Bell, Book and Dyke - New Exploits of Magical Lesbians

by Barbara Johnson, Karin Kallmaker, Therese Szymanski

  "Well, it's great to have some extra woman power," Chameleon said.

  "Speaking of woman power, aren't we one woman short?" Coyote said. "Where's Iris, Chameleon?"

  "How am I supposed to know?" Chameleon snapped, sounding more defensive than she meant to.

  "I don't know," Coyote said, backpedaling. "I just thought she might have called you or something."

  "Nope." Chameleon was trying to sound casual. This no-show was typical of Iris—one second pulling you toward her, the next second running as hard as she could away from you. "Okay." Chameleon assumed her getting-down-to-business voice. "There are two kinds of bags. The white ones are for garbage, and the green ones are for recycling. Garbage goes in the dumpster behind the store, and recycling goes in the bed of Coyote's truck. Now why don't we join hands for a moment and give praise to Gaia, our Earth Mother, because she's who we're doing this for."

  As the bikers and housewives and NASCAR fans in the parking lot stared, the coven joined hands and praised the earth goddess.

  The cleanup was a success. True, Chameleon found some disgusting things that made her glad she was wearing gloves—dirty diapers, half-eaten, decaying hamburgers, an inexplicably discarded pair of men's briefs—but within two hours, the stretch of road was free of all the detritus of human carelessness. Even though Iris's absence nagged at her a bit, Chameleon felt good.

  Tired but happy, the coven members gathered where the Adopt-a-Highway sign with their name on it would soon be planted and toasted each other with herb tea. Any minute, Chameleon thought, a representative from the Adopt-a-Highway program would be here to inspect their work. Once it was approved, the sign bearing the coven's name would be ordered.

  The representative arrived twenty minutes late, driving an SUV—not a very environmentally friendly car for someone in her line of work, Chameleon thought. She was a middle-aged, helped-along blonde dressed in a designer track suit and dripping diamond jewelry. "Sorry I'm late, ladies!" Her fuchsia-painted lips parted in what Chameleon thought looked like a nervous smile. "I'm Tina Thomas with the Adopt-a-Highway program. It looks like you girls did a terrific job with the cleanup!"

  Chameleon tried not to wince at the word "girls" being used to address a group of women who ranged in age from twenty to sixty-four. "Thank you, Tina. So does this mean we have approval to officially adopt this stretch of road and have a sign and everything?"

  Tina looked away from Chameleon, only to rest her eyes on Coyote and Belladonna—two members of the coven who were probably even more disturbing to her given their respective butch and goth appearances. Finally, Tina focused on the huge rocks that glittered on her manicured hands. "Well, actually, there's just a teensy problem with the sign—"

  "What kind of problem?" Anansi took a step forward, but Chameleon gently touched her shoulder to signal her to stay back.

  "Well," Tina said, staring at her nails, "some members of the community have let it be known that they find it inappropriate for a group of w—w—?"

  "Witches?" Graymalkin offered helpfully.

  "Yes. To sponsor a stretch of road and have their organization's name on the sign. Certain community members feel that a sign reading 'Witches of East Tennessee' might be seen as a way for you to recruit new members."

  "Huh," Anansi said. "Funny that when my sisters over at the African Methodist Episcopal church sponsored a stretch of road, nobody worried about them recruiting new members."

  "Yes, well," Tina said with a quaver in her voice. "Your organization is different."

  "How?" Chameleon said. "I mean, our theology might be different, but we're just another religious group trying to do some good in the community. And it seems to me I recall something about there being religious freedom in this country."

  "Well, there's no need to get defensive," Tina said, folding her arms across her chest. "You of course have the right to practice your religion and to do community service. There's actually a very simple solution to this problem. I've already suggested it to my boss, and he's very receptive to the idea. We can put up the sign, but instead of it saying, 'Witches of East Tennessee,' we'll just use the acronym for your organization—W.E.T"

  "No," Chameleon said. "That makes it sound like we're being evasive about who we are."

  "If it just says W.E.T. people'll think we're a scuba diving group or something," Belladonna said.

  "Or that we're selling pussy lube," Coyote said, nudging Belladonna.

  Tina's face turned the same shade as her lipstick and fingernails. "Well, clearly I'm not going to get anywhere with you people." She rattled her car keys. "Maybe if you have some time to think, you'll see the reason in my suggestion." She glanced at Chameleon, but didn't make eye contact. "Why don't you call the office next week when you feel calmer?"

  "Our attorney will call the office next week," Chameleon said.

  "Suit yourself." Tina climbed into her SUV and left them in a cloud of carbon monoxide.

  "I didn't know our coven had an attorney," Graymalkin said.

  Chameleon shrugged. "It doesn't. But I guess that's about to change."

  Part 2

  Air

  Chapter 1

  Tia Thomas was eating lunch at her desk again. Every day she told herself, I will take a lunch break today. I'll have a nice walk, maybe finally try that little vegetarian place down the street. But then it would get to be twelve and the piles of papers on her desk would show no sign of diminishing, and then it would be 1:15 and she'd have a 1:45 meeting with a client, and so here she'd be once again in her stale office breathing stale air and eating stale peanut butter crackers from the vending machine.

  Tia didn't mean to be a workaholic. She always had plans for meals out and movies, for relaxation and yoga classes, but in a firm like this that specialized in helping the underdog, it was hard not to get buried in work. There were a lot of underdogs out there and far too few people who were willing to help them. When she graduated from law school, her mentor had called her "one of the last of the true believers," and she guessed he had been right.

  Tia chuckled, thinking how her mama would react to hearing her agnostic daughter being called a true believer. Belief, in the religious sense of the word, had never been a strong suit of Tia's. Her mama had dragged her to church every time the door was open—to the long services held by the sweaty preacher who jumped up and down like her granny's hyperactive Chihuahua, to children's choir and youth choir practice, to Sunday school. Regardless of what church activity she attended, the message had always been the same: Believe. Have faith.

  And her answer had always been the same: Why?

  To the teenaged Tia, whip-smart and full of the arrogance of youth, it was always clear that the world was governed by scientific principles, not supernatural ones, and relying on reason made a lot more sense than relying on faith. But when she said things like this, it only made her mama cry about how her baby girl was going to hell.

  At least the religion thing took with her two sisters. Selena and LaShea still went to the same church every Sunday where Mama had dragged them their entire childhood. And both Selena and LaShea were former runners-up in the Miss Black Tennessee pageant and were now, in addition to being devout Christians, wives and mothers. At least Mama had managed to raise two out of three of her girls to be who she wanted them to be. And then there was Tia, the agnostic lesbian feminist radical crusading lawyer.

  The phone rang, bringing Tia back to the present. "Tia, your one forty-five is here," the receptionist said when she picked up.

  How did it get to be 1:45? "Send her in."

  When Tia had talked to this woman who was the high priestess or the grand pooh-bah or whatever it was she called herself of the Witches of East Tennessee on the phone this morning, she found herself growing increasingly curious about what such a person would look like. She knew not to expect a pointy hat and warty chin—and knew it was terribly un-p.c. that such an image even crossed her mind—but when it
came to what to expect, she was clueless. One of those multiply pierced types with a hair color not found in nature? A hippie chick, maybe? The only thing that

  would surprise her would be if the high priestess turned out to be a suburban matron with precisely applied makeup and a UT track suit.

  "Ms. Thomas?" All of Tia's questions were answered. The witch came closer to the hippie chick category than to any of Tia's other imaginings, but a lank-haired, Manson family type she was not. Her waist-length, honey blonde hair was brushed and luminous, and her light blue eyes, along with the floaty seafoam green dress she wore, gave her an ethereal look. She reminded Tia of the pictures of fairies in old-fashioned children's books.

  "Please, call me Tia," she said, rising from her chair and extending her hand.

  For such a delicate, airy-fairy creature, the little witch had a firm handshake. "And you can call me Chameleon," she said. "Since you're dealing with me as a witch, you might as well call me by my witch name."

  "Oh-kay," Tia said. She always had a problem when people changed their names for religious reasons. She respected people's right to call themselves whatever the hell they wanted to, of course, but she personally always had a hard time wrapping her mouth around fancy religious nomenclature. When she was in college at Fisk, her friend Mikey had converted to Islam and changed his name to Kareem. She always called him Kareem, but she still secretly thought of him as Mikey. But hell, at least he hadn't named himself after a damn lizard.

  "Unless you're uncomfortable with it, of course," the witch said, smiling.

  "No, I'm not uncomfortable at all," Tia said, hoping it didn't sound like a lie. "Won't you sit down—" Iguana, she thought. Gecko. Gila Monster. But she made herself say "Chameleon."

  "Thanks." Chameleon sat down in the leather chair across from Tia's desk, slipped off her clogs, and folded up her legs like a yogi.

  "Make yourself comfortable," Tia said, sitting behind her desk. "Would you like some coffee?"

  "No, thanks. I don't do the caffeine thing."

  "Really? That's amazing. You mean it's actually possible to live without it?"

  "Yep. I'm living proof."

  "Wow, and you seem so alert and everything." Tia shuffled through her papers. "Well, from what you told me on the phone this morning, you definitely have a case. If the Department of Transportation has allowed other religious organizations to sponsor stretches of highway and put their organizations' names on the sign, then it's a clear case of religious intolerance. What we'll do is file suit against the Department of Transportation in federal court. This is a pretty clear-cut violation of your civil liberties, and we ought to win. But as I'm sure you know, we're right here on the Bible Belt's buckle, and that buckle is decorated with crosses and Confederate flags. If prejudice wins out over justice in this case, it wouldn't be the first time or the last."

  "I know we might not win," Chameleon said. "East Tennessee is about as friendly an environment for witches as Salem in the Puritan era."

  Tia smiled. For all her strangeness, Chameleon had the kind of smile you had to smile back at. "So why do you stay here? If you don't mind my asking?"

  "I don't mind. It's a question I've asked myself more than once, believe me. I guess I stay because if I left it would feel like I was letting the bigots win. If enough of us stay and make our presence known, eventually people are going to have to get used to us."

  Chameleon's statement brought an image to Tia's mind. She saw her great-grandmother in her tiny but spotless kitchen, frosting a yellow cake with caramel icing while talking to her teenaged great-granddaughter. "You know," Tia said, "what you just said reminded me of something my great-grandmother said to me one time. She lived in Mississippi all her life, and as you can imagine, she lived through some real ugliness. One time I asked her why she and Pop-Pop had never moved up north to one of the big cities like so many black people of their generation did. She said, 'Because that's what the crackers wanted, baby. To scare us off so they wouldn't have to look at us no more. We wasn't gonna give them the satisfaction.'"

  Chameleon laughed. "That's the same spirit all right. Of course, I'm sure your great-grandmother had to put up with a lot more ugliness than I've ever had to."

  "Probably ten thousand times more. Your difference is invisible to most people who see you. They just look at you and see a pretty young white woman." Tia just realized she had called Chameleon pretty and wondered if that was unprofessional.

  "Yeah, people have to get to know me a little before they decide to hate me. Then they can say, 'Oh, she's a lesbian witch. We knew there was something wrong with her!'"

  Tia felt a little jolt of electricity when she heard the word "lesbian." Her gaydar hadn't picked up that vibe from Chameleon, but she'd always had a hard time reading very feminine white women. "I'm one, too, you know. A lesbian, not a witch."

  "I thought you might be. I looked up your firm in the Gay Yellow Pages to make sure you were gay-friendly."

  "Actually, I'm both gay and friendly," Tia said. "So, Chameleon"—she noticed she was getting more comfortable saying Chameleon's name—maybe it was like that game where you repeat a word so many times that eventually it loses its meaning. "I'd like to take this case, but there's something you should know about me first."

  "Okay."

  "Would you agree," Tia asked, "that everybody is prejudiced?"

  "Sure," Chameleon said. "I could rattle off a list of people I'm prejudiced against without even having to work at it. Republicans, people who wear fur coats, right-wing talk radio hosts, televangelists ..."

  Tia laughed. "I share many of your prejudices. But here's one prejudice we don't share. I have this thing about religion. All religion."

  Chameleon looked puzzled. "This thing?"

  "I don't get religion," Tia said. "I don't see the need for it. The earth is governed by a combination of scientific principles and chaos, and I'm fine with that. I believe in reason, not religion, which is probably why law appeals to me. That being said, though, I would take to the streets and defend anybody's right to practice their religion, as long as I have the right not to practice any religion myself."

  "So you're not religious but you believe in religious freedom?"

  "Exactly."

  "Well, that doesn't strike me as prejudiced at all."

  Tia smiled. "Well, that's because I just told you what I think, not what I feel. To be honest, I've always felt that religion... whether it's Christianity or paganism or whatever... is a little silly. It always strikes me as primitive and irrational."

  "But there's a lot of value in the primitive and irrational," Chameleon said, fingering the silver fertility goddess pendant that hung on a chain between her breasts. "Sex, for instance, is primitive and irrational, yet human beings need it."

  "Yes, well," Tia said, becoming strangely flustered and removing her gaze from the provocative pendant in its even more provocative location. "But the sex drive—that's biological. There's no biological need for religion." Chameleon looked as if she were about to say something, but before she could, Tia said, "Look. I don't want to get into a debate or anything. I just want to let you know that I am dedicated to defending your religious freedom even if I personally find your religion to be a little... well..."

  "Wacky?" Chameleon offered.

  "Yes, okay," Tia said. "But be that as it may, I have to admit I'm almost completely ignorant of Wicca. I mean, I know you aren't devil worshipers or anything like that, but that's about the extent of my knowledge. And after I've filed this suit, the media's going to be all over this story, so I'd better do some quick studying so I can talk about what you believe without sounding like a damn fool."

  "Well, why don't you stop by the Moonshadow Cafe for lunch tomorrow? I'll bring you a bunch of books."

  "The Moonshadow Cafe? Oh, that's the little place up the street I've been meaning to try for a year now."

  "Well, you ought to try it," Chameleon said. "I'm the coo
k, and I'm damn good."

  "Really? A witch chef?"

  "Yep, but there's no eye of newt on the menu, I promise. It's all vegetarian."

  Tia grinned. "Well, okay, I guess I could stop by."

  "Lunch will be on the house, and I'll bring you a whole stack of books on Wicca." Chameleon smiled. "If you're prejudiced and ignorant, I figure it's my duty to educate you."

  By the time Tia showed up at the Moonshadow Cafe, a heavy-set middle-aged woman was flipping over the sign on the door to read "Closed." Tia was about to turn tail and go back to the office when Chameleon, wearing an apron over a peasant blouse and long paisley skirt, appeared and opened the door. "Hey! I had given up on you. Come on in."

  "I'm sorry I'm late. I seem to fall into some kind of wormhole in the office. I lose all track of time."

  "Actually, it's great that you're here now that all the customers have gone. We can have lunch together."

  Chameleon escorted Tia to a table and brought her a glass of iced herbal tea, which was better than Tia expected it to be.

  "The special today is a risotto with sun-dried tomatoes, bleu cheese, and walnuts. Would you like to try it?"

  "It sounds a hell of a lot better than old peanut butter crackers from the office vending machine, which is my usual lunch," Tia said.

  "Now you've got to take better care of yourself than that," Chameleon said. "You should come here and let me feed you."

  Tia smiled as Chameleon set the plate of warm risotto in front of her. "You're a very nurturing person, aren't you?"

  "Yeah, I guess so. That's probably how I ended up being a high priestess."

  Tia forked up a mouthful of risotto. Delicious. "Well, your cooking certainly is magical."

  "Thank you."

  The middle-aged woman who had been putting up the Closed sign emerged from the back room and called, "Camille, I'm gonna take off now and let you two enjoy your lunch. I'm starting to feel like a third wheel around here."

  "No, grab a plate and sit with us, Sally," Chameleon said. "There's no reason to feel like a third wheel. Tia's my lawyer."