“You forgot Pinterest,” Melody added.
“Good one,” Dale said, writing it on her sheet. “Everyone, please add Pinterest to the list.”
What are all these things, anyway? Whatever happened to meeting somebody at a bar? Jenna thought.
“I don’t have any of those things,” Agnes said, morosely.
“I can set them up for you,” Cindy said.
“You can? Because I don’t think my alters know how to either,” Agnes said.
Jenna could only imagine what Mickey and Naomi’s Facebook pages would look like. Mickey would most likely be dating half the town what with all her butch charm and ability to home remodel. Naomi would be drinking green apple martinis and making provocative videos of herself dirty dancing.
“I’m a software developer, remember? Social media is baby games to me,” Cindy said.
Jenna looked over at Agnes. “Are you sure that your having an online profile won’t open the door to Mickey and Naomi having one too?”
Agnes seemed to ponder this.
“I mean, I don’t know how your…” Jenna stopped. What was the protocol of political correctness for people with DID? Was it an illness? A disease? She had no idea how to talk about it.
Dale came to the rescue. “I bet there’s a Facebook group for women with DID. You should check it out.”
Agnes brightened. “That’s a great idea. Maybe I can meet somebody else with DID and us and our alters can double date. Or triple date. Or whatever.”
Everyone laughed.
“Melody, if you need any computer help, I’m here for you,” Cindy said.
Melody batted her eyelashes at Cindy. “That’s so sweet of you.”
Jenna watched the action between Cindy and Melody. Were they flirting with each other? “Okay, what other concerns do we have with the list?” Jenna asked. She needed to get the meeting tied up because Taylor was meeting her at Bass Pro to pick out a birthday gift for Brooklyn.
“I’m good,” Melody said. She picked up her new cup. “I’m meeting my mother for a quick lunch before the party. I think I’ll go as National Velvet. She hates that one the most.”
“Me too,” Cindy said. She corrected herself. “Not as Elizabeth Taylor but as in being done with the meeting. Not that I’m bored or anything.”
Dale looked over at Agnes. “Do you have any idea which of you will show up at the birthday potluck?”
“I wish,” Agnes said. “It’s always a surprise.”
“Okay then,” Jenna said, “We’ll see you in approximately one hour and twenty minutes at the potluck.” She handed out directions to Brooklyn’s house.
The clients left, taking their new cups with them. Dale shut the door and turned to Jenna. “I think that went well, don’t you?”
“Are you kidding? The potential for disaster is huge. Maybe the list wasn’t such a good idea. We might have given them ammo rather than tips,” Jenna said.
“You worry too much.”
“I don’t worry enough,” Jenna said.
***
Taylor was sitting by the fountain in an elaborate wooden rocking chair by the time Jenna arrived. Jenna had never been to the Bass Pro shop. It was like walking into a Park Service diorama of outdoor life. The place had rock waterfalls and fake pine trees. There were stuffed deer and elk along the shoreline of the stream. Stuffed birds hung from the ceiling looking like they might swoop down and kill anything they could find. There were fishing boats, kayaks, camping equipment, guns, and more outdoor gear than Jenna ever knew existed.
“What do you think?” Taylor asked.
“It’s scary.”
“I think what you meant to say is that it looks like a sportswoman’s paradise. Do you want a tour of the place?” Taylor asked.
“No, I want to purchase a birthday present and get out of here before one of those low-flying birds poops on my head.”
“You might want to reconsider the tour. Brooklyn is an outside girl. If you’re going to date her, you’ll need some common interests. I’ll be your guide.”
“Who says I’m going to date Brooklyn?” Jenna asked.
Taylor rolled her eyes. “We’ll start with the fishing section and then I’ll give you the full tour.”
“Why is it that no one listens to me?”
“Because we don’t agree with what you’re saying,” Taylor said, pulling Jenna toward the rows and rows of fishing rods.
They ended up with fishing lures, copper 110 fishing line, and 3.5 inch swim minnows. “Are you sure about all this stuff?” Jenna asked as she held the shopping basket and Taylor kept adding stuff. She was thinking about her nearly maxed out credit card.
“No worries, this stuff is going to be from all of us and I’m buying,” Taylor said.
“Why are you buying it all?”
“Because I’m rich.” She said this without snobbery or pomp. It was a simple fact.
“What is this stuff? Do fish need perfume?” Jenna asked, examining the bottle of Live Walleye Concentrate. She had her finger on the dispenser.
Taylor shouted, “Don’t do that!” just as Jenna sprayed. They were swallowed up in a walleye-scented cloud.
Jenna sniffed. She gagged. She pinched her nose and said, “I shouldn’t hab done that.”
“No, you shouldn’t have,” Taylor said.
Chapter Eleven
“Please tell me this is going to work out,” Jenna said as they sat in Taylor’s Land Rover. They were parked in front of Brooklyn’s house. Cars lined both sides of the street.
“It’s going to work out,” Taylor said, ripping open another deodorizing “New Car Smell” tree and hanging it from her rearview mirror next to the six other deodorizing trees.
“You all still stink,” Dale said. “What are we going to do about it?”
“I’ve given it some thought,” Taylor said. She leaned over and removed a can of Burt’s Bees citronella scented bug spray from the glove compartment.
“You’re going to spray yourself with bug repellant? That’s your idea?” Dale asked.
“Whatever happened to your being positive? Tony Robbins would be so disappointed in your attitude right now,” Jenna teased. She took the bug spray from Taylor and sniffed its nozzle.
“Tony never had to sit in a car with two women who smell like dead fish,” Dale replied.
“You do not know that for a certainty,” Jenna said, dabbing behind her ears with the insect repellant.
“We’re going to need more than a dab,” Taylor said. “We need to douse ourselves. Come on,” she said, getting out of the car. “We’ll take turns spraying each other.”
“I’ll get the presents while you do that,” Dale said. She opened the rear door of the Land Rover.
Jenna stood still, legs and arms spread wide, while Taylor sprayed her with the bug repellant. “It smells good, actually,” she said. “After you get used to it.”
Taylor sniffed her. “I think it’s going to work. Besides, we’re at an outdoor potluck. People wear bug spray.”
Taylor squeezed her eyes shut while Jenna sprayed her. When she was done, Dale gave her a sniff test. “You definitely smell somewhat better,” Dale said.
“I don’t think this was on that list you gave us,” Cindy said. She had snuck up behind them as they were busy sniffing each other. “Do we have to do that? Is it some sort of lesbian mating ritual?”
The three women spun around at the sound of Cindy’s voice.
“No!” Jenna and Dale said simultaneously. “Under no circumstances should you sniff anyone. Well, unless they are inquiring whether you like their new perfume,” Jenna said. “But wait until they ask you,” she amended.
“I’ll sniff anyone, anytime, anywhere,” Naomi said. She sidled up next to Taylor. “You are definitely sniff-worthy,” she said, emitting a low growl.
Dale narrowed her eyes. “That’s my wife you’re talking about.”
“Monogamy is so bourgeois,” Naomi said with a swish of her hand.
Taylor discreetly backed away from Naomi. Dale smiled her approval.
Jenna took Dale by the elbow and whispered, “Remember when you said everything was going to work out fine? It’s not getting off to a good start.”
“Everything will be fine,” Dale chirped. Then under her breath, she muttered, “I hope.”
Jenna announced brightly, “Looks like we’re just waiting on Melody. As soon as she gets here, we’ll all go in together.”
Dale looked Naomi up and down and noted the vast expanse of boobage showing. “I hope you put on sunscreen. I have some if you need it.”
Naomi grinned. “Darlin’, I don’t burn. I sizzle.”
Naomi was dressed like Daisy Duke. Her jean cut-offs were so short that the bottom of her butt cheeks were hanging out. The “underbutt” as Jenna referred to it. Naomi’s top was a fire engine red halter where more of her breasts were out than in—showing plenty of “underboob” accompanied by a dash of “sideboob.” To top it all off, she wore red stiletto heels.
“I think a panic attack is in order,” Jenna said.
“I never knew you had panic attacks,” Taylor said.
“I didn’t until now.”
“Naomi, where’s Agnes? I thought she was coming,” Dale said.
“Are you kidding me? She’s such a bore that I couldn’t possible let an opportunity like this be wasted on a wallflower.”
“Does anyone have a paper bag?” Jenna asked.
“What for?” Taylor said.
“I’m going to hyperventilate.”
“I’ll be your paper bag, darling,” Naomi said, puckering her lips.
“Stop already,” Dale hissed at Naomi.
“Another buzz-kill in the world,” Naomi said, sighing dramatically.
At last, Melody joined them. At least she wore proper potluck attire—a pair of khaki cargo shorts, a white Ralph Lauren polo and blue Converse shoes. She did have several carabiners hanging from her belt loops as well as seven or eight rainbow zip up hoodies in her arms. “Hey, everybody. I’m not late, am I?”
“Not at all,” Dale said. “We were a little early.”
“What’s with the sweatshirts?” Jenna asked.
“And the rock climbing doohickeys?” Dale asked.
“They’re called carabiners,” Taylor informed them.
“They’re very lesbian. I researched what lesbians wear. Dressing as Liz has retarded my fashion sense. I’m trying to get up to speed,” Melody said. “And you said that we should bring an extra sweater but I thought the rainbow hoodies might go over better. Did you need one?” she asked Naomi. “You look like you might get cold.”
“And cover up all this lusciousness? I think not,” Naomi said.
“Wow. You look nice,” Melody said to Cindy.
Cindy did look nice. And normal. She was wearing a pair of chestnut colored Capri pants and a pale yellow linen blouse with Keen sandals.
Jenna may have misinterpreted the look that passed between them, but it looked like Melody and Cindy gazed at each other. And not just any gaze either. It was a lingering gaze—full of intense longing.
Cindy pried her eyes away from Melody’s and blushed. “Thank you.”
“Mush, mush, and more mush. Let’s get this party started,” Naomi said, touching her phone screen, which brought up the song Naughty Girl by Beyonce. She danced across the front lawn as several other partygoers went up to the house. She elicited two wolf whistles.
Jenna frowned her displeasure. She decided to stand as far as possible from Naomi so no one would suspect that Naomi was a part of her group.
Suddenly, a scream pierced the air. Jenna and her group froze in place. A giant, two-foot wheel rolled out the front door, across the yard, and down the driveway. Jenna couldn’t fathom what the wheel was made of. It was white, with a spongy texture, and had hundreds of holes in it. It resembled Swiss cheese. But it couldn’t be. Whoever heard of a two-foot tall wheel of Swiss cheese?
Brooklyn burst through the front door next. She pointed at the wheel and shouted, “Stop the Swiss cheese!”
Wow, Jenna thought, it really was Swiss cheese!
Brooklyn broke into a run, chasing the wheel. The wheel rolled past Jenna and into the street. Jenna thought about stopping it, but she didn’t know how. She didn’t want to get run over by Swiss cheese. Death by Swiss cheese was not what she wanted on her headstone.
Brooklyn skidded to a stop. The cheese rolled into the middle of the street and right in front of an oncoming monster truck. There was a sickening thwump as the truck’s massive tires crushed the wheel of cheese.
The monster truck’s door opened and a red-faced woman jumped down into the street.
“What the hell, Brooklyn?” the woman shouted. She examined her truck tire, which was covered in Swiss cheese. She picked a piece off and examined it. She held it to her nose and sniffed. “Is this Swiss cheese?”
Brooklyn caught her breath. “Yep. It was the centerpiece of the potluck.”
“Cheese may look innocent, but it can be quite deadly,” Cindy said. “Did you know that there is an annual cheese rolling contest held every year in Gloucester, England? One person was gravely injured when they were hit with a cheese wheel going seventy miles an hour.”
Both Brooklyn and Monster Truck Woman stared at her like she was from another planet— a planet whose inhabitants were members of Mensa.
“That’s very interesting,” Melody said. Cindy blushed again.
Brooklyn turned and smiled at Jenna. “Welcome to the monkey house.”
Monster Truck Woman said, “How the hell am I going to get that,” she pointed at the offending cheese, “off my tire?”
“Let it melt,” Taylor piped up. “We can have it for fondue later.”
Everyone laughed.
At that moment, another woman came running out the front door. “Where’s my cheese?” Then she saw the mess on the street. She stomped her way over and said indignantly, “Do you have any idea what a wheel of Wisconsin’s best Swiss goes for?”
“Three hundred and forty-nine dollars,” Cindy said. “Pre-tax, that is.”
The woman looked at Cindy. “That’s right. How’d you know that?”
“I watch a lot of The Price is Right,” Cindy said.
“You can get your damn three-hundred-dollar cheese off my tire,” Monster Truck Woman said.
“Hey, it’s not my fault Lisa is trypophobic,” Cheese Woman said. “Tell her to get it off your tire. She’s the one who kicked it out the door in the first place.”
“You should’ve known better than to bring Swiss cheese. It has holes! It’s known for its holes,” Monster Truck Woman said. “You know what happened at the last potluck with the donuts.”
“I didn’t come to the last potluck.”
“What’s trypophobia?” Jenna whispered to Cindy.
“A fear of holes,” Cindy said.
“That must make it very hard to be a lesbian,” Naomi said.
Brooklyn looked over at Jenna and they burst into loud laughter. They knew it wasn’t PC to make fun of lesbians with phobias, but they couldn’t help themselves.
Cheese Woman and Monster Truck Woman felt no compulsion to laugh. They continued to argue about cheese, holes, cheese in holes, holey cheese, and cheese in tires. Then Monster Truck Woman peeled a handful of cheese off her tire and threw it at Cheese Woman. Cheese Woman dove at Monster Truck Woman and they both tumbled to the ground. Jenna and the girls watched as they rolled around on the grass, pulling hair and slapping each other.
“Fight, fight, fight!” Naomi said, clapping her hands, and doing a few pelvic thrusts.
“Should we try to stop them?” Cindy asked. “Maybe call the police?”
“They are the police,” Brooklyn replied.
“Oh,” Cindy said.
Melody touched Cindy’s arm. “It’s a nice thought, but I think it’s good that people get to vent their anger in socially acceptable ways.”
; “Oh, I didn’t realize that hair pulling, slapping, and spitting was socially acceptable,” Cindy said.
“You’ve obviously never been to a lesbian potluck,” Brooklyn said.
***
Brooklyn’s house was packed with lesbians. Shoulder-to-shoulder lesbians. All types, all sizes, all ages. It was a regular lesbian smorgasbord.
Jenna and the rest of her group found a spot in the dining room that was prime viewing. Jenna was still holding the presents. Brooklyn spotted her from the kitchen and wound her way over. “Are those for me?”
“Don’t worry, they’re completely hole free,” Jenna said.
Brooklyn laughed. “You didn’t have to.”
“No, but I wanted to. We all wanted to,” Jenna said. She felt herself turning red. She didn’t know why, she wasn’t embarrassed. That’s when she noticed her heart was beating triple time. Her mind might be able to lie about what she felt for Brooklyn, but her body sure couldn’t.
Suddenly, Cindy turned to Jenna and panic-whispered, “This is a potluck!”
“Yes, it is,” Jenna said.
“We didn’t bring any food!” Cindy said. “What’re we going to do?”
“Don’t worry. I took care of it,” Taylor said. She pointed out the side window and they all turned to look. As if on cue, a delivery van with the logo “Italians Do It Better,” emblazoned on the side pulled up to the curb. Taylor went outside to greet the van.
A woman wearing black and white checkered pants and a chef’s shirt hopped out of the van.
“I love Italian,” Naomi growled. “I could eat her up.”
Jenna grabbed Naomi by the elbow, holding her back. “Whoa, girl.”
Naomi sighed. “I suppose she is working. I’ll be out back if you need me,” she said, starting to walk away.
“Oh, no you don’t. You cannot be left unsupervised,” Dale said. She hooked Naomi’s arm in her own and escorted her out the back door.
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