Family Affair

by Saxon Bennett

  "Janet caught me in my bedroom with the goalie. Stella had sworn Janet to secrecy about our affair and we had to do it in my room. So I figured that rule applied to all. Janet must have suspected something. She got past Stella easily enough and I was found out. It was horrible. Tears, screaming, and my first ugly breakup. I mean, I couldn't really be expected to be faithful, could I?"

  "It's a bit late for remorse," Gitana said, opening her water. "I'm going to have to pee soon."

  "Don't worry about it. It would be totally incomprehensible at that age. Hell, we're still sowing our wild oats," Graciela said.

  "I couldn't conceive of it," Delia said. Now, she had the foam mustache. Graciela leaned over and licked it off.

  "Thanks."

  "And what about your next girlfriend?" Gitana asked.

  "Now, you're interested," Chase said. She was getting more than she bargained for.

  "This is all new to me," she said. She sipped her water and stared intently at Chase.

  "Great, Pride has become the confessional."

  "Rock on," Delia said.

  "It's good for your soul," Gitana said.

  "My soul was doing just fine before this," Chase remarked.

  "Get on with it," Graciela said. She took her sneakers and socks off and dug her toes into the grass.

  She was such a contradiction, Chase thought—impatient yet perfectly relaxed. It was queer, but then she'd never understood Graciela.

  "She was a sophomore in college and I was a freshman. She was a southern belle sorority girl and I was an anarchist." Chase envisioned her dark hair, long legs and a drawl that made you think of antebellum porches and wisteria. Now that was a good time.

  "Like in Ruby fruit Jungle?" Graciela said.

  "Something like that. She was a complete nymphomaniac and dangerously jealous. She cut my English Lit of the 1900s in half with a meat cleaver."

  "Why?" Delia said, her eyes large with excitement.

  "She thought I was sleeping with the TA."

  "Were you?" Gitana said. She seemed to already know the answer.

  "Well, kind of."

  "Another brief liaison?" Delia said. She too took off her socks and shoes, sticking her feet in the grass. Graciela's foot stroked hers.

  "She read me Anne Cameron's poetry. I couldn't help myself." Chase didn't exactly feel remorseful. It had been lovely in her attic room, the afternoon sun flitting across the bed and their naked bodies entwined.

  "Dude, you did get around," Graciela said.

  "I'm sorry," Chase said, looking at Gitana.

  "Baby, I could tell you'd had a little experience."

  "Really," Chase said. She finished her beer.

  "There were just certain things a woman of experience knows." She took her hand.

  "Oh." Chase wondered what these things might be, but she certainly wasn't going to inquire. At least not here.

  "Aside from that there was Tori, whom you've had the pleasure of meeting."

  "I feel like I know you so much better," Graciela said, putting her shoes back on.

  "Gag me. Now, can we see about finding the parenting booth?"

  "Sure. You guys check that out. We're going to peruse the sex toy booth. We can meet at the center stage for the drag queen show in twenty minutes. It'll be perfect," Graciela said, hopping up.

  "I can hardly wait," Chase said. She picked up all their trash and dumped it.

  Delia and Graciela dashed off like all the sex toys might be gone before they got there.

  Chase rolled her eyes. "I hate Pride."

  "Well, you'll just have to get used to it. We have to bring the baby. This is part of her life."

  "Poor thing. I don't think not having seen a drag show is going to stunt her growth in any way."

  Chapter Eleven

  Chase stood in the middle of Hilda Hoftmeyer's living room with twelve screaming kids. This was the result of her foray at Pride into the realm of parenting. It was a playdate seminar run by a woman hardly able to run her own life let alone a class on the parenting of children. Chase had deduced this in the first fifteen minutes of class.

  "Would you like some iced tea?" Hilda Hoftmeyer said. She was a stout woman in pale blue polyester slacks two sizes too small and a somewhat matching floral blouse. Her chubby face made her look like a blooming eleven-year-old in a forty-something body. Chase found it disconcerting.

  Chase was thinking more along the lines of a double martini. She was becoming her mother. Her silence must have informed Hilda.

  "We have good German lager." Hilda's eyes twinkled.

  "Sure." Her nerves got the better of her ethics.

  "I make it myself in the basement. It's good stuff." Hilda went off.

  Chase noticed that all the obviously new parents sat on one side of the room with glazed eyes as children screamed and tore about. Each held a plastic cup of the same kind Hilda handed her—the fortifier. It was Saturday morning and Gitana hadn't been able to come because she was at the Annual Orchid Event at the fairgrounds. Chase wished desperately that she were here. She sat down next to a sedate child who appeared to be older than the others. Suddenly, going to the Orchid Show seemed the better choice.

  Chase looked around tentatively as if taking it all in at once would cause serious mental anguish. The playdate group was supposedly a mix of domestic partners, single mothers and the married, but it was difficult to tell who was who. Hilda was running the first session of exposure to children in their natural environment. Next week a kid shrink was to come. Chase bet there would only be iced tea that time.

  Toddlers ran around and the older ones fought with each other or their parents. Bedlam seemed too tame a word. The scene reminded her of a movie she'd watched, Daddy Day Care with Eddie Murphy. She'd been renting movies with kids in them trying to get pointers. At least they'd been comedies so she could laugh off the impending dread she felt.

  "My name's Addison," said the little girl next to her. She had dark hair in braids and wore tiny red spectacles. She looked like the land of kid that got picked on. She held a notebook clutched to her breast and peered at Chase.

  "I'm Chase."

  "Where's your kid?" She put the notebook down on her lap as if she'd been using it for a shield and had now decided Chase was safe and could let down her guard.

  "In my partner's belly."

  Addison nodded. "I'm nine and I write stories."

  "That's nice. I like stories."

  "My dad says my stories are stupid."

  "Where is he? I'll kill him." Deciding this was not a good thing to say to a child she amended her statement. "What I meant to say was he had bad manners and should be reprobated."

  "He's at home with diarrhea. I put Metamucil and Ex-Lax in his Raisin Bran. He's been in the bathroom all morning."

  "You're brilliant."

  "I did score above the ninety-eighth percentile on the Stanford-Binet IQ test which allows me to become a Mensa member, but I don't believe in group mechanics although Mensa does have a healthy respect for individuality so I might join in the future," Addison said, her eyes shining behind her glasses.

  "Wow." It just figured the first child she'd meet was genius. Why couldn't she find a nice simple kid who wanted her to play checkers and that she could let win. Well, she'd make the best of it. "Why don't you show me your stories. I'd like to read them."

  Chase knew at that moment she would make a bad parent. She'd just praised a nine-year-old for poisoning her father. Gitana was going to have to police both of them.

  Chase was about to take a sip of Hilda's fortifier when Addison grabbed her wrist.

  "I wouldn't drink that. Remember my dad. Hilda's brew is worse. See, it's already started." Addison pointed to the line at the bathroom. She pulled out two Red Bulls from her over-stuffed red Lands' End backpack. She handed one to Chase.

  "Should you be drinking that?"

  "Is it any worse than the twelve cups of Kool-Aid and two brownies Hilda is dosing them with now? Do you
want me to end up like that fat kid?" she said, tipping her head in the direction of the six-year-old porker who was sticking close to Hilda's ample thigh and grabbing at the brownie plate.

  "He looks like that kid in the Willy Wonka movie," Chase said, thinking of fat kids and bratwurst. She took the Red Bull from Addison and stuck her cup of brew under her metal fold-up chair. They began to look at Addison's story book.

  They were so engrossed in this pursuit that they missed the little boy who cut off several inches of a little blond girl's hair during the course of the collage-making session. There was much noise and screams of outrage from both parents and children.

  "I hate kids," Addison said, looking up from her notebook and scowling.

  "But you are one," Chase said, watching as the parents bustled their kids off.

  Addison looked at her like she'd said the stupidest thing on the planet.

  "I mean aren't you, kind of?"

  "I consider myself a pre-adult, like a cocoon waiting for that glorious moment when I burst forth as a full grown person. This is a temporary condition."

  "I got it." Chase smiled and nodded.

  "Now can we get back to work?"

  "Of course," Chase said.

  Chase rationalized her avoidance of the group by spending time with Addison, which would still count toward her goal of child socialization. Besides, she liked Addison. They went back to work until a pretty blond woman interrupted them. She wore a gray pin-striped suit. Her hair was pulled back and she looked like someone who tried too hard.

  "There you are. I thought you'd be outside with the other big kids," she said.

  Addison scowled at her. She was really good at scowling, Chase thought.

  "I hardly think so. I wouldn't be caught dead playing tag or some other banal childhood game. I have more important things to do. Did you sell the house?"

  "I did." -

  "Fantastic," Addison said, her voice laced with faux sweetness.

  "What are you doing?" her mother asked.

  "Chase is helping me edit my stories."

  "Are you an editor?"

  "No, she's a writer—a published writer," Addison said.

  "I'm just teaching her a few tricks of the trade."

  "How nice. I'm Addison's mother, Peggy McFarland."

  "Nice to meet you." Chase stood up and shook her hand.

  "I'm glad to see Addison has made a friend," Peggy said, patting her head.

  "Don't touch me," Addison said, pulling away.

  Peggy colored. "She has intimacy issues, according to her therapist."

  "I don't like to be touched and the shrink is a dickhead and a waste of time and money."

  "Addison!" Peggy reprimanded her unconvincingly.

  "My shrink says the same thing about me." Chase poked Addison in the ribs. She looked startled. Chase smiled. "We could work on it."

  Addison poked her back and laughed.

  "See that wasn't so bad," Chase said.

  "Says you."

  "Uh, honey..."

  "I know, we have to go and get the papers signed." Addison looked sullen. Then she glanced at Chase. "Are you coming next week?"

  "I'm supposed to be working on my parenting skills," Penny said, looking apologetic.

  "But usually, I sit in these stupid sessions while she's on the phone making deals." Addison hoisted her backpack up on her shoulder.

  "Honey, don't be that way."

  "I wasn't going to come again, but if you're going to, I will," Chase said.

  "Really?" Addison's face lit up.

  "I'd like to talk to you and your mom again."

  "Can I bring more stories?" Addison said, her face radiant.

  "I was counting on it."

  Addison smiled. Chase poked her again and Addison poked her back.

  Peggy gave Addison the car keys. "I'll be right out."

  "Whatever. "Bye, Chase." She trudged off, swinging the car keys.

  "I just wanted to thank you for being so nice to Addison."

  "She's a great kid—or rather, pre-adult," Chase said.

  This made Peggy smile. "You got caught."

  "I did."

  "Do you have children?" Peggy inquired.

  "One on the way. I'm afraid I'm going to suck at parenting."

  "You did fine with Addison."

  "That's because she's just like me. What if I have some pansy kid?"

  "You won't. See you next week."

  Peggy walked away. She looked back over her shoulder at Chase in an odd way. Chase had no idea what it meant. She did realize one thing. Addison treated her mother the same way Chase treated Stella.

  She took a covert look around and then slunk toward the door. Just in time, it appeared, as a piece of furniture was smoldering and several parents had their cell phones out. Chase breathed deeply and made a run for the Hummer.

  "How'd it go?" Gitana said. She'd just come home from the orchid show and was maneuvering the dogs out of the kitchen by placating them with biscuits.

  Chase was making a salad. "It was fine until a three-year-old got a hold of the barbeque lighter and torched the couch." She pulled out a purple onion and two beefsteak tomatoes.

  Gitana sat at the kitchen bar. She looked pale and tired. "Are you sure you want to hang out with these people?"

  "I am learning a lot and I met a new friend."

  "That's a good thing," Gitana said, unloading the contents of her fair bag onto the kitchen island. She had an enormous amount of literature on orchids along with some fertilizer samples.

  Chase chopped up a bunch of spinach. Spinach had a lot of iron in it. Gitana looked like she might need some iron. She had yet to notice the copious amounts of vegetables they were consuming, especially dark green leafy ones. Chase had grown an extra large crop of mixed greens in the garden for this purpose as well as twelve broccoli plants and three rows of spinach. All were abundandy generous. There was always trouble with tomatoes, regardless of variety, so several years ago she'd admitted defeat and bought them at the farmers market.

  Gitana organized her literature and stuck it neady into the cubbyhole box labeled for work materials. She put her arms around Chase's waist and kissed the back of her neck. Chase felt the oudine of her body against her back. Pleasure coursed through her.

  "What kind of friend?"

  Chase turned around. "She's nine."

  Gitana laughed. "I guess I don't have to worry."

  Chase pulled her tight. "You never have to worry."

  "You know this Saturday thing isn't going to work for me. I can't dump on Nora that way."

  "It's all right. You're going to be a great mother. It's me we've got to worry about."

  "You'll be fine." Gitana ran her hands under Chase's T-shirt.

  "Oh, my."

  "I think it's my hormones. I've been thinking about you all day."

  "At the orchid show?" Chase inquired, raising her eyebrows.

  "Yes, it was a major distraction."

  The next thing Chase actually registered was being seduced on the kitchen floor. Gitana was straddling her and they were both making animal noises.

  As they lay together catching their breath, Chase noticed an excessive number of fur balls under the stove. She was going to have to clean better when Bud arrived.

  Gitana looked into her eyes. "What are you thinking about?"

  "Fur balls under the stove and improving my cleaning skills."

  Gitana pinched her arm. "That's not very romantic."

  "And after that unromantic thought I pondered putting dinner out for the dogs while you lit candles and ran a bath so I could love you more."

  "Now, that's better. Meet you in five," Gitana said. Gitana raced upstairs pretty fast for a pregnant lady, Chase observed. She filled up the dog bowls and got them a treat. They didn't seem to mind that dinner was an hour early because their parents were upstairs being naughty.

  Chapter Twelve

  "You've learned things. That's good. Writers are thi
nkers first—storytellers second," Alma said.

  Chase sat with Alma under the veranda of Alma's house while the afternoon rain poured off the tin roof and splashed into the flower beds. The rhythmic pounding of the rain was like soft background noise. Chase had once read that if you were trying to get some sleep in a noisy hotel you should find an off-the-air channel and let the white noise lull you to sleep. Rain was like that for her.