Chase Banter [02] Marching to a Different Accordion

by Bennett, Saxon

  She had become a distracted parent and in Chase’s overachieving obsessive-compulsive world this was unacceptable. Making a mental list of why she’d not memorized the school brochure, she came up with the writing of two novels at the same time and dealing with the dissension and almost all-out warfare between her two muses, the Sacred Muse of the Divine Vulva and the Muse of Commercial Endeavor, each claiming proprietary rights to her imagination, Commercial Endeavor for the sake of monetary gain and Vulva for the salvation of her lesbian soul. Chase had thought this a bit over the top, but Vulva did have a point. Chase had not been particularly lesbian lately, as had been indicated on more than one occasion. What if she really was losing her lezzie?

  Then there was the SUP group and her retraining in the art of social skills, which had suffered another defeat. Lily, the group coordinator, had been sorely disappointed when the group had been put to the test at a PTO meeting where once again Steinbeck’s The Grapes of Wrath was about to be banned from the school library along with Heather Has Two Mommies. Lily had thought this particular meeting would be a perfect testing ground since it related to Isabel, a librarian who was adamant about censorship, and because Chase and Delia were writers. It was Delia’s fault the whole fight started. She said she thought it would be more interesting if they banned Radcliff Hall’s The Well of Loneliness. Marsha defended her because she’d obviously taken a shine to Delia, and Isabel, getting caught up in the fray, started listing all the books that had ever been banned. She insisted on knowing how the board members felt about these books, noting the reasons why in the past they had been banned and demanding to know did the board agree with those rationales? Chase had done her best to stay out of it until one of the board members, a prissy woman with a pinched expression, got into the demonic nature of homosexuality and how all children with gay parents should be taken away and doled out to proper families. Many unpleasant things were said on both sides and the debacle ended with security being called and the SUP group being escorted off the school premises.

  And then there was… Chase would have gone on if Bud hadn’t yanked her back from her neurosis. “We have to go,” Bud said.

  Chase leaned back in her seat and sighed. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

  “We don’t have any choice.”

  At that particular moment, a troop of children a little older than Bud came tromping behind a teacher in single file—their stance almost alike as they trundled past. In their uniforms they looked like Mussolini’s Blackshirts and Chase’s stomach dropped. “We could homeschool you. I’ll hire tutors.”

  “Then I’ll end up being as socially inept as you,” Bud said, opening the car door.

  “What’s wrong with that?” Chase called after her. She still hadn’t removed herself from the driver’s seat. Bud came around to her side.

  “It’s a cop-out. I can be a good little soldier and still keep my sense of individualism. That’s your problem—you think that if you even so much as dunk a toe in the raging river of homogeneity that you will lose your sense of self. It’s not like that. The raging river is the challenge, it’s the quest, it’s the odyssey.”

  Chase couldn’t remember the grammatical term for three beautifully linked clauses, but Bud had it down. “If I let you go to school will you at least try to win a Pulitzer?”

  Bud pulled her from the car. “I will give it my best effort.”

  “I don’t want it to be one of those mean autobiographies that slam the parents.”

  “Then I suggest you watch your back,” Bud said.

  “Bud!”

  Bud squared back her shoulders, studied the Latin inscription above the massive wood doors, sighed heavily and then marched forward.

  Chase scrambled behind her. “Please God, let this go well.” They both crossed themselves.

  Principal Marshall’s office was prominently marked with a gold placard. They walked into the reception area. Chase felt a certain trepidation, which she associated with being called into the principal’s office for some offense in her youth. She made her best attempt at looking confident. Bud sat down and looked Pre-Raphaelite angelic.

  “Hello, we have an appointment with Principal Marshall.” Chase didn’t know what else to call her as she didn’t know if she was a Doctor, a Mrs. or a Ms. type of woman and she didn’t want to get off on the wrong foot.

  The receptionist was a kindly looking woman of fifty-something and her gray hair and round glasses gave her the air of someone who would be gentle with small children. Chase hoped this was not a masquerade just to suck people into turning their children over to the educational equivalent of the Gestapo.

  “Oh, yes, Ms. Banter, I believe. Melinda is expecting you.”

  Chase glanced up at the clock hanging behind the receptionist’s desk. They weren’t technically late—they were essentially right on time.

  “Oh, don’t worry. You’re not tardy. Melinda is just really looking forward to meeting you…and Angelica, of course. Right this way, please.”

  Chase glanced at Bud for some sign of her take on the situation. Bud furrowed her brow and shrugged.

  Before they’d gotten to the office, which was down the hall a short way, the door to the office flew open and an attractive, yet competent-looking woman in her late forties, dressed stylishly in what Chase knew to be an Ann Taylor business suit—blazer and matching trouser set—stepped out. Her hair was dark and cut in the latest above-the-shoulder-but-below-the-chin ragged cut that Chase always found odd because to her this expensive hairdo looked like it was done with the edge of a meat cleaver rather than styling shears, but Lacey claimed it was the height of fashion nonetheless. Lacey had transcended this look and grown her hair out. She now tied it back in a ponytail because she felt this was her true lesbian hairdo—although it was not one of the seven lesbian hairstyles that Lacey had been told about during her initiation into the subculture of true lesbianism. Chase understood none of this—perhaps another sign of “losing her lezziness.”

  “I’m so pleased to meet you,” said Melinda, who insisted that Chase use her first name as she pumped Chase’s hand and gave Bud a cursory, however, not unkind look and bade them sit.

  “Now, I think you should tell us a little about yourself, Chase, may I call you Chase?” Melinda asked.

  Chase wanted to be amiable. “Of course. What would you like to know?” she replied, trying to think of parental litanies. All she could come up with was, “I feel that being a parent is one of the most important episodes of my life and I want my child to have a good, I mean, an outstanding education.”

  Bud visibly blanched. “Banal.”

  “Good word, Angelica.”

  “You can call me Bud.”

  “Ah, you have a moniker. We are very respectful of the student’s right to call him or herself by a chosen name. If you prefer Bud then Bud it shall be.” Melinda marked this down on her record file. Both Bud and Chase glanced at it.

  “No, what I meant, Chase, was how do you think the creative process affects you as a parent?”

  Chase was silent.

  “She means your writing,” Bud said, pointing to Chase’s stack of lesbian novels topped off by her two mystery novels that sat on the corner of Melinda’s desk.

  “Oh.”

  “I am a big fan. Now, Bud, this does not mean that you have no standing on your own. I can already tell that you are well above average and we will leave it at that because brilliance is best encouraged by civility and structure.”

  “What are you basing that on?” Bud asked.

  Chase thought Bud was holding her own.

  “Chase’s personal assistant, Donna, has minutely documented a CV for you that lists your achievements as well as your Mensa score.”

  “You took the Mensa test? When did you do that?”

  “Addison thought it would be interesting so we did it online. She actually scored higher, but she said that’s because I am four. My years of study have not exceeded hers so I don’t feel
too bad. I don’t know what my list of achievements are.”

  “Your grandmother supplied your reading list.”

  “Your reading list?” Chase’s voice had gotten high and a little squeaky. Bud pinched her and gave her the don’t-fuck-this-up-or-we’re-dead look.

  “I think it’s quite diverse and I am aware that some of these books were read to you but that still qualifies.”

  “Oh, I see, well, that’s great,” Chase said.

  “Now, back to you, Chase. How did you come to be a writer?”

  Chase scrambled as the spotlight was now on her. Bud smiled encouragingly. “Well, I used to have these running daydreams as a child and then I just started writing them down and then rewriting them and then…” God, she hoped she didn’t sound completely unhinged.

  “I remember that you told me once that coming up with stories was like playing a chess game that you were totally in charge of, and so plot was like figuring out the moves and the chess players all had histories and motives and that’s what made the story—a combination of strategy and language as well as a good dose of managerial finesse,” Bud said.

  “Exactly!” Chase said.

  “How interesting.” Melinda seemed satisfied with the answer and Bud and Chase let out a collective sigh.

  “Would you like me to sign your books?” Chase asked. Bud smiled encouragingly. She dug a pen out of her backpack and quickly handed it to Chase.

  “I would recommend using the Chancery Cursive script for this particular signing, considering the prestige and posterity of this fine institution,” Bud said.

  “Good idea,” Chase said.

  “Oh, I’d be delighted.” Melinda scooted the books over. “Here, sit at my desk and I’ll give Bud a quick tour of the school.”

  “I’d love to see the library,” Bud said.

  They left and Chase got down to business. At Donna’s suggestion, she had taught herself calligraphy—so that each reader could choose how he or she wanted the book signed and each one would feel special. This, Donna told her, would give Chase something to concentrate on that was productive instead of focusing on how miserable she was. So far the idea had worked, but they’d only done it for virtual signings that Chase had done online. Readers printed off the inscription and then pasted it in the front of the book. This had been hugely popular and it was all thanks to Donna’s amazing, imaginative approach to marketing. Myra could go fuck herself, Chase thought as she carefully inscribed Melinda’s books.

  When Bud and Melinda returned, they were holding hands and talking amicably.

  “All done,” Chase said, meaning the book inscriptions and hopefully the interview.

  “Oh, it’s beautiful,” Melinda said, looking at the title page of the first book.

  “So?” Chase asked.

  “It’s all settled. Bud is a shoo-in, but let’s keep the Mensa score to ourselves. This does not mean you’ll get to slack, young lady. Your teachers will be notified of your abilities and you will be given honors classes as you progress.”

  Bud groaned.

  “What did you expect?” Chase said, frowning at her.

  “An outstanding education,” Bud said weakly.

  “Now, I suggest you have one last joyous summer before the work of your life begins.” Melinda shook Bud’s hand and then Chase’s. “So when does your new book come out?”

  “In May. I’ll be sure to send you a copy.”

  “That would be splendid.” Melinda beamed.

  Chapter Fifteen—Faith

  Attempt the end and never stand to doubt;

  Nothing’s so hard but search will find it out.—Herrick

  Having congratulated themselves on their performance with Melinda, Chase and Bud disobeyed orders and went to Taco Bell, where they shamelessly stuffed themselves. When they returned home with Mentos on their breath and a taco sauce stain on Bud’s white polo shirt courtesy of Chase, who’d been eagerly reading the packet caption and opening it at the same time so that she had sprayed her luncheon companion with sauce, they were met with complete panic by Gitana and Donna—so much of it, in fact, that their indiscretions went quite unnoticed.

  Donna gripped Chase by the shoulders and looked pleadingly into her eyes, “Tell me you didn’t fuck it up.”

  “We didn’t fuck it up,” Bud replied, as she deftly slid a sweatshirt off the coatrack in the corner and slipped the garment on, thereby covering the stain.

  “Bud, great God of mercy, don’t talk like that,” Gitana said, squatting down to look in Bud’s eyes for confirmation. “Really?”

  “Principal Melinda is a big Chase Banter fan. She has all her books and Chase autographed them. So we are a shoo-in,” Bud said. “She did say that I must not mention my Mensa score.”

  “Mensa score?” Gitana looked over at Donna, who’d released Chase and was now pouring herself a shot of tequila. She shook her head.

  “It’s a long story. I think I’ll go take a bath,” Bud said, opening the fridge and pulling out a squeeze box of grape juice.

  Chase suspected Bud wanted to avoid all the adult hoopla and having done her part was making a run for it.

  “A bath?” Gitana said, glancing at her watch. Bud usually took her bath right before bed, not before dinner.

  “I got pretty dirty at the jumble sale, but we did find the entire twenty volumes of the OED,” Bud said over her shoulder on her way out of the kitchen.

  “You know, I got pretty dirty too. I think I’ll go take a shower,” Chase said, hoping she could pull the same tactic.

  Gitana blocked her way. “I don’t think so.”

  “Well, I should at least get the books out of the car,” Chase said, making for the kitchen door. This time Donna blocked her path.

  “Tell us everything,” Gitana said.

  “I’m so sorry I didn’t make it in time,” Donna interjected. “I saw the Hummer in the parking lot at the school, but by that time I couldn’t just go barging in without making you look incompetent.”

  “Thank you, Donna,” Chase said, not knowing if she should be offended or not.

  “So I e-mailed Bud’s CV to the secretary, who promised to get it to the principal’s office ASAP.”

  “Which she did,” Chase said.

  “Did you happen to catch the secretary’s name?” Donna said.

  Chase thought hard, trying to re-create in her mind the small brown wood plaque with the gold lettering that sat on the secretary’s desk. Donna stared at her intently as if willing her to remember. “It was Eleanor Raymond.”

  Donna hugged her.

  “Why?” Chase asked.

  “So I can send her a thank-you gift,” Donna said. She screwed up her face. “Did you notice anything about her desk, like did she have a candy dish or a vase or a fancy pen or…”

  “I’ll send her an orchid,” Gitana said impatiently. “Now tell us what happened.”

  “It was exactly like Bud said. Really. I signed her books and she gave Bud a tour of the school. Bud took the Mensa test with Addison’s help and Bud will have to do some accelerated coursework. That’s all.”

  Both Donna and Gitana looked grossly disappointed. “That’s it,” Gitana said. She took the bottle of tequila from Donna and poured herself a shot, slamming it back and wincing.

  “So let me get this straight, you two have been getting yourselves all tied up in knots for nothing—imagining all sort of horrendous scenarios based on nothing but irrational fears. Is that correct?”

  They both looked sheepish.

  “Isn’t that the kind of thing you always accuse me of?”

  Donna studied her fingernails. “I bought you a five-pack of Mentos,” she said, pulling it from her bag.

  Chase snatched them. “Where were you, by the way?”

  Donna glanced at Gitana, who pursed her lips. “She was tied up with something,” Gitana said. She poured Donna another shot of tequila. “You should stay here tonight. I think we all need a little downtime—pizza, movie and a few c
ocktails.”

  “Yes,” Donna said, sighing.

  “What happened?” Chase said, eyeing them.

  Donna blurted, “I got a speeding ticket—that damn Myra had me on the phone so long I left late and then…” she started blubbering.

  “A speeding ticket?” Chase was horrified. It was as if Donna had just been accused of butchering an entire kindergarten class.

  “Don’t be such a hard-ass. People do occasionally get speeding tickets,” Gitana said.

  “How fast?” Chase asked, her eyes narrowing.

  “It wasn’t that bad,” Gitana said, patting Donna’s shoulder.

  “How fast?”

  “Sixty-eight in a thirty-five,” Donna screeched out.

  Chase was speechless.

  Donna blathered, “I didn’t mean to. I wasn’t really aware of how fast I was going until the, you know, red lights started flashing. I’m probably going to have to go to traffic school if I want to keep it off my record.”

  At this Chase brightened. “Can I go with you?”

  They both turned to look at her in amazement. “Why?” Gitana asked.

  “Because they give you all sorts of tips on safe driving. It’s like getting lessons for free, well, not exactly free. How much is the ticket for?”

  “A hundred and twenty-five dollars,” Donna said, equally as brightly. “I thought that was a deal, considering.”

  “It was, considering that at that speed, you could have killed a dog, a child, an elderly person or yourself,” Chase said.

  “Chase!” Gitana said as she watched Donna’s eyes fill with tears.

  “No, she’s right. I was being an irresponsible driver and a disobedient citizen,” Donna said.

  Then Chase felt bad. “I know you’re truly sorry and you won’t do it again.” She patted Donna’s shoulders.

  “Who made you the traffic goddess?” Gitana said.

  “I got a safe driver certificate from the insurance company and I know about that ticket you got in the safety corridor.”