipolar with a little OCD mixed in, all of which served to make her irrationally superstitious.

Addison came in the kitchen door with the dogs. “Don’t talk to her like that. You know how paranoid she gets about bad luck tied to her cycles and rituals.”

Chase pursed her lips. “I don’t like being referred to in the third person either.”

Addison bowed her head in acquiescence. “I stand corrected. I must be growing up. I’m behaving like the rest of you.”

“Not like me. I only play at grown-up,” Graciela said.

“Prove it,” Addison replied.

“Do you have boobs yet?” Graciela said.

Addison looked genuinely astonished. She glanced down as if she half expected a set of double D’s to have appeared on her chest.

“I think she just acted like a twelve-year-old boy,” Chase said.

Graciela buffed her knuckles on her chest.

“You win. It doesn’t hurt, does it? They don’t really say anything about it in the books or on the Internet,” Addison said. She glanced at Bud, who’d picked up the mailbox key and was palming it, making it disappear and reappear.

“Does what hurt?” Chase asked, genuinely confused. “And when did she learn to do that?” she said, pointing at Bud.

“Getting boobs, and I bought her a magic book at Borders because she decided after growing up and becoming a virologist she wants to become a magician. She thinks it’ll be a good hobby for her retirement,” Addison said.

Chase put her head in her hands. Bud used this as an opportunity to pull a scarf out of Chase’s ear.

“How cool is that!” Graciela said, clapping her hands.

Addison patted Chase’s shoulder. “She can’t help it if she’s an exceptional child. Remember, I used to make you nervous.”

“No, it doesn’t hurt when you get boobs and you’re brilliant, but you’re not nearly as eccentric as Bud.”

Bud had left and returned with a small box. She pointed at it. Graciela instantly got it. She put her index finger in it. “Don’t cut it off,” she teased.

Bud pulled out the tiny saw.

“Where did she get that?” Chase yelped.

“It came with the book. Don’t worry. You know, this is all displacement,” Addison said. “It’s the lesbian writers’ panel thing that Lacey roped you into that’s twisting up your knickers. She’s not going to cut off Graciela’s finger and most likely she won’t become the next David Copperfield.”

Right then, Graciela screamed. “Ah, it hurts. Look, it’s a bloody stump.” She writhed around the kitchen. Bud giggled.

Chase looked alarmed. “I thought you said it was safe.”

“Relax,” Graciela said, holding out her hand. “Now, can we go and get the mail? I ordered something for Delia and had it sent here. She’s such a snoop I can’t have it come to the house.”

“What is it?” Chase asked.

“It’s a matching dildo and vibrator set in neon orange—you know like the color of those traffic cones.  It’s so cool,” Graciela said, grinning.

Chase stared at her in utter disbelief. 

“I can get you a set if you want.”

“There are…” she was going to say children present but glanced at Addison who seemed to be waiting for just that word.  “People who have been on the planet less time than we have present, so perhaps we shouldn’t discuss your purchases.”

“You can look up dildos on Wikipedia,” Addison said.  “They have a long history.”

“Og htiw?” Bud asked, putting the saw set back into the small wooden box labeled Magic Kit.

“No,” Chase said instantly.

“Why not? It’s just a dirt road with absolutely no traffic. Being this protective is not good. It’ll bring Shiva down upon you,” Graciela said.

“She’s got a point. I’ll go with them,” Addison said.

Chase was undecided, but the phone rang and it was Donna. The three of them inched toward the door. Chase couldn’t concentrate on what Donna was saying and them too. “You can go, but be careful. I mean it.”

Donna gave her the rundown on her hair appointment for the trim and, as Lacey put it, “just a few highlights” and for the shopping trip that she’d coordinated with Lacey. Chase need not bother with that detail, she said. They’d pick out the suit and she’d only have to show up for the final fitting. Chase jotted down the hair appointment time and went through the panel notes she’d sworn off of one more time while she waited for the mail crew to return. She heard Graciela’s gigantic Ford truck pull up in the drive. When they entered the house, she immediately knew something was wrong.

Bud walked right past her, head hung low.

“What happened?” Chase said, panic overriding all other impulses, even the one to chase after Bud.

“We had a little accident,” Graciela said.

Addison nodded gravely.

“What kind of an accident?” Chase yelled. “Is everyone all right?”

“Everyone except the rabbit that got run over,” Addison replied.

“It wasn’t her fault,” Graciela declared.

“Whose fault?” Chase asked, looking queerly at Bud, who’d returned carrying four black dress socks.

Addison glared at Graciela. “Hello.”

“I mean my fault. The rabbit came out of the middle of nowhere. We couldn’t help it.”

Bud shook her head. “I did it.”

At first the shock of Bud’s complete sentence overrode the import of what she was saying. Chase hugged her. “You’re talking in normal sentences. What do you mean, you did it?”

Bud looked pleadingly at Addison.

“Do you want me to tell her?”

Bud nodded. She tied a sock around her arm and handed each of them a sock to use as an armband indicating they were in mourning.

They obediently put them on.

“Bud was driving the truck when the aforementioned rabbit made a suicide dash for the front right tire. At least it was quick.” Addison sighed heavily.

“You let a four-year-old drive a two-ton truck? Have you lost your mind?” Chase screamed. Then she glared at Addison. “Why didn’t you stop her?”

Addison didn’t look at Chase. “Because I drove down to the mailbox. It wouldn’t be fair not to afford the same opportunity to Bud. We are both children, thus we share the same status.”

“But you’re eleven at least and this is the first time you’ve ever referred to yourself as a child.”

“I know. But how can any child resist the opportunity to drive and we both know how to, more or less, from driving the golf carts around at the nursery.”

“You drive the carts at work?” Chase was incredulous.

Addison quickly realized her mistake. “I mean, not all the time.”

Chase’s eyes narrowed. “Is that why those orange cones are set up in the back lot?”

“Yeah, it’s a wicked course. Bud usually wins. She never knocks down cones. It seems kids have better reflexes. The bunny thing was just a fluke. We should really go bury it before the coyotes get it,” Graciela said.

Bud nodded gravely.

“You are in so much trouble,” Chase said. “Bud, you’re grounded until you’re twenty-five. Addison, you’re going to have to sort out the mess I made of the Excel program and you,” she pointed at Graciela “are going to pick up as many loads of manure as my garden will hold.”

Addison groaned. “But I just got done downloading an entire gig of songs onto your iPod.”

“I feel in light of the fact that I will carry with me the guilt of killing a fellow creature for the rest of my life that my grounding is excessive. How about two weeks and I still get to drive the carts?” Bud said.

“Holy Mother of Christ,” Graciela said. “She goes from gibberish to huge sentences. Wicked.  Look, she feels terrible.” She put her arm around Bud, who was starting to tear up.

“Besides you can’t ground her until she’s twenty-five as she will long before then be a grown-up, and you should let her drive the carts because when she does get her license she’ll be an expert driver,” Addison said.

Bud looked up at Addison with utter adoration.

“I don’t understand how we got to my doling out punishment for an obvious crime to negotiating the sentence,” Chase said.

“It’s referred to as plea bargaining,” Addison said, opening the drawer that contained the collection of glued-together Popsicle sticks that they used when burying the dead creatures run over by cars—for despite being a busy author, Chase still continued her practice of giving respect to the unfortunate victims of roadkill by preventing the desecration of their bodies by crows and car tires.

“I’ll get the shovel. I suppose I’ll be keeping it for a while, getting the manure and all,” Graciela said, not looking happy about it.

They walked down the road, as the incident had occurred close to the house.  “See, we almost made it,” Graciela said.

“That is beside the point,” Chase said, digging the hole. She got it started and then handed the shovel to Addison, who dug a bit more and then handed off to Graciela.

Bud, looking grief stricken, and wearing enormous yellow plastic gloves, gently picked up the bunny and laid it in the grave. She wiped a tear away and stepped back so Chase could shovel the dirt back on. Addison handed Bud the tiny wooden cross.

“I’ll say the benediction,” Graciela said.

Knowing her to be heathen and pagan, they all stared at her in astonishment.

“In death, this poor wretched creature will find the safety that in life she or he could not find because of motor vehicles, coyotes, owls, crows, angry farmers and small children behind the wheel.”

This started Bud howling in grief.

“For fuck’s sake, Graciela, say an amen and get it over with before Bud ends up in the psych ward,” Chase said.

“Amen,” Graciela said, putting an arm around Bud. “Don’t worry, kid, I killed a cow once.”

Bud looked up at her in amazement.

“How’d you do that?” Addison asked.

“Cow tipping. Poor thing died of a heart attack,” Graciela said. “This won’t be the first time I’ve shoveled manure for restitution.”

“Was that when you were arrested that time we bailed you out?” Chase asked, shouldering the shovel.

“Jailbird?” Bud asked. She looked up with mortification at her aunt.