Brownie Points

by Jennifer Coburn

  “Do you know that I’m a brown belt in karate?” Maya said. “I could hurl a Thin Mint at you with such force it would have to be surgically removed!”

  As the kids told me about this after school, I couldn’t help bursting into laughter. “I cannot believe you said that, Maya!”

  Ashley and Bianca giggled along. “Neither could I!” Ashley, who inherited her mother’s ditsy sense of humor, added, “Where’s she going to find a Thin Mint this time of year? Cookie season doesn’t even start till spring.”

  Thank you, I mouthed to my daughter. She gave me a quick wink in return.

  Chapter Twelve

  November

  Maya wasn’t the only one flexing her muscle about town these days. Jason came home one day with a set of red boxing gloves and shorts for Logan, and told him he’d enrolled them both at Dempsey’s gym. He told me his goal was to take Logan to the gym as often as he went to Girl Scout meetings. It would be their Saturday routine, he explained.

  “Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee!” Logan boasted, holding his gloves over his head, as they returned from their first day at the gym. “I am the champion of the world.” He didn’t do a half-bad Ali imitation. As the three of us stood in the open garage, Jason gave me a quick kiss. “Good to see you working again.”

  “I wish I could help myself,” I replied. “It’s not like anyone will ever see these.”

  “Do it for you, baby.” Returning his attention to Logan, he said, “The boy’s got some moves. You should come down and watch him sometime.”

  “I got moves you’ve never seen before,” Logan said, now sounding more like Eddie Murphy imitating James Brown. Jason smiled, which fueled Logan even more, “Yea-ayy! Moves you never thought of.” The door leading into the house opened and Maya, Bianca and Ashley popped their heads out.

  “I told you it was him,” said Bianca.

  “We’re about to fire up Glee,” said Maya. “You in?”

  Logan placed his hand on his tilted head dramatically. “Ah, to be so adored,” he said before disappearing into the house with the girls.

  “Well,” I said, nodding in wonderment. “That went well. Does he really, um --”

  “Sting like a bee?” Jason asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Baby, he’s the queen bee.” Jason pulled a chair beside mine. “He got hit in the face with a speed bag the first time, and his jump roping definitely needs some work, but the boy has got some talent. Know what else?” I raised my brows. “That kid is funny.”

  “Really? Is that so?”

  “He was cracking the guys up doing scenes from Rocky, and not just that ‘Adrian, Adrian’ bullshit everyone does either. And he can do a dead-on Clint from Million Dollar Baby. I’m telling you, the guys loved him.”

  “Hmmm,” I said, smiling and returning to my work. “Hard to believe.” As I curled the edge of the cowboy hat I’d just made from Texas license plates, I laughed to myself. My son had found his niche at Girl Scouts and Dempsey’s boxing gym.

  ™˜

  Logan had made it one full week as a Girl Scout without anyone noticing.

  Then Michelle ran into Olivia at Target and proudly mentioned the troop’s newest member. Less than an hour later, both Jason and I were confronted by the McDoyles.

  Jason coincidentally ran into Jim at the City Administration Building. The two had a brief conversation about it, which ended in Jim shrugging his shoulders. Jason was smart about it, dropping the names of several of Logan’s brawny fans. Jim knew better than to alienate Jason and make enemies that come in the form of one ton of solid muscle.

  Olivia, however, was a different story.

  I returned home and pressed the blinking light on my answering machine.

  “Hi, you’ve reached the Taylors,” Maya’s recorded voice began. “If you don’t know what to do at the beep, there’s no hope for you. Sorry to break it to you, dude.” BEEP

  Lisa, it’s Olivia and I think all that dieting is eating away Michelle’s brain cells because she just told me something that simply cannot be true. She said Logan joined the Girl Scouts, which would certainly be weird. I haven’t said anything to anyone yet because I wanted to see if it was true, but do call me back ASAP so we can discuss this.

  I was dreaming if I thought my son joining the Girl Scouts was going to go unnoticed. I decided to drop by Olivia’s house that afternoon and try to do some spin control.

  Walking to the McDoyles’, I noticed that the Utopians had stripped their lawns of Halloween décor and replaced it with the next holiday theme. Most were pretty tame, except for Marni who opted for a semi-pornographic display of Puritans in low-cut black and whites standing beside a Miles Standish who looked as if he just might whip it out and make the buxom Pocahontas really give thanks.

  On Olivia’s front doors were two “wreaths” of brightly colored plush turkey heads mounted on silver platters. The heads were surrounded by velvet and felt potatoes, corn and pie slices. Before I could ring the bell, the door opened and I saw perhaps the ugliest man I’d ever laid eyes on. His bulbous nose and puffy cheeks had more broken capillaries than I thought could fit on one face. It was as if a child scrawled over his cheeks with a red ballpoint pen. A stingy portion of dyed black hair was freshly washed and combed back, forming rows that looked like racing stripes. The fat from his belly practically made a sloshing sound as he walked. At first, I thought he might be a leftover Halloween display, then I realized I’d seen him somewhere before.

  It was Val’s husband, Dr. Monroe, who littered my mailbox regularly with four-color mailers advertising his plastic and reconstructive surgery services. In his mailers, Dr. Monroe points his latex-gloved index finger at the reader and proclaims, “I know where your beauty lies.” It was as if he thought his scalpel could pick the lock of women’s hidden beauty.

  You could practically turn to stone from looking at this guy, and yet he had the unmitigated gall to tell women that we should pay him to slice us open and make modifications. Jason couldn’t understand why I was ranting when we first received the flyer in the mail. “So don’t get plastic surgery,” he said, shrugging his shoulders dismissively. It’s not that I had any huge issues with cosmetic surgery. Frankly, if a woman wants a face lift, more power to her. It was just the gross injustice of it all. Imagine watching a version of Beauty and the Beast in which that mutant gorilla has the nerve to tell Belle that she needs a tummy tuck! Or more galling, laser hair removal.

  “Oh, hello Lisa,” said Olivia, startled at the door. She shifted her weight and smiled uncomfortably. “Do you know Dr. Monroe?”

  “Pleasure to meet you,” he said, extending his hand while simultaneously appraising my face. “I’ve got to run, Mrs. McDoyle, but call my office.”

  My eyes narrowed as he scurried toward his gold Lexus with a license plate that read “FACE DOC.”

  Heal thyself, Dr. Beast!

  “Well, now that you’re here,” Olivia said, gesturing that I could come in. “I would’ve thought you’d phone.”

  “I thought it would be better to talk in person,” I said as we walked through her entryway. My God, did everyone use the same wallpaper pattern in this place? The paisley alone in Utopia was oppressive.

  “So, why was Val’s husband at your house?”

  Olivia turned to me and said, “I hate to be rude, but it really isn’t any of your business.” She extended her arm toward the kitchen, suggesting that I should go in and sit down.

  “I find that very surprising,” I sat as I took a seat. She held a coffee mug and raised her brows, offering me a cup. “Thank you. I take it black.”

  “Why would it surprise you, Lisa? Dr. Monroe’s visit is of no concern to you.” She placed the cup of coffee in front of me and set hers down at the place opposite me.

  “Oh no, I meant it surprises me that you hate to be rude. As often as you do it, it seems you’d have to enjoy it just a little.”

  “Well!” she huffed.

  “Not
even a little?” I poked, knowing that my catching her post-tryst gave me the upper hand in this negotiation.

  “I thought you’d want to know that people are going to speak unkindly about Logan joining the Girl Scouts,” Olivia said. “Scone?”

  “Thank you,” I replied. “I know the perfect way to stem the gossip about Logan.” Olivia looked as worried as she should have been. “People are much more inclined to talk about something juicier, like your affair with Val’s husband.”

  Olivia looked down and didn’t utter a word. She looked like a carnival gypsy in a booth when the quarter expired. Suddenly her shoulder began heaving and she sobbed little hiccup-like squeaks. “If you must know, Dr. Monroe is doing my foot enhancement.”

  “Foot enhancement?”

  Olivia slipped off her shoe, revealing a knobby, bunion-laden monstrosity. Her toes were so long that they were practically tangled together.

  “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve worn sandals, Lisa?”

  “We should host a telethon,” I said. They were quite ugly feet.

  “It may be a joke to you, but this has been very painful for me. Do you have any idea how many cute sandals there are these days? It gets very hot wearing closed-toe shoes in the summer.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, solemnly. “I didn’t realize.” I was sorry, too. If Olivia and Beast weren’t having an affair, I had absolutely no leverage.

  “At least it’s just my feet,” Olivia said, emboldened. “Ellie had vaginal rejuvenation last year.”

  “Vaginal what?”

  “Rejuvenation,” Olivia said. “They make everything look, you know, fresher down there.”

  “She told you this?” I asked. I thought Ellie was Val’s friend, therefore natural enemies with Olivia.

  “Dr. Monroe told me,” she said.

  “Whatever happened to doctor-patient confidentiality?”

  “He didn’t do the surgery,” Olivia explained.

  Not wanting to hear any more about Ellie’s twat-lift, I decided to get our conversation back on track. “So, the reason you called.”

  “The reason I called,” Olivia scanned her memory.

  “My son?”

  “Right, Logan! He’s not really joining the Girl Scout troop, is he?”

  “He is,” I told her. “He joined last week.”

  “But he’s a boy,” Olivia exclaimed.

  “Why do you care? You don’t even have daughters.”

  She perked up in her chair as if I’d just made her point for her. “Exactly! Which is why I can appreciate how much girls need a place to be girls and boys need a place to be boys without all the mixing.”

  My heart sank at the word. “It’s the mixing you have a problem with?”

  “Oh, don’t call the political correctness police now, Lisa, that’s not what I meant and you know it. But when you take away the lines between men and women, where does it end? Does the Ladies’ Gym have to start letting men into my cardio funk class?”

  “This is about cardio funk? I’m surprised you’re concerned with such trivialities with all of the important things going on in your world like medieval birthday parties and ugly toes!” I stood up to leave. Olivia stood and met my gaze.

  “Lisa, you need to take this seriously,” she admonished. “Boys can be very cruel at this age, and when they find out Logan’s a Girl Scout, I’m afraid of what they’ll do to him.”

  That was it. Enraged, I slammed my hand onto the table, accidentally smashing the scone into several pieces. “Some boys are very cruel, Olivia, especially when they’re not raised by actual humans, but if I were you, I’d be very, very afraid for any kid who lays a finger on Logan. I swear, if that missing link of yours touches Logan again, your feet won’t be the only parts of you that need surgical enhancement.” I grabbed my purse, checked to see that it was actually my purse, then stormed off.

  Chapter Thirteen

  As I stomped back to my house, I swore I heard Darth Vader’s theme music accompanying me. I was feeling like a bit of a Storm Trooper that afternoon. Logan, I am your mother.

  “Hello, Lisa!” My neighbor shouted as I walked by. I realized that I was not imagining the dark side soundtrack. Barb’s husband was outside setting up a Star Wars-theme Thanksgiving feast on their front lawn, complete with Luke Skywalker carving the turkey with his lightsaber.

  “Hey, Lisa,” chirped Michelle as her tank pulled up beside me. “Something wrong with your car?”

  “Something’s wrong with my life,” I shot back.

  Michelle’s pretty face scrunched. “Not a good time for bad news then.”

  Great, now what?! “I’m sorry, Michelle. I don’t mean to snap at you. What’s up?”

  She explained that Girl Scouts of America rejected Logan’s application.

  “The penis?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  When Logan introduced the idea of joining Girl Scouts, I thought he was out of his mind, but I’d never seen him happier. Sure, he was bonding with his father on their Saturday trips to Dempsey’s, but it was at Girl Scouts where Logan finally gained a sense of belonging. “He’s going to be so disappointed,” I said to Michelle through her open window.

  “Don’t tell him yet,” Michelle said. “I wrote a pretty strongly worded letter appealing their decision.”

  “What did you say?”

  “Just how much we love Logan and how the troop wouldn’t be the same without him.”

  “Wow,” I said, smiling for the first time that day. “Do you really feel that way about him?”

  “I feel that way about all of you,” Michelle said. “Hey, we need you again for Bunco next week.”

  “Okay,” I said without thinking. Oh shit, no, no, no. I don’t want to socialize with Val or Olivia. “Oh, I’m sorry, I actually can’t make it that night.”

  Michelle arched a brow. “What night can’t you make it?”

  Shit! Busted. “Um, Bunco night.”

  “You mean Thursday?”

  Relieved, I answered, “Yes, Thursday, I’ve got other plans that night.”

  “Good!” Michelle shot smugly. “Bunco’s on Wednesday. See you there.” She blew a kiss and drove away, waving out the car window.

  ™˜

  “I’m not kidding,” Barb said, shoving another slice of spinach-dipped pita bread into her mouth. She struck me as someone who was equal parts earnest and fun. Her square face held thick brown eyebrows and a smile that only showed top teeth. There was something attractive about Barb. “Every day I load the dishwasher, unload it, sweep the floor, vacuum the rug, throw laundry in, fold it, pick crap off the floor, and just when I think it’s clean, these kids storm the place and mess it up again. I’m like that Greek guy who pushes the boulder up the mountain every day only to have it roll back down.” She didn’t seem bitter about her situation, but frustrated by the cyclical time drain.

  After Barb Fields shared her thoughts on the Sisyphean futility of housework, the Bunco night conversation turned to Logan and his latest Girl Scout drama.

  Olivia turned to me and blurted, “So I hear our first boy Girl Scout is no more.”

  “Yeah, what happened?” Barb asked.

  “The penis,” Michelle dropped casually while rolling the dice.

  Logan joining the Girl Scouts was the talk of Utopia for a short while, but, thankfully, another scandal eclipsed his. The captain of the baseball team at Los Corderos High brought a stripper to the Harvest Dance at the school gym, and evidently she did a pole dance off the basketball post. Then Val made a stink about divots on the boys’ soccer field, and pretty soon everyone forgot about Logan the Girl Scout.

  Sadly, Girl Scouts did not forget to respond to Michelle’s strongly worded letter, and told her that not only was Logan prohibited from joining the troop, he was no longer allowed to attend as a guest. The letter stated, in no uncertain terms, that the organization aimed to create an atmosphere where girls are uninhibited by the presence of boys. I fully endorsed t
he concept of girls feeling free to take risks, explore ideas and push boundaries. The thought of Logan inhibiting this was laughable.

  What wasn’t quite as funny was the fact that Michelle was on probation with the Girl Scouts after she got into a shouting match with the president of Girl Scouts of America, who was Michelle’s childhood troop leader in Sacramento.

  Val’s eyes narrowed on Olivia as she poured herself a glass of wine. “I hear the school is giving the GATE test again next month — for the kids who didn’t make it the first time around.”

  “GATE?” I whispered to Michelle.

  “Gifted and Talented,” she whispered back even softer.

  “Perhaps this time Max won’t run out of the classroom and try to open the front gate to the school.”

  “Val, that is really cruel,” Michelle said. “You know Max is autistic.”

  Val was skeptical. “Please, anytime a kid doesn’t make good eye contact, they call it autism. All Max has is a plain old-fashioned case of bad genes.”

  I had finally reached my limit with Utopia and its inane women. Okay, Marni was rad, Michelle was a love, Barb seemed cool and Cara was nice. But Val and Olivia were out of control. “Will you two stop it?!” I blurted. “What is wrong with you anyway? You’re still angry about some election that happened two years ago?! Please, Al Gore got over his disappointment faster than you two.” As I said this, an absurd image flashed through my mind: the former veep’s mother was viciously cane-jousting at Barbara Bush, who shouted back, “No recount, damn it. Georgie won!”

  “It’s more than that,” Ellie said, in Val’s defense.

  “Yeah, it’s much more than that,” Stacey said, placing a loyal hand on Val’s shoulder.

  Marni placed her hand on her hip. “Oh yeah? Then what the fuck is it?”

  With gentle inquisitiveness, Michelle resounded. “Val? Olivia? What the fuck is it?”

  “What is it?” Stacey whispered to Val, relieving some of the tension in the room.

  Just when I thought nothing in Utopia could shock me anymore, I got another surprise. After the women’s chorus of “What the fuck is it?” Cara rolled out a Bundt cake and we all had a perfectly delightful dice game. At the end of the evening, no one was any closer to knowing what the fuck it was, but we had the best time in months.