The Big Sugarbush

by Ana Good

  Nan had experienced the most promising family session of all the women. Contrary to what she had feared, Birge had come to her with open arms. Birge had insisted all weekend that she was committed to starting over again. None of this was keeping Nan from chewing the eraser tips off her mechanical pencils. Nan lived by her instincts, always had. Something wasn’t right with Birge. With them. She’d tried to kiss Birge when they’d been alone, but Birge had dodged her advance. Not like Birge. Birge was always ready. Every damned second of every blessed minute. One touch and that woman was primed for action. For Birge to dodge a sexual advance — that told Nan what she feared most. Birge was lying when she said everything was fine with their relationship. Nan paced, unhappy that she was locked up, unable to confront Birge and force the truth out into the open.

  Dylan, off Ecstasy, indeed off drugs of all kinds for the first time in her adult life, had taken to strapping on snowshoes and forming backyard art by stomping frozen messages in the snow. Her work was frenzied, but not very imaginative. Today she’d spent three hours mashing “SOS” in frozen ten-foot letters in the far pasture. No one had responded to her desperate plea except that old moose, Winkle, who’d chased Dylan up a wide-armed oak tree where she’d sat shivering for an hour before Poppy had rescued her by snowballing the moose back to the barn.

  Bunny was about to rip her blonde locks out of her head. She’d discovered on Monday morning that Dylan had done the unthinkable: flushed the drugs. Worse yet, Dylan was off sex, slinking around the farmhouse like a depressed teenager, grinding her teeth whenever Bunny tried to engage her in meaningful conversation.

  Only Betty seemed to be holding on to some vestige of her former defiant self. Bunny found that odd, especially since everyone knew that Betty’s partner, Alice, had dumped her and taken the children to start anew with some other old dyke who lived in a yurt (whatever that was). Betty seemed to hold some secret to staying sane in an otherwise insane place. Bunny soon found out it wasn’t what Betty knew, but what she had: a stash of marijuana. Really great stuff laced with angel dust hallucinogen.

  44. Trip to Jamaica (And Then Some)

  Betty was suspicious the moment she opened the door to her bedroom and saw Bunny standing there draped in a lavender chiffon robe with her hair done up in a white silk turban. “What do you want?” Betty grumped.

  “You?” Bunny flashed a coy smile.

  “Get real,” grunted Betty as she ushered Bunny into her room. Fearing a narc bust, Betty checked the hallway twice before slamming shut the door.

  “What do you want?” she repeated as she watched Bunny sashay around the room.

  They were alone. Betty’s roommate, Storm, was in the exercise room, running the treadmill to hell and back again.

  “What do you want?” Betty repeated.

  Bunny bounced onto Betty’s bed. “You have stuff?”

  “Stuff?” Betty narrowed her eyes.

  “Marijuana,” said Bunny as she smoothed the robe over her thighs. “I want to buy some from you.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes.” Bunny pulled a hundred-dollar bill out of her pocket. “Here.” She held the money out.

  Betty eyed the money. “I don’t have any drugs. This is rehab, you know. No drugs allowed.”

  “Oh please!” Bunny snorted. “Don’t play coy with me, you old lezzy goat. Just get the dope, okay?”

  “Would like to help you, darling, but I can’t. No drugs.” Betty held both her hands out, palms open.

  Bunny fidgeted on the bed. She grabbed a pillow and hugged it. “Come on!” she whined. “What is it with you? You want more money? Fine. How much? Name your price.” Bunny’s bad eye had begun to twitch.

  “I told you, no drugs.” Betty crossed her arms and stood her ground.

  “What’s up with you? Would it hurt you to share? I hear you’ve got, like, a ton of the stuff. Give me a joint. One lousy fatty, I’m on my way.”

  Betty’s face softened as she rounded the bed. “Okay. Maybe I can help.”

  “Goody!” Bunny squealed. “Here, take, like, a hundred. I’ll give you, like, four more as soon as we’re out of this hellhole.”

  Betty brushed away Bunny’s hand. “Don’t want money.”

  “What then?”

  Betty went to her chest of drawers and slid out a bottom drawer. She reached into the back where she’d taped her mini bong and stash to the underside of the bureau. She drew out the drugs and the apparatus. “You’ll have to smoke it here. Don’t have any rolling papers.”

  “Fine,” sighed Bunny as she patted the side of her turban. “Anything. I just need a little help getting to sleep.”

  “Before I give you this” — Betty waved the fragrant bag under Bunny’s twitching nose — “I want you to promise as soon as we get out of here you’ll set me up in a meeting with your father.”

  “Daddy?”

  “Yes.” Betty packed the bowl of the pipe and journeyed to the bathroom to draw water. She came back with the pipe ready, a book of paper matches tweezed in her left hand. She strolled to the door and kicked a damp towel into the crack. “Don’t want to invite the world to our little party, do we?” she chuckled.

  “Why do you want to see Daddy?” Bunny clutched at her robe.

  “Need help with my divorce. With Alice. Your father is the senator in Massachusetts. I figure he can set me up with the attorney general, anyone else I want to see.”

  “Sure,” said Bunny with a shrug. She cared little for politics and never saw why people made such a big fuss about it all to begin with. “He’ll see you anytime I say.”

  On that note, Betty struck a match and lit the bowl. She puffed several times, not handing the pipe to Bunny until the marijuana glowed a bright orange in the darkening room.

  “Here,” Betty exhaled with a cough. “Good stuff. Angel Wings: special blend from Jamaica.”

  Bunny grabbed the pipe and inhaled deeply. As a veteran chain-smoker, she had an amazing capacity to toke and hold. She held the smoke for almost thirty seconds before exhaling smoothly. She felt her body begin to relax. Two more deep tokes and she felt her chest melting. Her toes began to glow.

  “Yummy!” she murmured.

  “I don’t buy shit,” said Betty, who took two deep hits in an effort to catch up with Bunny.

  It took about ten minutes and as many tokes for the two women to reach that special place where they were floating above the ordinary world, feeling warm and content like sister angels. They glowed with love and goodwill.

  Bunny began to laugh. Before long she was rolling on Betty’s bed, her robe open, revealing an impressive amount of lingerie: high-cut, plum-colored Brazilian bikini bottoms complemented by a soft demi-cup bra embroidered with flowers. The bra straps cut into Bunny’s soft, white skin like twisted vines.

  “What’s so funny?” asked Betty, who lay on the bed next to Bunny. From Betty’s vantage point, Bunny’s cleavage looked massive, like a pair of silk-ensconced Matterhorns.

  Bunny rolled over to face Betty. “You mean this!”

  Now Bunny’s breasts were smashed hotly against Betty’s face. Betty giggled in response. “Fuck, I’m hungry.”

  “Me too,” sighed Bunny.

  The two women got up and, without turning on the lights, sneaked hand in hand down the stairs, into the kitchen.

  “The cupboard!” squealed Bunny. “I swear I saw Babe lock Twinkies in there this morning.”

  “Twinkies? Fuck, no!” exclaimed Betty.

  “Fuck, yes!” squealed Bunny.

  The two women slid into the dark cupboard together. Betty was fumbling around in the dark looking for a light switch when she found, by accident, Bunny’s right breast.

  Bunny giggled.

  “You like that?” purred Betty.

  “Maybe,” teased Bunny. “Do it again. Let’s see.”

  Neither of the women could stop giggling.

  45. Please Don’t Eat the Cucumbers

  Wee Gee slammed shut her lapt
op.

  Poppy, who was sitting in bed, reading, glanced at her roommate. “You look awful, love.”

  “Starving!” Wee Gee rolled her eyes.

  Poppy studied her wristwatch. “We ate not two hours ago.”

  “Not enough.”

  Poppy rubbed her belly. “I’m stuffed.” Poppy, under Wee Gee’s kitchen tutelage, had gained almost ten pounds since coming to Sugarbush. Free of the pressures of performance anxiety, and stripped of her laxative packs, the rock star had begun eating like a normal twenty-three-year-old. She was looking healthier than she had in years.

  “Don’t take this wrong, honey, but you’re the size of a mosquito,” said Wee Gee. “Swallowing your own spit probably fills you up.”

  “Food really bothers you?”

  “And then some,” sighed Wee Gee.

  “Well, let’s get you a snack. You can eat, right?”

  Wee Gee checked her food diary. “Got two hundred calories left for the day.” Her mood brightened on learning this.

  “That’s like a bloody food orgy!”

  “Maybe to you, baby girl, but to old Wee Gee that’s like rabbit food.” Wee Gee made a dour face.

  “Come on,” urged Poppy. The rock star took Wee Gee by the hand and tugged her forcibly out of her chair. “Kitchen raid!”

  Poppy and Wee Gee were at the threshold of the kitchen door when they heard giggling. Wee Gee stuck out her arm, warning Poppy to stop, be quiet. The rock star obeyed.

  Wee Gee leaned over and whispered to Poppy, “You hear that?”

  “Who is it?” Poppy whispered back.

  “Don’t know.”

  The two stood still stood, straining to hear in the darkness. Wee Gee didn’t want to spook anyone by turning on a light.

  The giggling in the pantry grew louder. Then it turned into moaning. And huffing. And groaning. Finally Poppy and Wee Gee heard a yodeling coming from under the closed pantry door.

  “That’s Bunny!” cried Poppy, recognizing the distinctive yodel from Bunny’s first night getting finger-banged by Dirk.

  Before Wee Gee could reply, light flooded the kitchen. Both women turned to see Babe standing behind them in her robe. Her hair was loose on her shoulders. Purple moons floated under her eyes. She looked tired. “Who the hell is in that pantry?” she groused at Poppy.

  “Dunno,” the rock star muttered.

  “Stand aside!” ordered Babe.

  Wee Gee and Poppy scurried away from the pantry door, but they stayed close enough to see inside the pantry when Babe sprang open the door and flicked on the light.

  The first thing everyone saw was Betty’s ass. Very bare. Large. White. Like a quivering vat of cottage cheese. Quite impressive, really. Her purple caftan was hiked up to her waist. Her white cotton granny panties were shoved down to her ankles. She was pressed tightly between Bunny’s thighs.

  Bunny was on her back on the floor. She still had her bra on, but her Brazilian-cut bikini panties were hanging on a hook next to some aprons.

  “This is going to get ugly,” Wee Gee murmured to Poppy.

  “What do you mean going to?” Poppy whispered back.

  Babe took a deep breath. “Get up! Both of you!” she bellowed at Betty and Bunny. “As soon as you’re decent, I want you both in my office. Understand?”

  Betty and Bunny struggled to stuff themselves into their clothes as Poppy and Wee Gee shuffled into the kitchen and tried to act nonchalant. Poppy drew a bag of carrots out of the crisper and threw them on the table along with some McIntosh apples. She knew these foods were on Wee Gee’s list of stuff she could eat to her heart’s content. Poppy busied herself slicing two apples into bite-sized bits and cleaning a fistful of carrot sticks.

  Neither woman spoke as Bunny and Betty emerged from the pantry and slid across the hallway to the therapy room, where Babe had disappeared to after making herself a cup of green tea in the kitchen.

  Poppy waited for the door to the therapy room to shut before leaning over to Wee Gee. “You haven’t eaten any of your apple, love.”

  “Can’t,” confessed Wee Gee.

  “Lost your appetite, have you?” snickered Poppy.

  Wee Gee giggled.

  Poppy followed suit, her hand her over mouth in an attempt to suppress what threatened to be a storm of laughter. “Don’t know about you, but I could have gone to my grave without seeing that.”

  “That was certainly something.”

  “Yes, but what?”

  “I dunno,” wept Wee Gee, “but it fixed my appetite.”

  “You like cucumbers, don’t you?” teased Poppy with a roll of her eyes.

  “No, ma’am, not anymore!” roared Wee Gee.

  “You saw that cucumber? Where they had it?”

  “Oh yes!” exclaimed Wee Gee, who was doubled over in laughter. “And I ain’t never eating cucumbers again!”

  46. Queermobile

  During group the next morning, Babe wasted no time announcing that Bunny and Betty were no longer with them.

  “Huh?” cried Dylan. “What does that mean?”

  “It means,” said Babe, her arms crossed, “they broke the rules. Betty brought drugs into the house. Bunny used them with her. I kicked them both out last night.”

  “Just like that?” wailed Dylan.

  “Have you not been listening these last three weeks?” squawked Babe.

  “I’ve been listening!” objected Dylan.

  “The rules are clear. You can’t do drugs in rehab. Does that make sense to you? Do you ladies all understand this rule?”

  “Yes,” they murmured in slurred unison. “We understand.”

  “If any of the rest of you have drugs, I want them. Now!” Babe held out her hand as she circled the group. She stopped in front of Dylan and waited.

  “I got shit,” Dylan ground out. “Triple shit, in fact.”

  “Good,” said Babe. Satisfied no one else in the house was holding, Babe moved swiftly to the next topic. “I think it’s time for you all to go back into the real world. See what it feels like out there. A bus will be here before lunch. It will take you to Stowe, a ski village about half an hour from here. You can have lunch in town. Go Christmas shopping. Take in a movie. In short, act like normal grown women for the day.”

  Dylan eyed Babe. “You trust us out there? On our own?”

  Babe shrugged. “Question is: Do you trust yourselves?”

  No one said anything.

  An hour later they were all bundled in their coats, huddled in the lobby, eagerly awaiting their ride into town. They were chattering like children, excited about their trip, very curious about what Bunny and Betty had actually done to win the express lottery out of rehab.

  “Bunny and Betty,” whispered Nan. “I heard they got stoned and did each other.”

  “Yuck!” said Dylan. “Thanks a bunch for that image!”

  Poppy giggled and poked Wee Gee in the ribs. An action Wee Gee returned with glee. They’d made a pledge not to reveal the sordid details they had observed the night before.

  Before long a purple VW minibus with rainbow-colored bumpers pulled up to the front door. A short, plump young dyke with a flattop haircut, a faint mustache, pierced lips, and a lumberjack plaid coat jumped out. She slid open the door to the passenger cavity of the van, beckoning the women to jump in, make themselves at home.

  Candice groaned as, holding up the tail of her Burberry coat, she took a seat in the rear, as far away from the driver as possible. “What is this thing?” she complained as she studied the interior, which was plastered in political stickers. “A queermobile?”

  “Don’t worry, darling,” said the driver with a wink as she took Candice’s hand and helped her up. “No one will guess you’re gay, long as you stick close to me.”

  “Oh please!” pleaded Candice. “You might as well have ‘I Lick Chicks’ tattooed on your bleeding forehead.”

  Dirk slid into a seat next to Candice. The minibus was small, so the two ended up squeezed togethe
r. Candice could feel the muscles in Dirk’s thighs hard against the thin wool of her dress coat. “Heard about your decision,” she whispered to Dirk.

  Dirk nodded. “Been thinking about it a long time.”

  “I understand,” said Candice as the bus lurched in the wrong gear down the driveway.

  “You do?” Dirk turned to face her.

  Up close Candice could see that Dirk had amazingly long eyelashes. Very sexy chocolate-colored eyes. Candice swallowed hard. “Think so. I never felt right in my body, either.”

  “Get out of here!” cried Dirk. “You’re a knockout!”

  “You think so?”

  “Ah, like definitely. Triple-hot babe. Pant. Pant.”

  Candice blushed. “Here, let me show you something. Okay?”

  “Sure.” Dirk waited, curious to see what Candice was fumbling for in her purse.

  Candice pulled out a dog-eared snapshot and offered it to Dirk.

  Dirk squinted at the photo. It was of a teenage girl. A head shot. The girl had buck teeth and a tiny chipmunk chin. Her cheeks were hollow. Not much of a looker. “So?” asked Dirk as she handed back the photo.

  “So,” said Candice with a deep breath. “That was me.”

  “You? You’re shitting me, yeah?” Dirk’s eyes widened.

  “No. That was me, in high school. I had work done on my face when I got out of med school.”

  “Wow!” said Dirk as she studied the doctor in profile then full ahead. “That’s very cool. You’re like a walking work of art.”

  “You think so? You don’t think I’m a freak?”

  “Baby, I think you’re beautiful.”

  Candice blushed again.

  47. Girl in a Short-Bed Ford

  Thumper could barely stay seated in the queermobile. As soon as the van arrived in Stowe, she found herself on the edge of her seat scanning the narrow streets for some sign of her girlfriend, Mary Lou. The village was crowded with people, ski vacationers. A group of teenage girls bumped up the sidewalk together, snowboards clutched to their chests. Thumper strained to see above the crowd, down the side alleys.