“The soliloquy.” Chase was glad they were using her patois to discuss the pitfalls of the outer world. She was reading Richard Russo’s Empire Falls and the protagonist Miles was a nice guy who thought bad things sometimes—the things he really felt but didn’t say when people pissed him off. This made sense to Chase—only she usually said those things.
Lily pitched the biscuit bits into a nearby garbage can. Chase followed her example. Thinking of the things as cookies hadn’t helped; they were disgusting.
“You lied about the digestives.”
“I did. But under social convention rules of protocol you’re not supposed to say anything.”
“But I don’t want to eat it, so what am I supposed to do?”
“I would discreetly slip it into a napkin and then throw it away.” She demonstrated, using a second cookie.
“It’s not like you can do that with a whole dinner,” Chase retorted.
“No, with that you have two choices—you can buck up and swallow quickly or feign food poisoning.” Lily studied her.
“You can’t feign food poisoning. That would be rude—unless you’re at a restaurant, in which case it’s entirely plausible.”
“You’re getting it.”
Just then a young woman entered, pulling another who would have dug her heels in if the floor hadn’t been so slippery. “I’m telling you it’s not that bad. Lily is so nice, tell her, Lily.”
“That it’s not so bad or that I’m nice?” Lily said, smiling coyly at Chase as if to say watch this.
“Both,” the woman said. She wore a Grateful Dead T-shirt with tight jeans. Her long dark hair was tied back in a ponytail.
“I’m telling you, Isabel, I don’t need this. I’m fine,” the other woman said. She couldn’t have been more different from her friend. She had a blond pixie cut and wore a dark blue tailored business suit.
“You failed an interview for a job that you could have gotten. You were more qualified than that peckerhead—and don’t tell me it was sexist because it wasn’t. Most of upper management is female. You blew the interview because you can’t talk to save your soul.”
Well, Chase thought, her friend doesn’t seem to suffer from SUP. She could talk the pants off a priest. Oh, shit. See, that’s the kind of remark that definitely needs to stay inside, Chase told herself.
“You should talk. You can’t even order a Diet Coke without choking, never mind lunch,” the blond woman retorted. “Or how about the debit machine at the grocery store or anywhere else for that matter.”
“I have a waitress phobia and I’m technically challenged.”
Chase could identify with the debit card phobia as she had the same problem, which was why she used cash. Gitana didn’t like her carrying wads of cash around, but Chase told her that muggers assumed that no one had cash anymore as it had become an archaic monetary unit. In fact, it almost freaked out cashiers when she used it, like they had forgotten what to do with it.
“You two stop arguing and sit down,” Lily instructed.
Chase was disappointed. So much information was pouring out in the process of the argument.
“Oh, hi,” the Grateful Dead woman said, as if she had just noticed Chase. “I’m Isabel Montgomery and this is my friend Darlene Lewis.”
“I’m Chase.”
“Darlene, I concur with Isabel. Fucking up a job interview is cause for concern,” Lily said, waving her hand toward the mugs in lieu of a verbal offer of refreshment.
Isabel poured them both coffee and sat back as if all her work was done for the day. “Where are the others?”
As if summoned, Sandra Martin and another woman who introduced herself as Marsha Martin arrived. Chase wondered if they were sisters. They were tall, thin, blond and pretty in that suburban kind of way.
“We’re not sisters,” Marsha responded to the unasked question. “I was married to her brother.”
“I warned her about what a prick he was, but she wouldn’t listen. Love and loins will do it every time,” Sandra said, shaking her head.
“How was I supposed to know marriage was only about sex and sandwiches?” Marsha said defensively. “I won’t make that mistake again. I’ll be a lesbian first.”
“The sex is supposed to be better,” Sandra said.
“Please, ladies, sit down. We have a new member, Chase Banter. I’d like to start the session,” Lily said, once again using gestures instead of language to indicate her wishes. Chase thought she might try that. There was far too much noise in the world. Perhaps they should adopt Neanderthal hand signals and lay off the ubiquitous banality of words.
The Martin women did as bade. Sandra poured coffee and Marsha declined. “Jesus fucking Christ, not that again.”
Marsha glowered. “The ability to abstain shows control.”
Lily made a clucking noise. “Not only do you two say inappropriate things, you conduct yourselves in a rude manner in group situations.”
Chase winced. She did the same thing. These people were her kindred and not the people of Prince Edward Island that Anne of Green Gables chose as kindred spirits. Perhaps Donna had been correct—she needed this group, if anything, to learn what not to do. Her perspective was getting clearer by the minute.
“What?” Sandra said, not altering her already annoyed tone.
“Infraction number two.” Lily took a pad from the table. She dug about for a pen. Chase picked it up off the floor where it had fallen and handed it to her. “Tone of voice.”
Sandra took a deep breath and sweetly said, “I am at a loss as to what you are referring to.”
“That’s better.” Lily pointed at Chase and nodded. Chase took this to mean that tone of voice was her first lesson. It must have been because Lily went back to ripping the Martins a new asshole. Chase had often wondered what that cliché actually meant. Shouldn’t it be something along the lines of a bigger butthole, not another one? Because logistically where would you put the other asshole? It wasn’t like there was a lot of room down there and if you were going to put it somewhere else in the body, where would that be—the middle of your hippocampus?
“You are having some sort of disagreement, ignoring the decorum of group dynamics and taking the Lord’s name in vain. Religious people find this unacceptable. What if Chase here were an ardent Christian and took great offense at what you had said. You’re not, are you?” Lily asked, suddenly aware that she might be adding her own infraction to the list.
“Not exactly,” Chase hedged.
“You don’t have to be shy,” Isabel said. “I’m an agnostic.”
“It’s a little more complicated than that,” Chase said. She wasn’t exactly a practicing Catholic, although she did believe in superstitions such as sprinkling Bud with holy water every morning and getting dirt from Chimayo to cure ails, but other than that she was suspicious of the church. The security of God, the sense of having his protection like an insurance policy against the potential disasters that the universe had a tendency to throw at a person, and the healing powers of faith made her feel safer, but she despised the papal machinations.
“You do not have to share your politics or your religion with us. In fact, those are topics that should be avoided in group situations because you are bound to meet some finger-pointing fanatic who is just itching for a confrontation,” Lily said. “Today we will start with Chase and then move on to Isabel. That was the order of arrival so there is no need for concern over favoritism.” She looked at Chase, who related the story of her book-signing debacle and then, seeing as she was in confession mode, also admitted her debit-card phobia and her hand-sanitizer obsession.
Lily smiled at her. “That was very good. Let’s see what the group has to say.”
“I think you should have told the misspelled-name bitch to fuck off,” Isabel said.
Darlene smacked her shoulder. “That’s not a good start.”
“She took advantage of the situation,” Isabel retorted. “It was deliberate.”
&nb
sp; “And how do you know that?” Sandra piped in. She was evidently still miffed with the other Martin and was now taking it out on Isabel. Chase thought this unkind.
“I’m a librarian. I know things and I understand treachery. Had she not asked for the misspelled-name book it could have been an honest error. But since she did, Chase probably didn’t hear it wrong, rather the woman intended the mistake to happen. As for the homophobe lady, well, enough said on that.”
“I think you’re right,” Marsha said.
“She’ll probably sell the book on eBay as new and autographed by the author,” Sandra said, nodding at her sister-in-law. The pack has regrouped itself, Chase thought, recalling Annie and Jane’s behavior. The dogs sometimes fought with each other, but then some outside threat would arrive and they would become a pack again.
Lily studied them. “Let us look back on this discussion and check for infractions.”
Isabel spoke first. “I shouldn’t have advised Chase to tell the lady to fuck off, but I’m fairly certain that’s how Chase felt.”
Lily studied Chase. “Did you?”
“Not only did I want to tell her to fuck off, I wanted to tell everyone there that I was a writer, a solitary creature who didn’t appreciate being a chimp in a monkey suit set up for their inspection.”
“I don’t get it,” Darlene said, her brow furrowed.
“How many times have I told you about metaphor? A chimp in a monkey suit means that she’s one creature made to look and act like another,” Isabel said.
Darlene pursed her lips and Chase wondered if she got it even now. She liked Isabel already and hoped she could find out what library she worked at so she could stop by and visit further with her.
“Ah, but that is what you all must be if you are to become socially acceptable,” Lily said, pouring herself more coffee.
“But what if we don’t want to be a chimp in a monkey suit?” Darlene said. Chase could tell she was reliving her failed job interview.
“Then you can continue to make a social ass of yourself. I suggest you make a trip to the zoo and take a look at a chimpanzee’s ass before you decide on your course of action—the suit is an improvement,” Lily said, adding sugar to her coffee.
Chase wondered what a hopped-up-on-caffeine-and-sugar Indian woman would be like.
“Let’s go to the zoo and take a good look at that ass,” Isabel suggested.
Chase was certain that Lily would think the idea preposterous but thought it funny all the same. It would make the point, but she highly doubted that group sessions went on field trips. To her surprise Lily agreed.
“We’ll take my van in case someone loses their nerve,” Lily said, looking pointedly at Marsha.
As if bidden to substantiate her cowardice, Marsha said, “But what about Isabel’s turn?”
“I forgo for the good of the community,” Isabel quickly said.
As they all stood in front of the chimpanzees’ cage, Chase found herself quite naturally repelled and she was glad that she had been born a homo sapien. She did have to shave her legs and she was keeping an eye on her menopausal mustache, however she was certain that her behind, even when not clothed, did not look like that.
“I hope I don’t suffer some kind of reincarnation snafu or retribution and come back with that ass and fur to boot,” Isabel said.
Chase smirked. She looked over at Marsha, who stared in horror. “I don’t want to be like that.”
“Then what are you going to do about it?” Lily said.
“Lie like hell,” Marsha replied.
Darlene nodded. “When my boss, who conducted the interview, asked me about my disciplinary philosophy, I should have reiterated her policy instead of telling her that I thought redirection instead of punishment was a better policy.”
“Exactly,” Lily said.
“You could still implement your policies after the fact,” Sandra said.
“Look at politicians. They do it all the time and have done so throughout history. Hell, the politics of Rome in the BC’s does not differ that much from the present,” Isabel said.
Chase studied her closely. She’d have to make a point to curry favor with Isabel. She wasn’t necessarily good at making friends, but Isabel’s gregarious nature would make up for her reticence. Fellow booklovers were a rare commodity.
“So you’re basically teaching us to lie,” Marsha said.
“Not really. I’m teaching you screening—Machiavellian practices sprinkled with anarchy,” Lily replied.
Chase glanced over at Isabel, wondering. Chase had yet to meet anyone who had actually read Machiavelli’s masterpiece, The Prince.
“Machiavelli has been grossly misinterpreted,” Isabel snapped.
Chase smiled. She thought the same. He’d been a statesman and he’d had all his property confiscated by that same state, yet he went on to write a dissertation on how a state and a sound-minded sovereign might rule his conquered territories. Chase could never understand how this had resulted in Machiavelli being turned into the embodiment of evil—whether it was the conquering part or the intrigue necessary to politicking. Alexander the Great had used similar methods and had been a brutal leader and soldier. All Machiavelli had done was to write a treatise while he suffered reduced circumstances.
“You are quite right there, Isabel. He was a genius at performing the necessary. You have to be smart about how you say things—rephrasing with an eye to compassion for your listener. If you shock or dismay your audience you get nothing. If you’re smooth and subtle you may just get what you want,” Lily said, eyeing the ice cream stand.
Still surprised that in the course of one afternoon she’d met two people who’d obviously read the book, Chase piped in, “So we’re not lying, we’re maneuvering the world to our making in so far as that is possible.”
“Precisely. Now let’s go have some ice cream. I think we’ve seen enough ass for one day,” Lily said.
When Chase returned home, Gitana was sitting in the garden reading to Bud, who appeared to be politely listening to Green Eggs and Ham. Seeing Chase, she ran toward her for an embrace, as well as, perhaps, to escape early childhood literature.
“How’d your group-thing go?” Gitana asked, closing the book after noting the page number.
“We went to the zoo and looked at the hindquarters of the chimpanzees,” Chase said, studying her sleeve, which had chocolate on it.
“Ass,” Bud said.
“And had ice cream,” Gitana said, staring at Chase with the she-said-another-real-word look.
Chase pursed her lips as she studied the stain. Definitely a Spray-n-Wash job. Since Bud’s arrival her laundry skills had improved to the point that she was becoming a veritable chemist. The household tasks she’d once done to take her away from the creative life when she was stumped had been removed once Donna started doing the shopping and organizing and Merry Maids took over the cleaning. The laundry had become her only outlet, and as with most of her pursuits she approached it with the thoroughness of a Dickensian washerwoman.
“Ooz?” Bud asked, looking up at Chase and taking her hand. Chase sensed that Bud wanted to get away from story time.
“It was a field trip because we were learning how to function in a more socially acceptable way and to understand…” Chase got stuck. To understand that being part of a group made one have to wear a monkey suit?
“It will probably take a few more sessions to really understand how things work,” Gitana said, getting up and taking her other hand. “Let’s go make some dinner. We’re proud of you, though.”
Chase gazed lovingly at Gitana and then down at Bud, who was smirking. How a four-year-old could smirk like some smart-aleck adult mystified Chase, but Bud had it down to a fine art.
Chapter Seven—Novelty
Human nature is greedy of novelty.—Pliny the Elder
Bud was once again smirking as they stood in the yoga studio awaiting their first lesson. Lily had proposed that everyone in the group t
ake a class in something completely out of their comfort zone. Ideas had been thrown around. You could do it with someone and you had to do it for at least six weeks. “No bailing out,” Lily had said firmly, her lilting voice oddly at variance with American slang.
The Martins had chosen a watercolor painting class because according to them they were as unartistic as a pig with a paintbrush. Isabel had chosen river rafting because she was not athletic. Darlene chose belly dancing because she was inhibited. That left Chase, who could think of nothing or rather nothing the class would agree to with the exception of mother-child yoga. They’d used a continuing ed catalog from the university because the classes lasted six weeks and supplied an inexpensive way to try something new.
Bud looked odd in her yoga pants and pale blue top. She resembled a midget contortionist in a freak show. Chase didn’t look much better. She felt acutely like an athletically dressed soccer mom in black stretchy pants and a long white T-shirt that Gitana found frumpy, telling her she had a nice rear end and shouldn’t be averse to showing it. They rolled out their mats like the others. Bud sat cross-legged on hers and took up the lotus position. It occurred to Chase that she had been practicing. She mentally ran through the voluminous books in their library and suddenly remembered the yoga book that Gitana had purchased just after her pregnancy to limber up and reverse some of the damage that Bud’s arrival had occasioned.
The group of mother-child yoga students was an odd mixture of hippie and suburban. Some children wore tie-dyed shirts and play shorts while the suburban mothers sitting on the opposite side of the room with their rather whiney children had on Title-Nine wear. Chase and Bud had gone to Target and purchased the stretchy pants on the sale rack in the sports department. Chase saw no sense in spending money on a six-week experiment. She didn’t foresee yoga as a lifelong pursuit. She’d seen the strange and painful-looking poses of the dedicated. She was satisfied with simply touching her toes.
Their yoga teacher turned out to be a handsome young man with dark hair pulled back in a ponytail and sporting a goatee. He was tanned with a long and limber-looking body. Chase swore she heard a collective intake of breath on the part of the straight women. Chase caught a glimpse of a possible other lesbian mother and her heart quickened—a kindred spirit. This yoga thing could be a boon after all. The woman, who had shoulder-length wavy brown hair and a round happy-looking face complete with dimples, smiled complicitly in her direction before patting the hand of her son, who was anxiously awaiting some kind of activity. Bud glanced at the little towheaded boy with interest. Chase’s parental hackles went up and then she remembered: Bud wouldn’t be dating for many years—in her thirties if Chase could manage it.
Chase Banter [02] Marching to a Different Accordion Page 6