by Lia Matera
Georgia. She was all panache, all show. If something had style, that was enough for her. It didn’t have to make sense or be wise or look good to people who mattered.
I was sure Georgia was doing it. Performance art just wasn’t enough anymore. Now she’d taken to performance crime, damn her.
I wanted to strangle her. Didn’t she realize these childish tricks were felonies? That she could go to prison? That Moonjuice would sink under the scandal?
I wouldn’t let it happen. I drove immediately to a mall pet store. They had very little catnip, most of it from Ygdrasil. I left it there, instead buying a small box of the other brand.
I had to go all the way across town to find another pet store open. It too had mostly Ygdrasil catnip. I bought the other brand.
Then I drove to Moonjuice.
I felt like an idiot scattering the catnip in the vacant lot. Then I hurried across to Moonjuice, letting myself in with my key.
I was in the “kitchen” area—a sink, a coffee urn, a paint-splotched table, a garbage can. I dumped the empty catnip boxes into the garbage. If anyone else had noticed the cats across the street, if anyone connected catnip to Moonjuice, I would point to these empties. I would make up some story. I didn’t quite know what, but the main thing was to disassociate from Ygdrasil.
As soon as I dumped the boxes, I dashed through rows of folding chairs and ran up the stage steps.
The costumes were wildly tossed about, just as they’d been yesterday. But I couldn’t find the fast-food worker uniform. I was afraid I knew why—because Georgia hadn’t returned it to Moonjuice.
She must have gotten the Burger Burglar idea from seeing the uniform. Foolish!
“What’s up?” Marlys had entered the room. She wore slacks and a mannish shirt and jacket, the uniform of her office day job.
I nearly screamed. “Oh, God, you scared me.”
“I noticed.” She tossed her backpack down. “What happened here? Cyclone Georgia?”
“Yes.”
She climbed the stage stairs. “It would never occur to her to clean up, that’s for sure.” Her tone was fond, not frazzled.
She started picking up dresses, putting them on hangers. She shook her head when the rough floor pulled a spangle off one.
“I’m surprised so many costumes are down here,” she mused. “Shouldn’t some of these be up in the attic? We’re not using them this year are we?” She glanced at me. “I get a little sick of the hoo-haw dresses and boas. What next?” She struck a pose. “Joan Crawford and Judy Garland?”
“Right orientation, wrong gender,” I commented.
I forced myself to calm down. I helped Marlys fold costumes and hang dresses. We talked about this year’s show. She agreed with Georgia about the naked choir, which surprised me. She’s usually pretty level-headed.
I didn’t want to bring up the Burger Burglar or Cereal Killer or Catnip Kidnap, but I wished she would. I was looking for an excuse to let off steam, talk about it before the pressure blew my fingernails off. I even considered voicing my worry about Georgia. Marlys was both her friend and a reasonable person. She could counsel me, help me. She’d see the need to protect Georgia from her own excesses. And, as important, to protect Moonjuice from more scandal.
Marlys, work clothes and all, schlepped most of the costumes to the attic. I went into the tiny office area and switched on our most valuable resource, a laptop computer we’d purchased last year before our sponsors jumped ship.
I didn’t have any work to do on it, but Marlys wouldn’t know that. I wanted to stay longer than her. I wanted to search for evidence.
Marlys came down. She saw me at the laptop. “Bookkeeping, poor baby?”
“Yes,” I lied. I saw with annoyance that the computer battery was low. The adapter kept the juice on, but it wasn’t recharging the battery. Either that or another board member had been using it.
“You have to do that now? I was thinking a mixed drink would taste good.”
“No thanks.” I was tempted, but I had something I wanted to do here. Alone. “Call Georgia?” I suggested.
“I’ve been trying her all afternoon. She’s not home.” She walked to the phone and dialed. A moment later, she smiled. Georgia had an outrageously campy telephone tape. “It’s Marlys again, calling to see if you want dinner.” She hung up, looking disappointed.
To me, she said, “You’re sure you won’t go play, Nan?”
“Sorry.”
She shrugged, patting me on the shoulder before she left. I watched through the window as she tossed her pack into her old Honda, then drove away.
I ran up to the attic. A little guiltily, I reopened boxes Marlys had just neatly packed with costumes. I tried not to unfold any as I looked through.
I finally found the fast-food uniform at the bottom of a box in the corner. It wasn’t one of the newly repacked boxes toward the front.
Georgia must have noticed the costume during yesterday’s mess-spree then thought of a clever way to use it. She must have brought it back sometime today and packed it away. It would, of course, never have occurred to her to put away the other costumes. That’s what she had me and Marlys and a dozen other women with crushes on her for.
It was irritating. But I couldn’t risk what she was willing to risk. I wouldn’t feel safe until the uniform was no longer here to incriminate her. I carried it back downstairs with me.
If anyone noticed the cats out back and checked for catnip, they’d find my empty boxes of non-Ygdrasil brand. I’d say I’d noticed cats fighting and sprinkled catnip to pacify them.
And no one would find the fast-food uniform at Moonjuice. I’d see to that right now.
I turned off the laptop, turned out the lights, and carried the uniform away under my jacket. I drove to a beach cliff. I bundled the uniform into a tight ball, tying it with its own sleeves and pant legs. Then I dropped it off the cliff and went home.
I was watching the eleven o’clock news and eating ice cream when I learned disaster had struck anew.
A local computer company, the anchor informed me, a major manufacturer of laptop computers, had reported a break-in. Someone sneaked in and poured salt, pounds of regular table salt, all over the laptop battery assembly area. Thousands of dollars’ worth of batteries had been ruined.
I waited for the anchor’s inevitable statement. I was shocked when it didn’t come. Maybe this one was too subtle for the folks at Channel 6. But someone would get it before tomorrow’s paper rolled off the presses.
I would most certainly wake up to the headline SALT ON BATTERIES.
It was close enough to “assault and battery” to be Georgia’s kind of pun. Georgia had struck again.
I guess performance art gets boring after a while. I guess it takes a criminal component to give art its edge.
I hardly slept at all that night.
I was a wreck the next day at work, barely following the convoluted ditziness of my students, barely jittering through a staff meeting, barely keeping my temper when the library accused me of damaging a book.
As soon as I could, I rushed to Moonjuice. Most of the other board members were there. Georgia waved at me. She and two others were going through some papers. Georgia was laughing, saying, “Yes yes yes,” as a woman named Marie insisted, “We can’t put that into an ad!” Another woman, Heidi, was gushing, “Oh, Georgia’s right! let’s shake them up. “
I didn’t even want to know what kind of pornography Georgia was trying to sneak into a Moonjuice ad. She wore a lavender bodysuit with a silver sarong. The outfit had looked better on her when she was a blonde, but it was still eye-popping.
I went into the kitchen to pour myself some coffee before going in to join the wrangle.
Someone knocked at the back door. Usually people come in through the front.
I opened the door, alarmed to
see a policeman.
“Hello.” He smiled warily. This town has baggage about its treatment of lesbians and gays. The police have been trying to project a kinder, gentler image.
He carried a brown paper bag.
“What—? Who do you—? Hi.” I had to calm down. He looked way too interested in my nervousness.
He showed me his ID. Then he waited, as if for me to blurt out some incrimination.
I knew, at that moment, that something had gone wrong. That he was here to question Georgia. That she’d been linked to the crimes. I wanted to box her ears for being so stupid.
“Do you mind if I come in?” the cop asked politely, as if I’d forget the police department’s recent homophobia.
“No. What do you…? Is there something?”
“Yes. I was hoping to speak to someone here? Anyone in charge?”
I didn’t want him speaking to Georgia, that was for sure.
But there was something I very much needed to do right now, before he did any more snooping.
“I’ll get Marlys,” I said. “She’s in charge. Kind of.”
I dashed out of the kitchen, going straight into the office. I’d fetch Marlys in a minute. First, I was going to hide the laptop. I wanted no association in the cop’s mind between Moonjuice and the salt on batteries.
I unplugged the laptop and kicked the power cord out of sight. I folded the screen down, and picked it up, brushing its dust outline off the desk. I turned with the laptop under my arm. I was going to stick it in the cupboard under some towels. Then I was going to hurry and get Marlys.
Instead, I stood there. Just stood there, holding the laptop.
The cop hadn’t waited in the kitchen. He’d followed me.
Followed me! I wanted to crab, Don’t you need a warrant? Don’t you have any manners? But maybe it’s police procedure to follow people so they don’t go get shotguns or something. I wish I’d thought of that earlier. Marlys appeared in the doorway behind him.
I said, “I was just coming to get you. He wants to talk to you.”
The cop had turned so he could keep an eye on us both. Georgia was coming toward us.
“I thought you two could talk in here,” I said lamely. “I was just going to take the computer, and work in the kitchen.”
Marlys, picking up on my freak-out, looked alarmed. Georgia strode into the middle of the situation like a bull into a china shop.
“Police?” She fiddled with her sarong as a child might. “We haven’t even put our show on yet.”
I was absolutely paralyzed. Georgia had the glitter-eyed look she gets before she flies into the ozone. Though I’d just said I was leaving with the laptop, I didn’t.
The cop held up his paper bag. “We wondered if you could identify this for us.”
I thought for a second he was going to pull out a gun, the one used to shoot Greg Purl’s cereal. In retrospect, that might have been preferable.
He pulled out the fast-food uniform I’d tossed over the cliff last night. It looked damp and sandy.
“Our costume?” Georgia asked. “Is it?”
Marlys was frowning at her as if trying to warn her to be a little guarded for once.
The cop turned the collar inside out, showing the words “Moonjuice Gallery” in felt-tip marker.
Damn. Who’d been organized enough to do that?
I put the laptop back on the desk.
“I just labeled it!” Georgia exclaimed. “How funny! I did it because the overalls and ginghams disappeared.”
I had to hand it to her, she was cool under fire. She smiled at me.
“I thought I’d get some brownie points from you, Nan. And I forgot to even mention it.” She looked at me expectantly. “I did it two days ago.”
“What a good idea,” I said meekly.
“Well.” She held out her hand for it. “Thanks for bringing it back.” When he didn’t return it, she looked confused. “I noticed a bunch of costumes were gone from the stage. I didn’t realize they’d been stolen. I guess I thought Nan had one of her cleaning fits.”
“I did,” I told her. “We put them back in the attic.”
“We think this may have been used in a burglary,” the cop said. “Do you mind if I have a look around here?”
“Do you have a warrant?” Georgia said. She’d pulled herself to her full five feet ten inches. She looked regal. Rather, she looked like she was playing at looking regal.
“You object to me looking around?”
“No, of course not,” Marlys interjected.
But Georgia elbowed her, saying, “Yes, we do. Without a warrant, you can’t look around.” Her tone was adamant, and the look she shot Marlys clearly said, Shut up.
“Don’t be silly, Georgia,” Marlys insisted. “Why invite trouble? He just wants to look around. We don’t have any secrets.”
The cop glanced at the laptop I’d returned to the desk. He glanced at the fast-food uniform in his hand. He didn’t look convinced we had nothing to hide.
And who knew what else Georgia had stashed here. Maybe even the gun.
“I agree with Georgia,” I said. “As a matter of principle—”
“And history!” Georgia was on her high horse now. “We haven’t forgotten Verboten.” Verboten was a lesbian bar the cops had raided years ago, cracking heads and leading to the creation of a citizens’ review board.
“Oh, you guys.” Marlys looked peeved. “You’re making a mountain out of a molehill. We don’t have anything to hide.” She looked at me, clearly surprised. “Nan?”
But I repeated, “No. He should get a warrant if he wants to search. On principle.”
I’ve never been so scared in my life. Not even Georgia’s warm look of approval helped.
“Go!” Georgia said to the cop. “Go away. No warrant, no search.” Still, the cop lingered. He caught Marlys’s eye.
But Marlys looked at Georgia and knew she was licked. She said to the cop, “Where did you find the uniform, anyway?”
“Some tidepoolers brought it in.”
Behind us, another board member—I hadn’t seen her join us—said, “The Burger Burglar! You think he used our costume?”
Marlys, watching Georgia, looked ashen.
When the cop left, Georgia began prancing, repeating, “No warrant, no search; no warrant, no search.” She treated us to a dazzling smile. “I’ve always wanted to say that.”
“It was a damn stupid thing to say!” Marlys pushed past her, leaving the room.
“I wonder when they’ll be back with the warrant,” Georgia said. “Let’s look around and make sure there’s nobody else’s business lying around for them to get into.”
She went straight out of the room and up into the attic.
I could have hit myself with a hammer for doing that dumb thing with the laptop.
In the cop’s mind, Moonjuice was connected to the burger burglary. Now my idiocy had reminded him of the salt on batteries, too.
I went into the kitchen. I had to get rid of the catnip boxes. They’d provide an additional associative link with the Catnip Kidnap. The boxes would be more incriminating than unincriminating now.
I pulled them out of the garbage. I went out the back door to put them into my car trunk.
I’d just closed the trunk when I turned to find the cop behind me.
“Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?” he said.
My heart sank.
“You know, I only came here to return the costume. Get some routine information.” He stood too close. “But your attitude about this uniform, your behavior with the laptop computer, and now the catnip boxes.” He shook his head. “Why don’t you make it easy on everyone and talk to me.”
But I’m the careful one, the practical one, the meticulous one. It’s supposed to be Georgia who
screws things up, not me.
“No,” I said. “No, I can’t.”
I was so intimidated, I’d have confessed any of my own sins. But I couldn’t deliver Georgia to the cops. This whole thing had been about protecting her.
I walked past him. I went back inside.
I’d ruined everything, I couldn’t believe it. I’d put Georgia in peril of arrest. I’d undermined all our work at the gallery, and whatever reputation it still sustained.
I found Marlys sitting at the table.
“I’ve wrecked everything for Georgia,” I confessed in agony. “They’re going to investigate now.”
“For Georgia?” she repeated. “Georgia’s upstairs feeling important and dramatic.” Marlys sounded almost bitter. “She’ll be fine. She always is.”
I tried to say more, but she waved me away. She didn’t want to talk, that was apparent. I thought she must, in her heart, understand what I’d done to Georgia.
But I didn’t fully understand the sparkle of tears in her eyes for three more days, until the cops came and made their arrest.
I should have known Georgia wasn’t organized enough to pull off performance art crimes. I should have realized that Marlys was.
I should have realized Marlys wanted to feel she was more than just Georgia’s friend, that she was also a kindred spirit. I should have recognized her need to distinguish herself from the rest of Georgia’s entourage.
Marlys. If I’d known, I’d have trusted her to take care of things. I’d have butted out.
After the arrest, the story didn’t get much press. Marlys wasn’t pretty enough to be a celebrity. Georgia was extravagant in her admiration, but only at first. Her attention span was too short to visit Marlys in jail. I thought Marlys would become a legend in the performance art community, but artists get depressed if they have to admire someone else.
By the time Georgia sang in the naked choir, nobody talked about poor Marlys anymore, that’s for sure.
Easy Go
“Easy Go” was first published in Deadly Allies, ed. Robert J. Randisi & Marilyn Wallace, Doubleday Books, 1992.
I kept my eyes on the sidewalk. River patterns of sticky urine congealed in the morning sun, catching pigeon feathers. Around me old men scratched and coughed and slid up walls they’d hugged for shelter in the night. Now and then, a briefcase darted by, a pair of shined shoes hurried toward City Hall, toward the Federal Building, toward the State Court of Appeal. I kept my eyes lowered. I knew too many lawyers in San Francisco, and they knew too much about me.
