Chase Banter [02] Marching to a Different Accordion (7 page)

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.

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 take 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.

The teacher’s name was Paul and he’d been practicing and teaching yoga for fifteen years. “I want to impress upon you that this is not a competition but rather a coming into a growing awareness of your body and its abilities. If at any point you feel you are not comfortable with a particular pose you should stop and rest.”

Uncomfortable, as in a hamstring removing itself from its bony attachment, Chase thought. She looked over at Bud. She was politely listening, but Chase could tell she was ready to get started. Bud was mostly about learning through the experience of trial and error. Chase looked around and noticed the other children squirming. Then, as Paul seemed to sense their irritation at having to sit still, he demonstrated the first pose, which was lying on one’s back, hands at the sides, palms up. This seemed easy enough, Chase thought, and then the contortions began. All the poses had strange names, which Bud seemed to already know, because as Paul explained the name, its pronunciation and then began his demonstration, Bud was already in position.

A brunette woman with an ungainly two-year-old leaned over and whispered, “Has she taken a class before?” She seemed to be implying that while Chase was as uncoordinated as her two-year-old, Bud had the grace of a yoga master in training.

“Not that I was aware of,” Chase said, trying to arch her back so she resembled a pissed-off feline about to attack—the cat pose.

Paul walked around the room adjusting people’s poses until he came to Bud, whom he appreciatively studied, ignoring Chase altogether despite her misshapen cat pose. “My little one, you have found the golden path already.”

Bud smiled demurely.

After he left, Chase hissed, “You’re such a show-off.”

Bud cocked her head and raised her eyebrows as if to say, “You could have studied as well, but you didn’t. Hence you look like an idiot whereas I have the grace of the ages.”

“Some people find overachievers insufferable megalomaniacs.”

Before Bud could snidely respond there was a scream from the back of the room and a young woman dressed in expensive yoga clothing had leapt up clutching her child and grimacing. Chase wondered if her hamstring had pulled its anchor.

“Look!” She pointed at the floor near the sink with the dripping tap. Chase knew at once what the problem was. The yoga class was located in the basement of the Student Union building. The Northeast Heights had a horrible roach problem—which Chase had always found amusing as wealthy homeowners waged battle on the orange-backed menace that invaded their yards and houses. They were attracted by water and the dripping faucet was perfect. “Kill it,” the woman screeched, staring pointedly at Paul.

“I can’t. In addition to teaching yoga I’m also a Buddhist monk. We are forbidden to kill any living thing lest it be an ancestor awaiting reincarnation,” Paul calmly said. “We must learn to live with them as they with us.”

All the other women had now snatched up their children. Chase was about to do the same when she discovered that Bud had disappeared. Chase looked around frantically. The woman with the dimples and the young son touched Chase’s elbow. “She’s over there.” She let go of her son’s hand and he raced toward Bud.

Chase stared uncomprehendingly as Bud handed the young boy a stack of Dixie cups and pointed at the offending insects. She demonstrated, coming up behind the cockroach and quickly plopping a cup over it. The boy followed her example and in no time the colony of cockroaches was ensconced in a flower-covered world of paper. Bud looked up triumphantly. “Yurt!” She held out her hand for the boy to shake and then went back to her yoga mat.

Chase clapped her hands and then plucked Bud up in her arms. “You said a word, a real honest-to-God word. Your first-spoken-in-the-company-of-others word in real English.”

The suburban woman who’d commented on Bud’s uncanny ability concerning yoga was perplexed. “Her first word was yurt?”

The woman with the dimples, who had introduced herself as Lou when they exchanged names, laughed. “Considering the occasion I’d be proud. She just captured a rogue invader using a policy of containment rather than destruction.”

Paul knelt down and smiled at Bud and her new friend Peter. “Good work.” Chase liked it when grown-ups got on a kid’s level. It was the height of politesse, like getting up when an elderly person needed your seat on a train or a bus. Her own polite behavior had only been thwarted once. When waiting in the doctor’s office for Gitana, she had attempted to help an elderly man get up out of his chair. It seemed the thing to do at the time, but she had underestimated his girth and while trying to help him up she’d ended up in his lap. He didn’t seem to mind having a pretty blond woman there but his wife did.

 The women resumed their yoga positions with wary eyes turned toward the paper cups and their unwilling occupants. Only during the short session of meditation was their vigilance forced to a stop. Chase thought meditation was kind of silly for a room full of kids until she discovered that meditation worked like a drug on tired children. Bud curled up next to her while Paul made soothing conversation to get them in the zone and then silence ensued. Chase tried to quiet her mind, only to discover that it refused to be still. Her thoughts had become a cat’s cradle of conflicting ideas—like two actors on a stage doing a monologue at the same time.

“We’re supposed to be concentrating on being completely empty,” she told her mind.

“Like that’s ever going to happen. Let’s use this time to work out that scene at the warehouse you’ve got coming up,” her mind replied.

“That’s not what meditation is supposed to be like. It’s a time of no thinking, a blue space where I can find peace and harmony—a oneness with the universe.”

“That’s bullshit. If you don’t want to think about the book, then let’s think about sex.”

Sex
was
a topic that had been popping up a lot more lately. Since Bud’s arrival her and Gitana’s sex life wasn’t what it used to be. Chase, having never been the instigator, had depended on Gitana to keep the hearth fires warm. Now, it seemed, they were so busy and seldom alone except at the end of a hectic day that making love or rather making time for love had gotten bottom-shelved. Listening to Delia’s and Bo’s erotic short stories had made her think about sex. And now in the middle of a roomful of mothers and children she was thinking about it again instead of clearing her mind. It was horrid and she couldn’t have been more relieved when the whole thing came to an end.

After class, Lou and Peter came over. Bud and Peter then went to help Paul slip pieces of the flyer for the yoga class under the paper cups so they could relocate the cockroaches. Paul had them put the nasty creatures into a plastic bag, telling them he would take them someplace nice where they could make a new home.

“Do you really think he means that? We had a dog once that had taken to killing cats and my father told us he took him to a nice farm where he would be happy. Come to find out much later, he’d taken him to the pound,” Lou said.

Chase thought about this for a moment. She put Japanese beetles into gallon-sized clear plastic bags and baked them in the sun to kill them after she’d meticulously picked them from her spinach and lettuce before they had the chance to destroy her entire crop. She did this without Bud’s knowledge, knowing it would traumatize her. She suffered some pangs of guilt, but justified it by telling herself that for the sake of the helpless and indefensible lettuce and spinach plants, she was forced to remove an evil entity from the universe. Besides she was almost certain that the destructive insects of the world were the product of God’s nightmares and thus could justly be eradicated. “If it were me, I would let them burn in the hot parking lot after class, but knowing that guy,” she pointed at Paul, “he will find a good home for them.”

“Like the Republican headquarters,” Lou said.

Chase laughed. Maybe Lily was right—it wasn’t that difficult to make friends. It helped that Chase despised the Republican Party, but what if she hadn’t? She wouldn’t have to say anything to the contrary. She could do as Lily said—smile and nod.

“Have you ever noticed that parents have the uncanny ability once you’ve reached a certain age to reveal truths that destroy the myths they created for you as children?”

“Like the dog story?” Chase queried.

“Yes. I mean why tell you these things so much after the fact that it makes absolutely no difference. I was happy with the myth,” Lou said, watching as her son poured the last cup of cockroach into the bag.

Chase, suddenly remembering that Lou might be gay, tried to think of a way that Lily would approve of to find out. Finally she said, “Lou, I don’t know how to ask this but…”

“Yes, Chase, I am gay,” Lou said as if sensing Chase’s trepidation.

“This is so amazing—you’re the first other gay parent I’ve met. How are you and your partner handling it? I have a thousand questions.”

The look on Lou’s face made it more than evident that Chase had once again screwed up. Lily had told the group before she sent them out like untrained dogs loosed on an unsuspecting public that they would initially fail and here it was. She let out a sigh. “I’m sorry. Did I say something to offend you?” God, she hoped Lou’s partner wasn’t dead—a horrible car accident or cancer or any number of terrible deaths—leaving this poor woman with a child and without help and support. Chase’s face must have been the picture of regret for Lou touched her arm and smiled.

“No, I’m not offended. I’m just another single parent who had a partner that decided being married and having a child wasn’t what she wanted after all. The hard part is that she is Peter’s biological mother and he can’t understand why she left us. Luckily, he sees me as just as much a victim and his only ally.”

Chase was crestfallen and Lou saw it. “Don’t worry. We’re getting along fine.”

“If you ever need help or a babysitter or car repairs or anything,” Chase stumbled.

“You’re a mechanic?”

“Well, no. I’m a writer, but when a person needs car repairs you also need other forms of transportation and with just the one of you…” Chase trailed off. She was making a mess of this and she was going to have to report this to her SUP group.

“You’re Delia’s friend,” Lou said, obviously delighted. She smacked her forehead. “Hello? Chase Banter! I’ve heard all about you.”

Chase was taken aback. Oh, God, what had the queen of smut said about her? “What did she have to say?” she asked, with evident trepidation.