In the Unlikely Event... (12 page)

“According to the call log some were in the middle of the night,” Chase said. She could envision Lacey sitting in her office steaming mad and dialing away—a diabolic look on her scowling face—with Chino sitting off in the shadows smoking a cigar…even though smoking was banned at the Institute. Chino would be saying, “I can take care of this. You just say the word.”

“I can’t believe she hasn’t trucked herself up here yet,” Gitana said, pouring them both a glass of lemonade. It was October, yet the summer seemed to hold on, unable to let go for the season. Even the aspens hadn’t turned, something Chase and Bud had been awaiting so Bud could take photos of the changing of the leaves.

“She has meetings all day and can’t come up here, or I’m certain she would be,” Chase said. She watched the dogs in the yard. Annie was chasing Jane in figure eight patterns around the grove.

“And how do you know this?”

“Eve checked out Lacey’s schedule planner when Lacey’s PA, Heidi, was on break,” Chase said, hoping that Gitana had forgotten about Eve’s inappropriate behavior in the library.

“So now you’ve got a mole,” Gitana said, smirking.

“Who’d have thought, but—”

“Desperate times call for desperate measures,” Gitana finished.

“That should be our mission statement.”

Gitana wrinkled her brow. “Where’s Bud? I haven’t seen her since I’ve been home.”

“Out in the studio with Donna. They’re working on some new project.”

“Speaking of projects, how do you feel about Bud’s filming project?”

“I haven’t decided. She agreed that we should have first viewing rights and then we can make some decisions.”

“But what’s it all about?” Gitana said, pulling the
Joy of Cooking
off the very top shelf where Chase had stashed it in hopes that its difficult location would be a deterrent to her finding and using it.

“She says that it’s a docudrama as well as a situational comedy of lesbian life in a whacked-out commune.”

“That’s going to either get us hung or we’ll win the Sundance Film Festival award,” Gitana said, licking her finger and thumbing through the pages.

“I told her that. She says living is about taking risks. I did three sets of three Hail Marys after she said that, just to insure we weren’t struck by lightning for poking the snake.” Bud had mentioned this risk-taking business on more than one occasion. Did she think Chase was fossilized in her approach to life or just scared of what might be?

“What snake?” Gitana asked.

“It’s an expression I got from Gloria. She calls it poking the snake when you antagonize an entity already prone to be antagonized—like pissing off someone who is waiting to be pissed off.”

“Oh. I’d say that idiom also describes your relationship with Lacey.” She found the page she’d been seeking.

Chase watched her nervously.

“I’m going to start dinner.”

“Is that such a good idea?” Chase did her best not to look dubious. Gitana had decided that her “womanly skills, a.k.a. survival skills” had fallen by the wayside. “Everyone should know how to cook,” she said. This sentiment and subsequent behavior would have been fine had Gitana not discovered the
Joy of Cooking
so that learning how to cook had gone into fine cuisine hyper-drive. Chase did the  bulk of the cooking because she was home most of the time, but she was a basic cook—quick, simple and requiring as few pans and kitchen implements as possible.

“I hope you’re not referring to the debacle. You promised not to bring it up again.”

Chase lowered her eyes as if in shame, but really it was to avoid bursting out laughing. The aforementioned “debacle” involved trout on a smoked shingle, and by the time Gitana was finished they had to use the fire extinguisher to put out the fire. At the time, Chase had been thrilled to get to use this piece of safety equipment. However, while she had put out the burning shingle with the fish on it, she discovered she’d also ruined the barbeque grill when she’d covered it with whatever flame retardant stuff the extinguisher contained.

Bud, in her usual philosophical manner, had said, “This is a prime example of the Fix-A-Flat quandary.”

“Which means?” Chase had inquired, staring down at the goopy mess that was now the grill.

“When the means to the end are worse than what you started with.”

“I don’t get it,” Chase said, poking at the charred fish with the grill fork.

“Perhaps you could make us grilled cheese sandwiches,” Gitana said, staring morosely at what was to have been a crowning achievement of her summer cooking lessons.

“Good idea,” Chase said.

“Have you ever read the Fix-A-Flat can?” Bud asked.

“No,” Chase admitted, but she was going to now.

“Yes, it does fix your tire, but it also ruins your tire in the process.”

“So what you’re saying is that I put the fire out, my initial goal, but I wrecked…”

Bud interjected, “Destroyed.”

“The grill in the process.”

“Precisely,” Bud said.

“What should I have done?” Both she and Gitana studied their genius child.

“Closed the vents,” Bud said.

Gitana nodded her agreement.

“Oh,” Chase said, considering it. “It might have taken too long and the danger could have escalated, threatening the house and the entire neighborhood, perhaps the region.”

“The fire can’t escalate without oxygen. It’s simple physics,” Bud replied.

Chase returned to the present moment and its particular challenges—her best friend turned dictator and her wife’s proclivity toward fires.

“I’m only going to make alfredo with fresh mushrooms on angel hair pasta. How badly can I mess that up?”

Chase shrugged noncommittally.

Gitana called her on it. “You don’t trust me.”

“I do trust you,” Chase said, pondering the state of long-term relationships where discussions on trust were not about fidelity, but rather about whether your wife was going to burn down the kitchen, or, in this instance, cut off a finger with a French chef knife. “Just be careful.”

Her cell phone rang again. She clicked ignore.

“Four hundred and twelve,” Gitana said, pulling the portabello mushrooms out of the fridge.

Chase didn’t have the heart to tell her that the portabellos would turn the alfredo sauce the color of baby shit. The best lessons were self-taught.

“It’s just a matter of time before Lacey shows up here,” Gitana said, washing the mushrooms.

“At least it will be on my turf, and she better take care that I don’t handcuff her to a chair.” Or make her eat Gitana’s cooking, Chase thought, but then felt bad. Gitana was trying something new. She was taking a risk at least.

“We really should show her how it feels,” Gitana said, cutting the mushrooms with fervor.

Chase winced. “Please, watch your fingers.”

“I am, don’t worry,” Gitana said, looking down at her fingers and then continuing her diatribe. “Just because she is the leading force of the Institute doesn’t give her the right to incarcerate people at will. I mean what’s next? You’re her best friend and look what she did to you. Imagine what she is capable of with someone she doesn’t like.”

“You’ve got a point.”

“I’m going to give her a piece of my mind when she does show up,” Gitana said, pointing the chef knife at Chase and gesticulating.

“Let’s hope it’s not for a while,” Chase said.

Gitana took a deep breath. “I will probably have calmed down in a few days. I wonder if that’s why she hasn’t come around.”

“Would you? Lacey knows how you feel when someone assaults anyone on your team.”

“Damn right.” She’d finished chopping the mushrooms and put the knife down. Chase felt safe to leave.

“I’m going to check on Bud and give her a heads-up on dinner,” Chase said. She refrained from saying “and I will keep an eye out for Lacey in case she does show up so I can keep her from harm.” She slipped around the corner and gathered up the “debacle equipment” that she had stored in the laundry room. She opened the first-aid kit, checking to see if there was a tourniquet, and then retrieved the extra fire extinguisher from the hot water closet. She set everything on the top of the washer where she could easily grab it and run for the kitchen in case of an emergency. Then she went to the studio.

When she opened the studio door, it took her a second to process what was going on and she still didn’t get it. “What on earth are you two doing?”

Donna was standing with a dildo attached to herself. Well, Chase assumed it was a dildo. Either that or she had a penis Chase didn’t know about. Of course, lately anything seemed possible. Bud was sitting on the couch sketching. “She’s doing a life drawing.” Donna was standing with one hand on her hip and the other in the air looking like a Roman orator.

“Why are you wearing that…” Chase pointed at the dildo. “That, that thing.”

“I needed a model. Like I know what a penis looks like,” Bud said.

This was true, but then Chase thought, she hadn’t seen one in years either. Ever? In movies, surely. “But…” Chase sputtered.

“It’s not a big deal,” Bud replied. She closed her sketchbook. “But I do need to have a working knowledge of male genitalia—they do make up half the world’s population.”

“I’m pretty sure women have surpassed men in terms of population—probably due to the outlawing of infanticide in countries like China,” Donna said.

Chase stared at her.

“I could be wrong.”

“It’s not that!” Chase said, nodding in Bud’s direction. She was busy putting her drawing materials away.

Bud looked up. “I know they used to kill girl babies because they figured we didn’t count for much—apparently, as we are slowly taking over the world, they figured wrong,” she said.

“This is true,” Chase said. She watched with interest as Donna extricated herself from the harness and with one quick snap removed the dildo. Before she knew it or could stop herself, she said, “You’re very proficient at that.”

Donna didn’t even blush.

“Knowledge is power,” Bud said.

“Exactly. The classes at the Institute are very informative,” Donna said, handing the apparatus to Bud, who put it in her desk drawer.

“Is that a good idea?” Chase said.

“I only did one drawing. I’m good, but I’m not that good. I’m going to need more practice. Maybe next time you can model for me,” Bud said.

Chase blushed. “Oh, I don’t think so.”

Donna, ever helpful, said, “I can show you how it works.”

“Maybe some other time. Besides, Gitana is making dinner. Are you staying?”

“I’d love to, but I’m meeting Isabel at the Macaroni Grill. We’re going over the library budget.”

“That’s sounds fun,” Chase said.

“Oh, I think it will be. The food is good, and Isabel is very numbers oriented.”

Bud rolled at her eyes at Chase, who smiled sardonically.

“So I’m off,” Donna said, gathering her purse and briefcase.

After she left, Bud said, “Do you think that Donna has an interest in Isabel?”

Chase contemplated and then nixed the idea. “I don’t think so.”

“Hmm…” Bud said.

“We better get inside before there’s an accident,” Chase said.

“When you say things like that you’re manifesting the possibility of such a happening,” Bud said as they crossed the yard.

Apparently, Chase’s manifestation powers were amped up because when they entered the kitchen Gitana was standing with oven mitts on looking dismayed at the blob that filled the inside of the oven. The blob grew exponentially.

“What the hell is that?” Chase said, moving back as the thing inflated like an over-sized beach ball. Whatever it was, she didn’t want it all over her brand-new Nike trainers.

Gitana stared in mortification. “It was supposed to be rosemary and garlic bread from scratch. I wanted to surprise you guys. I’ve never baked bread before.”