In the Unlikely Event... (8 page)

It was Eve, one of the students in Chase’s lesfic class. Relief at the prospect of having someone to alleviate the boredom and perhaps get her a decent book turned to trepidation as Eve sat on the edge of the library table close to Chase—too close. This was worse than when she’d gotten trapped in the kitchen by that lecherous linguist who cornered her up against the kitchen island and tried to kiss her. At least in a kitchen, you had a chance of extricating yourself. Being handcuffed to a chair did not afford this luxury. She was going to kill Lacey for this.

“Lacey told me you were in here. She said you were incarcerated for attempting to subvert the ruling party. She called you a Trotsky.”

“Well, you can tell her she’s acting like Stalin without the hair gel and mustache,” Chase retorted. “So, I am a political prisoner?”

“Apparently.” Eve crossed her legs and studied Chase, who squirmed under her attention. “Do you need anything?”

“Other than the key to the handcuffs or…” she thought for a moment, “perhaps a hacksaw.” The chair was metal and possibly the chair rail she was attached to could be sawed off.

Eve glanced down at the
Norton Anthology
. “This is definitely cruel and unusual punishment.”

“I know. Just wait until I get my hands on her.”

“It’s going to be okay. She needs you, and she’s really freaked out at the thought that you might leave. She loves you so much.”

Chase eyed Eve. There was nothing worse than having a long-haired, tie-dye-wearing, green-eyed goddess tell you about peace, love and understanding.

“She’s got an awfully funny way of showing it. Thank God, she doesn’t have access to Siberia or I’d already be on the train, and I highly doubt I’d be given long underwear.”

Eve laughed. “How about I get you another book to read?”

“Well…it would make the time go faster,” Chase conceded. “If I can’t have the hacksaw.”

“What would you like?”

Chase pondered. “How about
Catch-22
?”

Eve laughed again. “Really?”

Chase was indignant. “What’s wrong with
Catch-22
?” Chase worked herself into a fervor. “Joseph Heller was absolutely brilliant when he wrote that, and I think his ability to chronicle the absurd stands by itself in the literary landscape. It’s the grown-up version of
Alice in Wonderland,
” Chase said.

“Okay, okay, calm down.” Eve came up behind her and began rubbing her shoulders. Chase didn’t notice because she was still ranting about Joseph Heller.

“That was the first book he ever wrote, and as one interviewer put forth, it was his best and when asked how he felt about that, he said, ‘At least I have one.’”

Chase was still diatribing when Donna, Gitana and Bud came in. They stood staring. Eve stopped rubbing Chase’s shoulders and stepped back.

“Thank God, you’re here. How’d you find me?”

“I have my inside sources,” Donna said.

“You’ve got to get me out of here before I go stark raving mad.”

“I was just going to get her another book to read, to pass the time,” Eve said, not meeting Gitana’s eye.

“Sure you were,” Gitana said, glaring at Eve.

“Instead of giving Chase a back rub while you look for a book, you could find Lacey and keep her busy,” Donna said curtly.

“Good idea,” Eve said, blushing slightly.

Bud gave her the stink eye.

Chase was quizzical about their behavior toward Eve, but it wasn’t foremost in her mind. “Can’t you guys do something?” she pleaded. She was getting panicky.

Bud surveyed the handcuff, as did Donna. Bud looked up at her. “Reciprocating saw with a metal cutting blade,” Bud suggested.

“If there’s enough clearance,” Donna said. “Chase, how far can you scoot to the right?”

Chase moved as far as she could without dislocating her shoulder.

Bud and Donna nodded simultaneously. “I’ll go find Gloria,” Donna said.

“No, send Bud. She’s less noticeable,” Gitana said.

“You’re right. If Lacey sees her she won’t be inclined to ask a lot of questions,” Donna said.

“Why not?” Chase asked.

“Because it would be embarrassing and politically damaging if Bud had a wailing fit when she found out that Lacey had incarcerated her mother,” Donna said.

“Precisely, she’s gonna steer clear of me,” Bud said. She measured the width of the chair backing with her finger.

“Don’t use ‘gonna’ please,” Chase said.

“I have to use some thug talk so I don’t appear too precocious—remember?” Bud replied.

Chase had advised Bud to slip in some slang from time to time to tone down her already vast vocabulary, telling Bud that she sounded like the
New York Times
crossword puzzle. “Just throw in some slangy stuff,” she had told Bud.

“Like what?” Bud asked.

Chase had been stuck for an example and then Dorothy Sayers came to mind. Her famous protagonist, Peter Wimsey, dropped the ends of words. “I know, drop the final ‘g’ on verbs.”

“I’ll try.”

“Now, get a move on. We don’t know how much time we have before someone comes to check on Chase,” Donna said.

“I think we have some time. Lacey left Chase to read a thousand-page anthology,” Gitana said.

“True,” Donna said. She peered out the door. “It’s all clear. Go.” She gave Bud a gentle shove like she was pushing her out of an airplane on some reconnaissance mission. “Be careful.”

“I will.”

Donna kept lookout until Bud was down the hall and then went to examine the handcuff. “We should be able to extricate you from the chair, but I’m not so sure about getting the handcuff off your wrist. It doesn’t look like regulation police issue.”

“How do you know about that?” Gitana asked.

Donna blushed slightly. “Well…it’s kind of a long story.”

Chase’s interest was piqued. “It’s not like we have anything to do right now while we wait for the reciprocating saw. Tell us.”

“Oh, I had a friend who had a set of cuffs and one of the cuffs was clamped to the bed and my friend misplaced the key.”

“A friend?” Chase said. Had Donna had a sordid past before Chase knew her? What if Chase’s fans found out that her PA was a sex addict or porn freak?

Donna must have sensed Chase’s anxiety. “It’s not like that.”

“Like what?” Gitana inquired.

“I swear I haven’t done anything untoward, and it really was a friend. Her mother was coming for a visit and she needed the handcuff removed. Her mother is a Southern Baptist.”

“Oh,” Chase said.

“How’d you get it off?” Gitana asked.

“We didn’t.”

“Fuck,” Chase said.

“So what did you do about the Southern Baptist mother?” Gitana said.

“My friend,” Donna said, emphasizing the word “friend,” “had to purchase another headboard.”

Chase wasn’t completely sold on the “friend” scenario. She supposed it was plausible.

“Who is this friend?” She used her free hand to do air quotes first on one side of the word “friend” and then on the other. Being one handed evidently was not conducive to certain activities. She wondered how amputees managed. How did a person cut her food with only one hand? Getting dressed would definitely be a trial. And what about tying your shoes or even trying to write or turn the page of a book? Things scooted around a lot if there was no other hand to hold them still. Of course, there was that one guy who typed an entire book with his left foot.

“I am not at liberty to say,” Donna replied.

“At liberty to say what?” Chase said.

“To talk about my friend who had the handcuff problem,” Donna said.

“Oh, that. What are you, part of the CIA Department of Kinky?” Chase said.

“Chase, leave her be,” Gitana said.

Donna was saved by the timely arrival of Bud and Gloria.
“You weren’t seen, were you?” Donna said, once again peering down the long corridor.

“No, Lacey and her henchmen are in another meeting on the State of the Union,” Gloria said, setting the reciprocating saw and a collection of blades down on the library table. Bud was testing the sharpness and quality of the blades as well as their condition by running her thumb across the teeth of each blade and then twisting it to check for strength.

“Be careful; those are sharp,” Chase said.

Bud raised an eyebrow and said, “I may only be six, but I am not an idiot when it comes to dangerous power tools. I am only seeking to ascertain which blade will be most suited to the task at hand.”

“Damn, that kid uses a lot of ten-dollar words,” Gloria said.

Chase shot Bud a look, but she only shrugged and said, “I can’t help myself.”

“It’s okay, sweetie. If Mensa hasn’t called by noon, I think we’re safe,” Gitana said.

Gloria put her fingers to her lips. “Mum’s the word.”

“I wonder where that colloquialism originated,” Chase said.

“No wonder Bud talks the way she does,” Gloria said.

“We can Google it later,” Donna said, looking around furtively. “I think we’d be better off moving her back by the carrels. That way if someone comes in they won’t see us immediately.”

“And if anyone hears the saw, I can say that I’m doing some maintenance work,” Gloria said.

“Good plan,” Donna said.

“How are we going to get her back there?” Gitana said.

“Actually, you can move,” Bud said.

“How?” Chase inquired.

“Stand up,” Bud instructed.

Chase did so. She could scoot with the chair. Not very fast, but she could move. “I wish I’d thought of that when I desperately needed a book.”

“Just sayin’…” Bud said.

“However,” Donna said, as Chase inched forward laboriously. “She doesn’t move very fast.”

“Carry her,” Gloria said, preparing to lift one side of the chair. “You two get the other side,” she said, pointing to Donna and Gitana.

“I’m not that heavy,” Chase said, pinching her stomach to see if she had more than the doctor-advised inch.

“It’s called balance,” Gloria said.

“I’ll bring the tools,” Bud said.

“Good idea, kid,” Gloria said.

“How come you let Gloria call you ‘kid’ and no one else?” Chase inquired as they lifted her chair.

“Because when Gloria says it, I view it as a term of endearment. When others say it, I find it derogatory,” Bud said.

“Oh,” Chase said. Perhaps it was like when straight people used the word “dyke,” a word which was acceptable for a lesbian to use but was derogatory when used by others.

“Where is Isabel?” Gitana asked.

“She’s on a book-buying trip in Denver—Lord knows you can’t get shit here,” Chase said, as they carried her along like some Indian—the red-dot-on-the-forehead kind—in a litter. At least she felt no guilt for her portage, not thinking it an entitlement as it had been in times of old. How could one class of human being do that to another?

They set her down among the carrels. Gloria and Bud surveyed the library chair. Bud tapped at a chair rail with the saw blade. It didn’t sound hollow.

“What do you think?” Gloria asked Bud.

Chase wasn’t certain whether Gloria really needed Bud’s input or was just being polite. But why would she feel the need to be polite? Bud was proficient at discerning patronization. However, Chase ruminated, no one here, barring Donna who’d been unsuccessful, had ever attempted the removal of handcuffs.

“I think we’re going to have to make two cuts, above and below the cuff and release it that way with her hand still cuffed and then deal with getting it off her wrist later,” Bud said.

“But what if you slip and cut her hand off?” Gitana said.

“We’ll be careful,” Gloria said.