In the Unlikely Event...

by Saxon Bennett

  “Think about it. Everyone starts off thinking it’s going to be so fun getting back to nature, hanging out together, cooking in the open air, listening to the crickets, etc., and the next thing you know everyone is getting cranky and overly critical and then the talk of going home early sets in,” Bud said.

  She had a point, Chase thought. It no longer frightened her that Bud was so intuitively brilliant. She’d gotten used it. Maybe Bud and Addison with their outside perspectives could solve the “Lesbian Problem” as Chase had taken to calling it.

  Lacey looked lost.

  Addison elucidated. “What she means is that you put all these different kinds of women together and you’re going to get friction.”

  “Especially if you put a bunch of progressive-save-the-world types together,” Chase added.

  “I know. Everyone is so picky and agenda-oriented. I mean, can’t we just have some fun?” Lacey said.

  Ah, now we are talking, Chase thought. The Institute wasn’t a fun place. Even the nail-care-as-love instrument had been a fiasco. The Vulva-Heads, who were aptly named for their intense orientation toward all things feminine, had been offended that the finger-as-manifestation-of-love-device people were interested in having nice cuticles. There were Vulva-Heads with figurative machetes who whacked down anything remotely masculine like insertion of a well-manicured fingernail into one’s vagina. They’d picketed the manicure session with signs about the dangers of nail care like it was some foreign evil that was threatening to take over the world.

  Then the omnipresent shadow of Chino and Dixon came to mind.

  “You have to get rid of the Pink Mafia,” Chase said.

  “Why?” Lacey asked, taking another cookie.

  Chase wondered if all the sugar was good for Lacey. A hopped-up depressed person could be a detriment to problem solving. “Should you really have another cookie?”

  “Am I getting fat?” Lacey said, pinching the mythical inch on her stomach that indicated her body mass index.

  “I’m concerned about the sugar intake affecting your energy level crash. The higher you go the harder you fall,” Chase said.

  Addison and Bud studied Lacey. They were well-versed in sugar highs. “It might help her think better if we keep her at an optimum level. I’ll get her some water to keep the dilution-to-absorption rate constant,” Bud said.

  Lacey eyed her. “Is that true?”

  Addison and Chase simultaneously shrugged. “Sounds good,” Chase said.

  Bud returned with the water. “Drink half of it now and then finish it in another fifteen minutes.”

  “So we have about fifteen minutes to solve my problem? And why do I have to get rid of Chino and Dixon?”

  “Yes on the time thing and because your totalitarian state is driving people away on the second thing,” Chase said.

  Bud set the timer on her enormous watch. “Start the brainstorming.”

  “Number one: Stop the insanity of Stalinism at the Institute,” Addison said, pulling a legal pad from her leather backpack. She wrote that down.

  “Number two: Start the healing process to eradicate the damage left behind by the radical factions by engaging a therapist,” Bud said.

  “Number three: Hire Dr. Robicheck to teach a seminar using her new technique of laugh therapy,” Chase said.

  “Isn’t that the same thing as number two?” Bud asked.

  “No, number two is about eradication, and number three pertains to the eradicationary method,” Chase replied.

  Bud looked dubious but said nothing.

  “Number four: Create a task force using members from each group to come up with solutions,” Addison said.

  “Number five: Give up on the whole Institute thing and turn it into a Club Med for lesbians who just want to have fun,” Bud said.

  “Yeah, right,” Lacey said, but her brow furrowed.

  “Actually, that’s not a bad idea,” Chase said.

  “But then my whole mission would be worthless.”

  “Not necessarily. You learned that there are a lot of lesbians out there who need a good laugh and to learn how to relax,” Bud said.

  Lacey appeared to contemplate this. “I don’t know. I’ll have to think about it. Can I have another cookie?”

  “Only if you call Dr. Robicheck and set up the laugh therapy seminar,” Chase said, holding the cookie plate away from her.

  “And you instruct Dixon and Chino that they can’t incarcerate people—sovereign nation or not,” Bud said.

  Lacey looked sheepish. “I am sorry about handcuffing you to the chair. I’ll tell them to back off.” She whipped out her cell phone and told them to release the latest miscreants.

  “Holy shit,” Chase said.

  “They really deserved it,” Lacey said.

  “What did they do?” Addison asked.

  “They removed all the tampon machines and hijacked the refills from all the custodial closets so there wasn’t a tampon in the place. It was horrid. We had to make an emergency run.”

  “Was it the Menopausals?” Chase said.

  “Not directly, but I think they were behind it. We caught the culprits. They were twenty-somethings, so we couldn’t pin it on the Menopausals.”

  “How’d you catch them?” Addison said.

  “They were the only ones in the building with tampons. We still haven’t located the stash.”

  Chase didn’t even want to know how Lacey discovered that they had tampons.

  “Do you see what I have to deal with?” Lacey sighed.

  “Unfortunately, I do.”

  Chapter Fifteen—Group Therapy

  Dr. Robicheck followed Chase down the hallway of the Institute, her sensible but fashionable shoes clicking on the cement floor as Chase skateboarded ahead of her. She stopped at the intersection of two hallways and waited for Dr. Robicheck to catch up.

  “When did you take this up?” Dr. Robicheck said, slightly out of breath.

  “A couple of months ago. It’s part of my new fearless self.”

  “Like the microwave experiment?”

  “Yes,” Chase said, seeing some of her writing students and smiling. She was trying to be less socially phobic. They stopped and stared at her, exhibiting the Asberger card for surprise. It was really shocked surprise, but there wasn’t an Asberger card for that.

  “Your new behavior seems to elicit shock,” Dr. Robicheck said.

  “Oh, I skateboard all the time. It’s hard for people to accost you because you travel quicker than they do, and they get out of your way.”

  “Then why were those women staring at you?”

  “I smiled at them. I don’t usually do that, but it’s part of the new me.”

  “I see.”

  They walked together until they reached the door of the auditorium where Chino and Dixon stood, arms crossed on their chests, looking like thugs.

  “Who are they?” Dr. Robicheck said.

  “The Pink Mafia. Let me do the talking.”

  “All right.”

  Chino and Dixon glared at her. “I see you’re still getting your panties starched,” Chase said. “Or maybe it’s constipation that makes you look like that.”

  “Piss off, you twerp,” Chino said.

  Chase rolled over Chino’s toe with her skateboard. Chino leapt out of the way.

  “Ouch! Why, you little piece of shit,” Dixon said. She lunged at Chase, but Dr. Robicheck stepped in her way.

  “I teach anger management, perhaps you should come to one of our meetings,” she said and handed her a card.

  Chino and Dixon both stood dumbstruck.

  Chase smiled at Dr. Robicheck. “It’s nice knowing your therapist has your back.”

  “You call that diplomacy?” Dr. Robicheck said.

  “No, I call that fucking with the man.”

  “The man?”

  “The powers that be or that think they are,” Chase said.

  “But why not call it ‘the woman’?”

 
“Oh, don’t get me started on the lesbian linguistic thing,” Chase said, putting her foot on the back of her board, flipping it up and grabbing it.

  “That was pretty slick,” Dr. Robicheck said, nodding her approval.

  Chase smiled appreciatively. “I practice a lot.”

  At the front of the auditorium, Lacey was pacing beside the lectern. “There you are.”

  “What’s wrong now?” Chase said.

  “Oh, just everything, that’s all,” Lacey snapped.

  “I think you’ll have to be more specific if you expect help,” Dr. Robicheck said.

  “Who are you?” Lacey said.

  Dr. Robicheck raised an eyebrow and looked at Chase, who shrugged. “I told you the whole place, including upper management, needs an attitude adjustment.”

  “I can see that,” Dr. Robicheck said.

  “Are you Dr. Robicheck? Oh, my God, I am so sorry,” Lacey said, looking downright penitent. She thrust out her hand and they shook.

  “Now, why don’t you tell me what is wrong, and then we can get a handle on the situation,” Dr. Robicheck said.

  “It’s all these fucking lesbians,” Lacey said, then, realizing her expletive deletive, covered her mouth.

  Chase sniggered.

  “It’s quite all right, I’ve heard it before,” Dr. Robicheck said, cocking her head in Chase’s direction.

  “That hurts,” Chase said, holding her hand to her heart in mock indignation.

  Lacey rolled her eyes.

  “My sentiments exactly,” Dr. Robicheck said. She looked around the auditorium. All the chairs were set in a circle that wound around like a nautilus.

  Chase followed her gaze. “Where is everyone?”

  “That’s the problem. There is no everyone,” Lacey said. Her eyes filled with tears.

  Dr. Robicheck pulled a small packet of unopened Kleenex out of her pocket and handed it to Lacey. Chase marveled at this. Were packets of Kleenex part of a therapist’s tools of the trade?

  “Thank you,” Lacey said, blowing her nose.

  “So why isn’t anyone coming?” Chase said.

  Lacey glanced at Dr. Robicheck. She lowered her voice, which was silly because they were alone in the auditorium. “The consensus among some of the lesbians is that therapy is for wimps and entirely rooted in the patriarchy. I think they’re still pissed about the whole Freud-thing.”

  “Freud-thing?” Dr. Robicheck said, looking quizzically at Chase.

  “Let’s not go there,” Chase said.

  “It’s something about Oedipus and Dora,” Lacey said. “I don’t know if they were a couple or what, but they are angry about the diagnostics.”

  Dr. Robicheck looked at Lacey with the kind of astonishment reserved for when one saw an alien with a poor grasp of history and vocabulary for the first time. She recovered quickly. “It seems these people are in real need of laugh therapy.”

  “Except that she can’t get anyone in here,” Chase said.

  Bud came in, followed by Addison who pushed a dolly containing two clear plastic tubs full of AV equipment and an ice chest. Bud was carrying spools of orange electrical cords and her omnipresent camera bag.

  As they made their way to the front of the auditorium, Dr. Robicheck said, “Well, here’s a couple of takers.”

  “That’s Bud in front with the cords and her friend Addison,” Chase said. “They don’t really count. They like to laugh already.”

  Dr. Robicheck’s eyes lit up. “The Bud and The Addison?”

  Chase hadn’t realized that although she’d been talking about Addison and Bud for years, Dr. Robicheck had never seen them. “Yes.” She was nervous. Two sides of her life were about to intersect.

  Bud walked up to Dr. Robicheck and stuck out her hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you, and I want to wholeheartedly thank you for doing such an amazing job of finding the necessary neural connections that allow Chase to function as well as she does.”

  Dr. Robicheck stared at Bud and then smiled. “Well, I must say you’ve exceeded my expectations.”

  “She has that effect on people,” Addison said. “But it is really cool to meet you.”

  “What are you two doing here?” Chase asked.

  “We thought you might encounter difficulties getting the ‘damned lesbians’”—she did air quotes—“to attend a seminar that involves a therapist,” Addison said.

  “The Freud-thing,” Bud said.

  Dr. Robicheck glanced again at Chase for elucidation. It wasn’t forthcoming.

  “What can you do?” Lacey said, her voice taking on the pitch of the nearly panicked.

  “Well, the first thing is to hand out the flyers and set up the projection equipment,” Addison said, pulling out the flyers and handing half the stack to Bud.

  “I can help,” Lacey said.

  Addison and Bud exchanged looks.

  “What?” Lacey said.

  “I think it’ll look biased and contrived if you’re involved,” Bud said.

  “What do you mean?” Chase said.

  “We’re going to play the kid angle,” Bud said, looking apologetic as if she was taking advantage of her status.

  “I don’t get it,” Lacey said.

  “We’re going to play a movie to lure the lesbians in and then after the movie Dr. Robicheck can have a spirited talk about the psychological nature of laughter and its benefits on the human mind,” Bud said.

  “That’s kind of sneaky,” Chase said.

  “Lesbians are not easy people to deal with,” Bud said.

  “I know,” Chase said.

  “We’re going to show a movie at a time like this?” Lacey said.

  “Trust me,” Bud said.

  “I think we should hand out the flyers and then come back and set up the AV equipment,” Bud said.

  “Wait, what’s the movie about?” Chase said.

  “It’s a series of short films about lesbians, which should entice this crowd since everyone is over-the-top lesbian here,” Bud said.

  “They’re Bud’s films and they are so hilarious, I almost wet my pants,” Addison said. “And I’m not a card-carrying lesbian…yet.”

  Chase wondered about this. Addison’s sexuality, despite the fact that she was sixteen, hadn’t been realized, but no one questioned her on it. Even her mother Peggy let it ride. “She’ll decide when she’s ready and I am happy either way.” To which Chase’s mother Stella replied, “And if it turns out to be boys I will see to it that nothing untoward ever happens to her.” Stella meant it. She and Peggy investigated the “untoward” a lot.

  Bud and Addison exchanged knowing looks.

  Chase zeroed in on them and was about to conduct a full investigation of the “look” she’d seen. Had Bud and Addison talked about sex—but Dr. Robicheck interrupted her.

  “This might actually work. I will be able to explain how laughter heightens dopamine levels while the audience is directly experiencing the induced state.”

  “You’ll have happy lesbians,” Lacey said, rubbing her hands together. “Who might listen to each other and be respectful of their unique POVs, and they won’t argue anymore.”

  They all stared at her, mouths agape. Bud smirked and Addison attempted a reprimanding look, which failed. They started to giggle.

  “You’re kidding, right?” Chase said.

  “We can try, can’t we?” Lacey asked, looking to Dr. Robicheck for confirmation.

  Dr. Robicheck lifted her eyebrows and smiled. “I don’t think laughing will bring peace, harmony, love and understanding.”

  “If it did, we’d send Tina Fey to the United Nations and nuclear disarmament would be immediately achieved,” Addison said.

  “Don’t you love her?” Chase said.

  “I just finished reading her biography Bossy Pants. It was hilarious,” Addison said.

  “Can we get back on task?” Lacey said, drumming her fingers on the podium and then taking a drink of water from the glass that was meant for the spe
aker.

  “She’s right,” Chase said, glancing at the huge wall clock at the back of the auditorium. They’d had to install it because whenever they had visiting lesbian writers in for a reading they always went over the allotted time limit or, at least the bad ones did, or maybe tedious fiction just made the audience feel that way.

  “We’ll pass out flyers,” Bud said, eyeing Chase. “Do you think you can set up the projection equipment? It’ll save time.”

  Chase looked at her indignantly and then remembered that she was tech-challenged. “Of course.” The new Fearless Chase would figure it out.

  “I think I can be of some assistance. I do it for the seminars I teach,” Dr. Robicheck said.

  It did come in handy having your therapist on hand while learning a new skill, Chase thought. She wondered if she could engage Dr. Robicheck to attend the Gift-Wrapping Championship and be her on-site performance advisor.

  “Perfect,” Bud said. “Everything you need is in the tubs. Put the speakers down here, two in the front of the stage and two in the back and then run the cords up the sides of the aisle. I brought duct tape so you can tack them down so they won’t be a safety hazard.”

  After they left, it occurred to Chase that she had no idea what the short films were about. Bud had been, as she put it, “chronicling the lives of ordinary lesbians.” Chase should have been suspicious as there was no such thing as an ordinary lesbian. In this environment, it was an oxymoron.

  Lacey instructed Ollie, one of the maintenance techs, to run the cords for the speakers. She went up with them to the projection room at the back of the auditorium but was no help in setting up the equipment. Instead, she made a conference call to the three head chefs. Chase eavesdropped.

  “I want finger food, like après fresco or whatever—little sandwich things full of Chia Pet stuff.”

  “Alfalfa sprouts,” Chase interjected.

  Lacey nodded like she was agreeing with her.

  “How about pigs in a blanket?” Chase suggested.

  Dr. Robicheck smiled—maybe she did get the Freud-thing.

  “Hold on,” Lacey said, glaring at Chase. “Have you lost your fucking mind? Do you realize the phallic implications of pigs in a blanket?”