Family Affair (13 page)

Chase hoped she wasn't acting like her mother.

The parking lot at Pat Hurley Park was completely full. Chase had her first experience with the Hummer. She was reminded of some line from the movie Costa Brava, "Now, that you have it, what to do with it."

"We're going to have to walk," Chase said.

"No, we're not. Do you still have all the stuff from the dealer?" Graciela said.

"What kind of stuff?" Chase asked.

"The paperwork, that vanity plate, and the stuff on the window with the specs," Graciela said.

"It's in the glove box," Chase said.

"Let me have it," Graciela said. "Then pull it up on the grass over there."

"We're not doing what I think we're doing?" Gitana said.

Graciela ignored her. "Stop here. I'll be right back." She hopped out.

"I don't think this is a good idea," Gitana said, looking over at Chase.

"A burly all-man tow truck driver wouldn't set foot here, nor would anyone call one," Chase said.

"I think it's ingenious," Delia commented.

Graciela hopped back in the car carrying a short metal stake with a placard attached. She ripped off the "Please pick up your dog's refuse" part. "Got any gum?"

Gitana, seeing her protestations were for naught, dug around in her purse and pulled out a half consumed pack of Orbit sweet mint. "I'm still registering my protest."

"Your opinion has been noted and rendered moot," Graciela said. She popped several sticks of gum in her mouth and handed two more sticks to Delia who chewed rapidly.

Graciela stuck the vanity plate to the placard with her gum and took Delia's contribution to secure the manufacturer's information, including sticker price, to the window. "Perfect, let's go." She got out of the car and stuck the metal post firmly in the ground. She looked around to see if they'd been noticed. "All clear."

"Good work," Delia said, putting her arm around Graciela's shoulders.

Chase surveyed her handiwork. "It looks convincing."

Gitana rolled her eyes. They headed toward the blaring music, rainbow flags and the white tents of the vendors. Graciela snagged a brochure of events. Studied it briefly and handed it to Chase who perused it thoroughly.

"Drag queens in an hour. Got to see that," Graciela said.

Chase smiled wryly. She'd never understood the fascination with drag queens, to her, you were a guy or a girl and you did what you could with it. Drag queens still liked gay men but gay men liked men. So why would you fuck a guy that looked like a woman? Bo had dated a drag queen once. Chase had met him during one of the writer's meetings at Bo's house where he was camping out or rather leaching off Bo as they found out later. He plucked his eyebrows, wore a blond wig and had water balloons for tits. He served coffee wearing tight black slacks and a red turtleneck that hid his Adam's apple. His smooth crotch was a mystery to Chase.

Bo did get a good short story out of his misfortune and it was published in the small gay magazine Hung. That was one of the good things about being a writer, you could exact your revenge with impunity using fictional wit and satire as long as you altered a few personal details. Chase found great satisfaction in this. She kept the knowledge to herself lest her prey became privy to her hunt for stories, details and diction.

"I see lots of eye candy," Graciela said. Both she and Delia turned around to check out a very well-endowed in the chest and scantily dressed woman in high heels and a black leather miniskirt.

She did have nice legs, Chase thought. Gitana caught her looking and poked her. Chase made to look innocent until she noticed Gitana checking out the well-developed torso of a young black woman. They both laughed.

The roar of motorbikes filled the air and leather-clad women on Harleys rode across the grounds in an orderly procession.

"Dykes on Bikes, this doesn't get any better," Graciela said.

"Oh, baby, look at that one, tits for miles," Delia said.

"I love halters," Graciela said.

"Did it ever occur to you two that how you refer to women is derogatory?" Gitana said.

They passed the first vendor tent where they were selling rainbow bumper stickers, tank tops with pink triangles on the front, and various bracelets with rainbow beads and the occasional pewter-cast pot leaf.

"No, it never occurred to me. I'm just embracing my inner vagina," Graciela said. "My femaleness."

"You are so full of crap," Chase said. She picked up a hat with rainbow palm trees on the brim and set it back down again.

"Rainbow stuff is so old school," Delia said.

"I like the Human Rights Campaign stuff," Gitana said, picking up a tiny green tank top with the HRC logo of a blue rectangle with two yellow bands across it. She held it up.

Chase, suddenly understanding it was for Bud and not Gitana, although she had been wondering what she would look like in it, seized the moment. "I like that one. Let's get it." She pulled out her wallet and paid the stoic woman at the cash register who handed her an HRC brochure which Chase took with great enthusiasm. With this the woman smiled. Chase handed the tiny bag to Gitana and began reading the literature.

Their child would grow up in a gay household and they would need answers to the cultural issues of the day. She certainly didn't want Bud to turn into Anita Bryant or Pat Robinson because of an inadequate upbringing. This parenting thing was getting bigger by the minute. It was fortuitous that babies took so long to get built. She had seven months to get herself right. If she could write a novel in six, certainly she could master parenting in seven.

"Come on, this isn't a fucking library," Graciela said, pulling at Chase's elbow.

"I'm coming." Careful to fold it neatly, she shoved the brochure into her back pocket.

Gitana was already at the next booth signing them up for the Democratic Party.

"Is this a good idea? They're all conniving bastards," Chase said.

"We have a civic duty, now."

"We do?" Chase said.

"For the baby's future."

"Oh, I get it. Because the future really does matter. We can always run away to Canada if they start rounding up and putting us in camps. Let's be the smart early people when it comes to getting out," Chase said, eyeing the well-dressed woman in charge of the booth. People in blazers and trousers at a picnic were suspect.

"Camps, that's the least of it. They'll harvest us for organs before that," Delia said.

"You guys are paranoid," Graciela said. "Hey, let's get a beer," she said, noticing the beer tent.

"I can't. I'm driving and she's pregnant," Chase said, a little wistfully.

"Boring," Graciela muttered.

"Yeah, but that means we can get trashed and we'll have supervision. It can't get better than that," Delia replied.

"If you're obnoxious, you'll be taking the bus home," Gitana warned.

"Just make sure we don't hook up with some ugly chicks because our sense of judgment is impaired," Graciela said.

"Okay, Casanova," Gitana said.

"Hey, if I remember correctly, before Chase you were quite the Casanova yourself," Graciela said. Gitana blushed.

Graciela got in the beer line while the rest of them waited.

"She was?" Delia said. She appeared to examine Gitana in a whole new light. "I can see why."

"Mine—remember," Chase said.

"Of course." Delia went to help Graciela with the beer purchase.

"Casanova, huh," Chase said.

"I was young and unfettered." Gitana put her arm around Chase's waist. "And then I found you."

"Were you looking for me?"

"I was."

"Is that why the botanist was taking a women's studies class?" Chase inquired.

"It was a good place to start." Gitana kissed her cheek.

They had met in Professor Murphy's lesbian lit class—reading Adrienne Rich and Lillian Faderman. The class was divided into four groups of five. Gitana had traded with one of the other women so she could be in Chase's group. Chase figured it had nothing to do with her despite Gitana's ever-present proximity during each group study meeting.

Gitana asked her out for coffee. Even then Chase thought they were going to discuss their part of the group's project. Instead Gitana asked her what she planned to do with her life. Chase was an English major and most people, including her mother, assumed she'd go on to teach. She wrote intriguing and innovative term papers and had the support of her teachers. This was essential for grad school admission. Rather than skirting the question as she usually did, she told Gitana the truth. "I want to be a writer."

Gitana did not possess the defeatism of others. "What kind of stuff do you want to write?"

"I want to write lesbian novels." Chase put more cream in her coffee so she wouldn't have to meet Gitana's gaze.

"Do you have an idea for one?" Gitana took the cream away and touched her hand. "I'll share my dream if you share yours, completely."

"I've written two novels—both stunk."

"Who told you that?" Gitana asked.

"The editor who said I wrote like an eighth-grader with overactive hormones."

Gitana laughed.

Surprisingly, this did not upset Chase who was usually quite sensitive about her secret longing for a literary career. Gitana's laughter seemed to sparkle and Chase felt heartened by it rather than ashamed of her confession.

"So what did you do?"

"I took her advice and wrote another one. I sent it in and I'm waiting for another rejection notice, but this one is better than the last one. I took out a lot of the melodrama that I gravitated toward in my first novel."

"That's awesome."

Chase sipped her coffee and eyed her companion. "So what's your dream?"

"I'll show you."

They went to Gitana's studio apartment near the University. It seemed everyone Chase knew lived around the campus, except for her—she still lived at home in her mother's pretentious house. She avoided taking people there if she could.