In the Unlikely Event... (5 page)

Chase wanted to be part of the eyebrow raising club like Gloria, Gitana and Bud, but her one gesture of note was the ability to smirk. Whenever she raised her eyebrows she resembled a silent screen actress feigning fright. She looked ridiculous, which was why she didn’t do it publically.

“The Left Ovaries?” Chase said. This was the first time she’d heard of them. She knew about the Menopausals because of the three bearded ladies. The first time she met them she had her sunglasses on—for which she was grateful as she was certain her eyes had been popping out. As it was, she choked on a Mento. One of the bearded ladies was on the verge of performing the Heimlich maneuver after a moment of beard stroking on the part of all three ladies as to the best course of action. Luckily, Chase had regained control of her breathing and some of her decorum. She thanked them and introduced herself. In turn, she learned they were Jessica, Emily and Edith. Edith was in charge of the Menopausals.

Lacey shook her head at Chase like she should know. “The Left Ovaries are suffering from loss-of-organs syndrome or L.O.S.”

“What an original title,” Chase muttered.

“And some even have ghost pain.” She glared at Chase.

“Oh.” Chase said. She was not unsympathetic to abdominal pain as she had a sensitive stomach.

“The Left Ovaries no longer feel women-indentified because they have lost the ability to bear children,” Lacey read from the document.

“So now they feel like men?” Donna asked, evidently confused.

“No. They just don’t feel like women,” Lacey said, and she continued to read. “The Menopausals are offended because they do not believe femininity is tied to menses. Just because the Left Ovaries are missing equipment and don’t bleed doesn’t mean they’re less of a woman according to the Menopausals. But the Left Ovaries feel that the Menopausals are ignoring their loss.”

“What the fuck is she talking about?” Chase said.

Gloria furrowed her brow, “Well…”

Chase loved the way Gloria spoke, how “well” came out as three syllables.

“I think, from what I can gather, it’s about Kotex. I swear to Goddess, I keep that machine routinely stocked to the hilt. I got one gal who spends half a day filling those machines up. With two hundred women having periods, it’s a monster task,” Gloria said.

This made Chase think of two hundred women having PMS. “Do you realize how dangerous this place is?” she said.

Gloria stared at her, apparently grasping her import. “Are you suggesting…”

Chase nodded. “Perhaps we should put the Pink Mafia on this.” Chase refrained from saying, “in other words, doing something constructive.” “We might need extra security and perhaps a PowerPoint presentation on the cycling chart of the Institute’s bleeding occupants.”

Lacey snapped at them. “What the fucking hellshitonfire kind of assholebullshitmotherfuckingkissingass shit are you two fucking talking about?”

Chase stared at her in utter astonishment.

“What?” Lacey said.

“That was nine profanities in one sentence and we’re in a board room. What are you capable of in everyday situations?” Chase said.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Lacey replied, shuffling papers again.

Chase looked around the room. Did Lacey have multiple personalities? Was Chase the only one who noticed that Lacey had switched from being Regan from the movie
The
Exorcist
to Dorothy in
The Wizard of Oz,
who wanted everyone to have what they most needed. It was frightening. No one else seemed to have noticed.

“Now, if I have everyone’s attention, I’d like to discuss possible solutions to resolving the rift.” She passed around copies of her solution-solving guidelines. Each packet contained the cover sheet with the Institute’s logo of a giant eyeball with a candle inside the pupil. Chase had always thought it was creepy. On the next page the problem was listed. Lacey had titled it
To Bleed or Not to Bleed.
Chase nearly spewed water out her nostrils when she read that. The following page had a pie chart of how many women were missing organs, were menopausal, or were still menstruating. Did they really need to know this stuff? Chase thought. After that Lacey laid out her problem-solving method in numerical order with bullet points.

Chase barely contained her urge to make a fleet of paper airplanes and aim them at Lacey’s head. Instead, she made herself read the guidelines.

“Number One: Don’t bother with the obvious because it’s obvious.”

What the fuck, Chase thought. Lacey is the one in charge and she’s bonkers. She is in charge of the fate of the Republik of Lesbekistan—a two hundred strong hunk of dykeness—and she’s nuts. She is currently in charge of my life and she’s certifiably crazy.

Damn! She was going to need another appointment with Dr. Robicheck. Her synapsis was overriding her ability to edit her mental monologues—she’d used “currently,” “in charge” and a thesaurial variation of mentally unstable three times in a row. She looked askance at Lacey, who was tapping her pen as if the repetitive noise was going to speed up the problem solving.

Chase slipped her BlackBerry out of her front pocket and covertly texted Dr. Robicheck’s secretary. “When can I get in?”

While she waited for the return text, she read the next bullet point.

“Number Two: The solution should contain a minimum of twenty-four contingency plans.”

Sweet Jesus, even the United Nations couldn’t come up with that many solutions and they are professional diplomats. Chase rubbed her temples. She checked her phone. The tiny red light in the top corner of her BlackBerry blinked. Thank fucking God. It read, “She’s not available until next Wednesday at one forty-five. Is it life-threatening?”

Chase considered this. It wasn’t her own life she was concerned about—it was Lacey’s. She regarded her friend, who had stopped tapping her pen and was perusing a file folder full of papers. Chase missed her happy-go-lucky goofy friend, the one who took very few of life’s problems seriously. Had aliens abducted the real Lacey and replaced her with this megalomaniac? Was this what happened to people in power? They lost their senses of humor? Chase suppressed the urge to get up and tickle Lacey just to make her laugh. She texted back, “That will be fine.” It was only a week. She’d let this alien Lacey live another five days.

“Okay, I think that’s enough time. Who wants to go first?” Lacey demanded, eyeing the group and homing in on Chase.

Chase froze. She hadn’t given the problem any thought. This was as bad as being in college, not paying attention and then getting called on. Instinctively sensing inattention, the powers-that-be zoom in for the kill and wham! You find yourself in the crosshairs.

Donna knocked on the table. Lacey had decided that raising your hand was juvenile and smacked of patriarchal control so you knocked on the table when you wanted to speak. Well, Chase supposed, it could be worse.

“I really think that we should create a joint task force from the Menos and the Lefties to examine the issues concerning both parties,” Donna said.

“I’ll make the food,” Sophia said. “As we all know the way to a woman’s heart is through her stomach.”

Lacey smiled and nodded. She seemed pleased, Chase thought.

“Gloria, your suggestion?” Lacey said, assuming she was the next in line for brilliant ideas.

Chase studied Gloria’s paper. She hadn’t written anything down either.

“I think Sophia should prepare Mexican food so we can have margaritas—there’s nothing a few pitchers of margaritas can’t solve,” Gloria said.

Chase smirked. Lacey would never let that one fly.

“That’s a well thought-out plan,” Lacey said.

“Get them all drunk?” Chase screeched.

“I prefer to refer to it as happy and cooperative,” Lacey said. She stared at Chase. “And what, pray tell, is your suggestion?”

Chase fumbled. Donna saved her. “The three bearded ladies are very fond of Chase. They did save her life. We could send her as our ambassador.”

Chase wasn’t certain which was the lesser evil—not having an answer or being an ambassador.

Lacey cocked her head and peered at Chase, who squirmed. “I think we’ll do all three—the fiesta, the margaritas and Chase’s ambassadorial debut.”

“And let’s do it on a full moon as indicative of menses,” Donna said.

“Perfect,” Lacey said. She clapped her hands in delight. “Problem solved. Thank you, my sisters.”

The group dispersed, and Chase almost made it to the door.

“Chase, a word please,” Lacey said.

Where had Lacey picked up that particular Briticism? It was straight out of PBS. It seemed unlikely Lacey watched PBS, but then she was no longer sure of any of Lacey’s behaviors.

Chase felt like she was back in the second grade when she had tied the shoelaces together on the sneakers of the little fucker who sat behind her and pulled her hair every day. He’d gotten up and fallen flat on his face.

She leaned up against the boardroom table and eyed Lacey warily. Either Chase or Lacey had done something wrong. Chase assumed it was the former. Besides Lacey never actually used the word “wrong,” but instead “behavior that needed to be modified,” to which Chase would mutter the word “laconic” under her breath.

Lacey closed the door and smiled at Chase in that way that said, “I love you so much, but you’re exasperating me.”

“Chase, sweetie darling,” Lacey said.

Oh, no, Chase thought, this was serious behavior modification.

“It was noted that yesterday you walked out of your writing class of which you are the instructor,” Lacey said, doing the Marty Feldman in that way that said, “You better have a good explanation for this.”

“Well,” she began. She couldn’t blame Divine Vulva for this. She had tried to explain to her various cohorts about the Divine Vulva and her counterpoint muse, Commercial Endeavor, but everyone, including Gitana, thought she was being metaphorical—everyone except Dr. Robicheck who squinted her eyes and rubbed her chin. Chase wondered if the chin rubbing was a tribute to Freud.

Dr. Robicheck had met the muses during one of Chase’s sessions. Divine Vulva and Commercial Endeavor had been seated on either side of Chase, eagerly awaiting this moment of coming out. Commercial Endeavor was dressed in a well-tailored gabardine suit and Divine Vulva had her best little black dress on. Commercial Endeavor had protested about this being an inappropriate outfit in which to meet Chase’s esteemed psychiatrist. However, after having seen the LBD, Commercial Endeavor blushed and ran her hand across Divine Vulva’s comely behind. She changed her mind, justifying it by saying that “someone as brilliant as Dr. Robicheck would not be interested in how one dressed, but rather in their mind.”

“Tell me about them,” Dr. Robicheck had said.

Chase introduced them and gave her a quick bio on each one. It had not been an easy process coming up with those. Good God, Chase thought, that had been like an act of Parliament.

“I see,” Dr. Robicheck said.

“I dressed up for an ‘I see’?” Divine Vulva muttered.

“Shush,” Commercial Endeavor said, putting her finger to her lips. “Wait.”

“Chase, is it possible that the Divine Vulva and Commercial Endeavor are products of your rather active imagination—a manifestation of the left and right sides of your brain?”

Chase sucked in her upper lip and winced. This was going to be très ugly.

“A manifestation! A fucking manifestation,” Divine Vulva said, leaping up. “Does a manifestation look this good in a little black dress—I think not.” She was screaming now.

Commercial Endeavor and Chase sat quietly watching her rant. “I didn’t think this coming out thing was a good idea,” Chase said.

“I know, but Vulva had her heart set on it,” Commercial Endeavor said.

“It’s hanging around all those lesbians at the Institute that brings it out in her—she gets militant,” Chase said.

“Muses have a long history in the creative arts,” Dr. Robicheck was saying.

“What the hell does she know?” Divine Vulva said, stamping her foot down and then flouncing back down on the couch next to Chase.

“You know, I’ve always thought it best for the human-muse connection to be kept under wraps. People outside the group just don’t get it,” Commercial Endeavor said.

“And it’s perfectly understandable that when a creative person experiences a spark of invention, she views these instances as divine intervention. As a writer it is entirely plausible to make up two different entities and give them names and personalities,” Dr. Robicheck said, staring blandly at Chase like she was rattling off a grocery list and Chase was acting as scribe.