Chase would have taken this as a compliment except she knew Proust had stopped having sex long before he caught a cold and died. She turned back to the manuscript and savagely crossed out the second and third paragraph of a particularly offensive sex act.
On the drive home, Chase wondered when exactly she’d stopped thinking about sex. Was it when she turned forty? Was she experiencing vaginal dryness? When her primary care physician had asked her this, Chase had immediately conjured up an image of her vagina having turned into the Kalahari Desert.
Writing moist-mound sagas had forced her to keep sex in the forefront. She had to in order to keep her characters rolling toward the roll-in-the-hay moment. Mystery novels required less sex and more focus on creating a plot that kept the reader guessing. Chase now spent her time thinking about convoluted murders and deceptions rather than the soft pink folds of the nether regions, about guns, knives and power tools instead of breasts and excited nipples, about brilliant evil people instead of gentle lovers united. Maybe she should take a look at Jasmine’s homework and see if it produced rain in the desert.
When they went to bed later that night, Chase tried to think sexy thoughts as Gitana snored slightly. She remained conscious for an additional five minutes before the sandman caught her by the ankles and dragged her off to la-la land.
In the morning as she lay in bed waiting for the coffee maker to go ding indicating it was ready, Gitana was showering. Chase contemplated joining her, but by the time she unraveled herself from the bedclothes—she’d taken to cocooning in the night so that in dreams she felt like she was wrapped tightly in a shroud—Gitana was dressing, and any possibility of sex was waylaid by the oncoming buzz of the day.
Chapter Three—Knowing
Let knowledge grow from more to more.—Tennyson
“How did it go?” Chase asked, as Addison hopped into the water-tower-green Mini Cooper that Chase, with her newfound wealth, had splurged on. She had pined after the little cars when they’d first come out, but it had taken much counseling with Dr. Robicheck, her therapist, to get her past the fear of driving anything less fortified than her tank-like Hummer. Upon minute investigation the Mini Cooper was proved to be a safe car according to industry standards. She would never sacrifice her family’s safety for her desire to possess something fun to drive, but she was concerned that the purchase of a sports car could be indicative of a midlife crisis. One the other hand, she was only forty-two and still had her period so she considered herself pre-middle-aged. She hoped this wasn’t denial.
“I don’t think I got the job.” Addison, who was eleven, had applied for the job of newspaper editor for the Albuquerque Academy of Arts and Sciences, the same school Chase was hoping to get Bud into.
Chase pulled out of the school parking lot and onto Tramway Boulevard. The parking lot was thankfully mostly empty because it was after school hours. She picked Addison up occasionally when her mother, Peggy, was busy with Stella catching criminals—they were the twenty-first century PI version of Cagney and Lacey. “Why do you think you didn’t get the job?”
“I don’t interview well,” Addison said, staring out the window.
Chase had never had a job other than writing and the only interview of any kind had been a query letter—in her case three of them before she got the job of being an underpaid dyke writer. Now, things were different. She got paid more, but there was also a lot of pressure to produce so she considered herself more a part of the working public than before. This interview thing interested her.
“How exactly does one interview badly?” Chase studied her little friend. She’d first met Addison McFarland when she was seven. She had had braids and glasses then. Now her brown hair was cut in a pixie and her soft brown eyes had contacts. She was going to grow up to be rather pretty with her upturned nose and pert lips.
Addison held up her pinky, which had suffered much cuticle damage.
“Ouch. You didn’t do it during the interview?”
“No. I did it before, but it was bleeding so bad I couldn’t shake hands so I appeared either impolite, haughty, uncultured or all three. Look at this.” She pulled out the liner of her blazer pocket, which looked grotesquely bloody. “I had to stick it in here.”
“I see.” Chase suppressed a gag and turned on Central Avenue and headed toward Stella’s, where she would pick up Bud and Peggy would pick up Addison.
“And then I was so flustered, I didn’t present my curriculum vitae in a confident manner.”
“You have a curriculum vitae?”
“Of course.” Addison started in on her pinky again.
Chase slapped at it. “Don’t. I’m sure you have a first-aid kit in your backpack—put a Band-Aid on it.”
Addison obeyed, digging around until she pulled out a gallon-size plastic bag that contained other smaller bags with every conceivable item for ministering to the body.
“Wow. I’ll never have to worry about accidents as long as you’re around.”
Addison did smile at this. “I am always prepared. I should have told the principal about that.”
“You know what? I bet she already knows that. I hesitate to bring this up, but at your pre-adult stage, actual grown-ups do cut you some slack.” Chase turned onto Central and headed toward Four Hills.
“I don’t want slack.” She put the Band-Aid on her pinky.
“I know but sometimes getting a break comes in handy. Many of my gifts of fate have come from someone who gave me a break and I don’t think less of myself—I think I’ve been granted a chance that I have to make good on.” She turned on Mountain and headed up the street to the Banter residence and the black iron gates that guarded the place. Everyone had to buzz in now or have the code because of her mother’s new profession. Stella and Peggy ran a successful private investigating agency that had taken off during Gitana’s pregnancy with Bud.
“Have you been reading those inspirational books again?”
“What gives you that idea?” Chase said.
“Like you don’t know.” Addison returned the plastic bag to the depths of her backpack. She’d gone from the red one of her earlier years to a dark brown leather one. “Oh, I got a present for Bud the other day when our class went to the Explora museum to see the dinosaur exhibit. Did you know we’ve got a ton of dinosaur fossils right here in New Mexico?”
“Actually, I didn’t. Wouldn’t it be cool to find one?”
“Let’s dig up all your property and see,” Addison said.
“Not on your life.” Chase tapped in the code at the gate. She parked the car out front. Stella’s Crown Vic wasn’t in the drive and neither was Peggy’s Mercedes.
“Cool,” they said simultaneously. It meant they got to spend some time together. Chase missed spending time with Addison, but they both had more obligations now and those easy days were past.
Rosarita, one of the few people that Chase trusted with her, was watching Bud. They found them on the living room floor amid a flourishing city of LEGOS. They had built a mini Athens it seemed.
“That looks like the Parthenon. I didn’t know that was possible with LEGOS,” Addison said.
“LEGOS have come a long way since we’ve played with them,” Chase said, not meeting her gaze.
Rosarita openly acknowledged that she thought Bud was the cleverest child on the planet. She didn’t appear to be nonplussed by Bud’s architectural abilities. “We see it in a picture and she builds it.”
“See, she saw it in a picture book,” Chase said, moving toward the bar to get a bottle of water for her health and a Red Bull as an energizer. She desperately hoped that Bud wasn’t teaching herself Greek but quickly chided herself—Bud couldn’t even read yet. She tousled her daughter’s hair as she passed by, noting that the Pharos Lighthouse, one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World, was sitting outside the city limits. “That was located outside Alexandria, not Athens.”
“Citeop esnecil,” Bud said.
“I suppose.”
“What did she
say?” Addison asked.
“She explained that in the land of make-believe anything goes.”
Addison laughed and followed Chase to the bar. “Are there any bar snacks?” By this she meant the peanuts, pretzels and rice thingy-jiggers Stella kept behind the once-white leather bar that had now been replaced by a tasteful mahogany one. The living room, which had been completely white, had been redecorated when Bud arrived. As Stella, Chase’s mother, put it, babies and white things don’t go together. “Besides, I don’t want her growing up with kitsch, I want intellectualism.” So the living room and great portions of the house now resembled an English country house complete with reproductions and some original pieces of nineteenth-century furniture. Bud went to a house that could have played well in Trollope or Dickens or an Austen novel. Chase was sometimes alarmed at how comfortable she felt in this house.
Chase pulled out the canister of snacks and two bowls. “You know that if you ever go to a bar that you don’t eat this kind of stuff from the communal bowl.”
Addison looked at her mortified. “I’d never thought of that.”
“Same thing goes for any kind of potluck. It’s a germ paradise.”
Addison was as fastidious about germs as was Chase. They both carried copious amounts of hand-sanitizer gel upon their persons. Chase had Bud so well trained that after any outside event she automatically put her hands up to be cleansed. Once, when Bud was two, they’d been waiting in line at the supermarket and Bud saw the baby in front of them sucking on the handle of the shopping cart. She’d gotten so hysterical that Chase had to take her outside to calm her down. After that Chase made sure to stay away from small children in the grocery store. Gitana didn’t understand this particular behavior because Bud had sworn Chase to silence over the event. She still didn’t know how a toddler could swear an adult to silence, but she’d done it.
They got their drinks and snacks and sat on the couch. Bud put the last Lego where she thought it should go and went to sit between them. Rosarita got up slowly. “I go start dinner.” Bud blew her a kiss. “Oh, my sweet mija.”
Bud stared at Addison.
“What?”
Bud didn’t say anything but kept staring.
“All right, it’s in my backpack. Go get it,” Addison said. She shook her head. “How does she know?”
“Because you always bring her a present. Rue the day you don’t. It might get ugly.”
Bud dug around in her pack and pulled out the Rubik’s Cube.
“How does she know what thing in there is her present?” Chase said. She was secretly jealous of the fact that Bud was privy to the contents of the amazing backpack.
“All I can figure is that she knows what I have in there so anything different must be her present.” Addison sipped her Red Bull.
Bud stared at the multicolored cube and then up at Addison. It appeared she didn’t want to just play with the thing—she wanted to know how it worked.
“Like this,” Addison said. She messed up the colors and handed it back to Bud. “Now, you put all the same colors back together again.”
Bud nodded.
“I used to love these when I was a pre-adult.” Addison, having grown four years older, now considered herself an adult. Other than not being allowed alcoholic beverages, the vote and a driver’s license, she was.
They watched Bud. She stared at the cube, turned it around a few times, stuck her tongue out in concentration and then set her little hands to work. Chase was hopeless at puzzle things. She watched in utter astonishment as Bud put the cube right. Bud screamed and clapped her hands in delight.
“How’d she do that?” Chase asked.
“I don’t know, but it used to take me quite awhile and sometimes I couldn’t do it and I’m not stupid.”
“Maybe she just got lucky,” Chase said hopefully. Her heart palpitated. She told herself it was the Red Bull.
“I’ll try it again. Only this time you don’t get to see me do it,” she told Bud.
“That’s a good idea. She could have watched how you did it and then mimicked it,” Chase said, nodding her head convincingly. It’s possible, she thought.
“That’s still quite a task for a four-year-old.” Addison rearranged the cube, mixing up the colors very thoroughly. “Okay, that’s better. It would take me a while to undo it.” She handed it back to Bud.
Bud studied the cube for a moment and once again stuck out her tongue and wrinkled her brow.
“See, she’s having trouble,” Chase said, relieved.
Then with mythic speed Bud fixed the cube.
“Well, now that was amazing,” Addison said.
Chase bit her lip. “She…” but she couldn’t figure out what to say.
“I’m going to time her,” Addison said, taking the cube Bud held up. She turned around again and mixed up the colors. She handed Bud the cube, held up one finger and set her watch. “Go.”
Bud’s little hands worked their magic. Chase inwardly groaned.
“Fifty-nine seconds,” Addison said, astonished.
“Well, that’s enough of that. Why don’t we pick up the LEGOS before Grandma gets home?” No one moved.
Addison was as engrossed as Bud. She now had her notebook out and was logging times. “I’m going to input this into my Excel program and make a chart.” The gleam of research covered her face. “I want to see what the record is.”
Chase sat on the floor and stared morosely at the LEGO rendition of Athens and then over at her daughter who was making a mockery of the Rubik’s Cube. “Let’s not.”
Addison looked down at her quizzically, then her eyes narrowed. It appeared she recognized the pattern. “You’re trying to hide it. Why? Bud’s intellect is awesome. I’d have thought you’d be ecstatic.”
“I don’t want her to end up as some lab rat being probed by Mensa freaks.”
“Oh. I hadn’t thought of that. This can just be our little secret. When she goes to school there will be lots of smart kids so it won’t be as obvious.”
“Oh, I don’t think so,” Stella said, from the entryway of the living room. Her mother was just as sneaky now as she had been when Chase was a child. No wonder she was a private detective, she had the stealth of an Indian scout. She’d make Zorro seem a klutz.
“Are you tutoring her on the sly? She’s four,” Chase said.
Stella came over and took the proffered cube. “I don’t have to.” She messed it up and watched as Bud fixed it. “Very good, my little darling.” She patted Bud’s head. “And don’t worry, the Mensa freaks will have to get by me first.”
This made Chase feel better. Her mother made Genghis Khan look like a pansy.
“Addison, your mother will be here shortly. I was rather hoping we might finish up that game of Scrabble so that I could recover some of my pecuniary losses,” Stella said.
Addison raised her eyebrows and then cracked her knuckles.
“I’m off then.” Chase scooped up Bud and her cube.
When Gitana got home Bud was sitting at the kitchen bar while Chase prepared tofu chili dogs. She wished she’d had the foresight and stealth to purchase beef hot dogs and slip Bud the tofu ones. No matter the method, tofu was tofu and her carnivorous tendencies seemed to pop up with greater frequency the longer she remained a hypocritical vegetarian. She dreamed about meat, ate copious amounts of it whenever she was away from Bud and longed for the day when she could shuck the whole thing off. In the meanwhile she checked for signs that Bud’s resistance to flesh might be waning by running her by the deli every time they went grocery shopping just to see if something might catch her eye and undermine the veggie demon inside.
“Hello, my little furry ones,” Gitana said, as she patted the dogs’ heads and gave them dried duck treats that were supposed to be healthier for them. Chase found herself sniffing the treats and thinking about duck with orange sauce.
Bud held up her cube and crowed, “hctaw, hctaw!”
“Where’d you get that?” Git
ana said.
“Addison gave it to her,” Chase said. “You know what, maybe we should put it away and Mommy can tell us about her day.” She snatched the Rubik’s Cube and stuffed it in the first place that came to mind, which was the freezer.
Bud stared in horror and then screamed bloody murder. The dogs leapt up and Gitana calmly suggested she give it back.
“We shouldn’t give in to her. It’s bad discipline,” Chase said, stirring the baked beans and trying desperately to ignore Bud’s wailing.
Bud stopped wailing long enough to say, “Feiht!”
“I am not. You’ve played with it enough.”
“What did she say?” Gitana asked, stroking Bud’s unruly curls. She’d stopped crying and was now glaring at Chase.
“She is accusing me of appropriating her property.”
“You did. Give it back to her.”
“All right. We’ll compromise. You can have it until dinner. Deal?” Chase said. She stuck out her hand.
Bud glared at her but shook on it. Chase gave it back.
“How was your day?” Chase inquired as she chopped up onions and pickles. If she put enough stuff on the poser hot dogs they might taste better. She watched Bud out of the corner of her eye while Gitana pulled a Dasani from the fridge and sat down next to their daughter. Bud seemed oblivious to everything and now distrustful of handing the cube over to anyone over the age of thirty. She quietly manipulated the cube herself. Gitana didn’t seem to notice her nimble little fingers putting it right.
“Not bad. We’re getting the newsletter for our customer base ready. That really was a brilliant idea on Donna’s part. I think it will get the orchid lovers all jazzed for spring.” She glanced over at Bud.
“Because the orchids start to bloom soon and that’s the best time to get them, right?” Chase said, in an effort to distract her.
“Uh, yes. Does she know what she’s doing?” Gitana said, pointing at Bud.
Chase cut open the buns and put them on plates. “Oh, she’s just playing around with it.” She didn’t meet Gitana’s gaze.
Chase Banter [02] Marching to a Different Accordion Page 3
