Brownie Points

by Jennifer Coburn

  Maya asked, “Those guys aren’t really going to join our troop, are they?”

  “Why would they?” Jason asked.

  Logan’s face fell when the answer came to him. “To mess with us. They’ll take down the whole organization over this, won’t they?”

  As we got to the steps of the courthouse, Jason caught his breath and fought his emotion. “Will you look at this?” Creating a gauntlet for our safe passage were two rows of uniformed firefighters. There must have been thirty of them, and as we passed each set, they raised their hands in salute to their captain.

  “Thanks, man,” Jason said, as he looked at each of his colleagues.

  Moved by the camaraderie, I turned toward the cluster of NOW supporters and saluted them as my family reached the top of the courthouse steps.

  A woman with a purple placard shouted, “How can you turn your back on girls?!”

  I looked around to see who she was shouting at. Another joined her. “Girls need a room of their own!” I looked around again.

  Me? They were heckling me?

  Without thinking, I clutched my chest and whispered, “Me?”

  “Yeah, you!” the first woman shouted.

  “Come on, baby,” Jason said, grabbing my hand. “We haven’t got time for this.”

  “Me?!” I shouted back at them.

  “Who else’s son is suing to get their boy into Girl Scouts?” she engaged.

  “But I’m a member of the National Organization for Women!” I bellowed back, hearing reporters murmur to their crews to film the interaction. “You’re the ones who said we needed to kick down the doors of Congress so women could have power. Why is it different for me to advocate for my son when someone closes the door on him?”

  “Baby,” Jason said, “we don’t have time.”

  I turned my back on the crowd and began walking through the door when I heard a familiar holler. “Li-li! Li-li!” My head whipped around, my body quickly following. Soon I spotted a broad set of shoulders and an enormous mop of red hair standing a foot above the rest of the crowd. It was Finn. But with Jorge’s voice?! Suddenly, beside the Irish linebacker, I saw slick black hair bobbing up and down, and something shiny reflecting light in every direction. It was as if every camera were using a flashbulb, but instead it was coming from Jorge jumping madly and waving his arms in the air. The rhinestones from his western-style collar and cuffs caught the morning sun, nearly blinding everyone in sight. “Li-li!”

  “Jorge?!” I said, finally catching his eye. He and Finn fought their way up the stairs to us. Actually, it wasn’t too hard for them to make it through the crowd. When people see a two-hundred-fifty pound block of muscle lumbering toward them, they tend to move.

  “Li-li, I have been calling you for days. You don’t answer your phone for Jorge anymore, big media superstar?”

  “What are you doing here?” I asked them.

  “Mom, we need to get inside,” Maya urged.

  To Jorge and Finn I said, “Come with us.”

  A Hot Collar guy shouted, “That’s Finn Ayres!”

  “No shit?” another added.

  “Finn Ayres from the Niners?!”

  Finn turned to the crowd and smiled, raising his beefy hand bejeweled with Super Bowl rings. “Uh, hello everybody.”

  Jorge smacked his lips. “Not now, Finnegan. We need to get inside.”

  As the front door of the courthouse closed behind us, we rushed onto the elevator and pressed the button for the second floor. Jason looked at his watch. “One minute,” he said. “Let’s hope it’s a short hallway.”

  “Guys, it’s so good to see you,” I said breathlessly. “Finn, you’re looking well. Jorge?” I said, checking his duds. “Why are you dressed like that?”

  He shrugged. “It’s my rhinestone cowboy look. Too much?”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  “Goodness,” Wax said, rushing to meet us at the elevator door. “You tryin’ to give an old man a heart attack? Come on, come, come.” He escorted us to the front of a courtroom with closed dark-wood doors and hard benches outside. The walls were painted the color of dust and the golden seal of the State of California hung, muted by age. Still, our group of Jason, Michelle, Jorge, Finn and the kids buzzed with excitement. And nerves. Wax was the only one unfazed by the inside of the courthouse.

  “Michelle, what are you doing here?” I asked, relieved at the sight of her.

  “I’m the Girl Scout leader,” she said. “I’m leading.”

  The bailiff came out and announced that the judge was stuck in traffic and would be at the courthouse as soon as possible. I shuddered at the thought of Amy jumping on her windshield to get an interview for Dateline.

  I gasped, catching the attention of a woman I’d only seen on Larry King Live and in newspaper photos. Standing beside a woman in a Girl Scout-green power suit was Lexie Stein, the feminist lawyer famous for taking on high-profile cases like public breastfeeding, frozen embryo custody and the Hollywood lesbian divorce. She was about forty and stood less than five feet with the body of a ballerina. She was the lawyer who coined the term the “thong defense” when she got an acquittal for the trophy bride who gunned down her husband and his mistress while they were shopping at Victoria’s Secret. Wax whispered, “They brought in the big guns for this one. Means they take us seriously.”

  “Wax,” Lexie Stein said, striding toward us in her stiletto heels and black silk pants suit. “I see we’re on opposite sides of this brawl.” Then she leaned in and kissed his cheek. “How’s Kate?”

  “Kate’s well, vera well, Lexie,” he said. “And how’s Layla?”

  “Pain in the ass as always, but that’s one of the things I love about her,” she laughed. “You must be the mother,” she said to me.

  I nodded. “Lisa Taylor.”

  “Good to meet you,” she said, shaking my hand.

  We were now joined by the woman in green, who smiled warmly and said, “I’m Julia Landau, president of Girl Scouts of America.”

  “Nice to meet you,” I said, deciding not to ask if she saw the O’Mally guys lynching her in effigy.

  “Enough with the love fest,” Lexie said. “Lisa, Wax, bottom line, what does the kid want? Can’t we find some way to work this out and go home unbloodied?”

  As they spoke, my eyes darted around the waiting area where Michelle was playing cards with Logan and Ashley while Maya inspected pictures on the wall. My daughter found that the glass doors led out to a small balcony. As she opened the doors, the raucous sounds of protesters flooded in with force. “Hey, look!” Maya exclaimed at the sight of the growing crowd below. “I feel like Evita!” She stepped outside, lifted her hands overhead and began singing, “Don’t cry for me Argenti—”

  “Maya!” Jason snapped. “Close that door and get inside, young lady.”

  “I thought I’d distract the reporters,” Maya said. “They’re all gathered around Olivia and those gross boys. Looks like they’re interviewing Max’s big brother.”

  Michelle looked up from her card game. “Want me to go down there and find out what’s going on?”

  “Would you?!” I asked.

  “Of course,” she said, motioning me to take her hand of cards. Whispering to me, Michelle said, “Act like you’ve got a bad hand, okay?”

  “Um, okay,” I replied. “What are you playing?”

  “Poker.”

  ™˜

  Maya sat down next to Wax and gave him the once over. “Can I ask you something?” Maya began.

  Wax glanced at her over his reading glasses, put down his papers and said, “Sure, Maya. What’s on your mind?”

  “Was Martin Luther King really all calm and cool twenty-four/seven? I mean, that brother saw some messed-up stuff. I totally get all the Jesusy peace and nonviolence stuff in his speeches, but when you guys were alone, did he ever let down his guard and be all, ‘Homes, I’m gonna pop me a cap on that motherfucker.’ ”

  Wax pondered this for a moment. “Peop
le didn’t really talk like that back then.”

  Maya persisted. “You know what I mean. Did he ever get pissed off and want to go Malcolm on those white dudes?” Catching herself, she qualified, “The nasty ones, I mean. You’re cool.”

  I was impressed by how seriously he took Maya’s question. During Black History Month, her teacher considered her constant questions a nuisance, suggesting that Maya was posing them simply to be difficult in class. “Dr. King was pissed off about the plight of African-American people in this country,” Wax told Maya. “So were a lot of people, but we felt that meaningful, lasting change came through peaceful protest. So no, he never thought about popping his cap. At least not that he shared with me anyway.”

  “So, were there civil rights groupies?” Maya asked, causing Wax to burst into laughter.

  “Ah yes, plenty of those,” he joked. “Some of my fondest memories involve hot tubbing with Freedom Riders.” Wax furrowed his brow and got serious with her. “Listen, Maya, you don’t get into this line of work to live like a rock star. When I die, I don’t much care if anyone remembers my name. What matters to me is if people’s lives are better, and our world is a kinder place because of the work I’ve done.”

  “Wow,” Maya said, awed. “That’s so beauty pageant.”

  ™˜

  Michelle returned after twenty minutes and gave us a report on Olivia. “She says that if Logan wins today, she’s going to file suit so that those four boys can join too. She might even file an amicus brief.”

  “What?!” Logan cried. “Why?”

  Michelle explained, “She said she wants to give America a clear visual of how it looks to have boys joining Girl Scouts.”

  “So, it’s a PR stunt?” Maya asked.

  “Is that why they brought the frogs?” Logan asked.

  “They’ve got plastic snakes and spiders down there too. They’re having a distance spitting contest in a few minutes. The British media is eating it up. The image, um, not the spit. They’re lighting their farts at noon.”

  Logan sighed. “They will too, won’t they? They’ll really go through with it and join.”

  Knowing my son the way I did, I could see him imagining what this would mean to girls like Spencer Fields. He shook his head in disgust. “This isn’t what I wanted.”

  ™˜

  The judge finally saw us. She was a hard looking woman with black hair slicked back into a tight bun. She smiled reassuringly at Logan, but the black robe was still intimidating. I sat in the front row of the courtroom with Michelle, Jorge and Finn, while Jason and Logan joined Wax at the counsel table. Lexie Stein and Julia Landau were joined by Girl Scouts’ general counsel, Clare Parkins, at the opposite table.

  “Good morning,” the judge began. She scanned the papers in front of her and said, “Let me see if I’ve got this straight. Logan Taylor is a fourteen-year-old boy seeking membership in the Girl Scouts, which has denied his membership on the grounds that he is not a girl. Is that right?”

  “Yes, your honor,” Wax replied, and Lexie echoed.

  “I’ll hear from you first, Ms. Stein.”

  “Your honor, Girl Scouts of America exists for the sole purpose of empowering girls, and one of the key tenets of that is providing an environment where girls grow stronger in the company of other girls. If boys are permitted to join Girl Scouts, that is destroyed. There are boys downstairs with snakes and frogs right now saying they want to join the troop too.”

  Suddenly I had a flash from every Passover Seder I’d ever attended. As we read from the Haggadah, we dipped our finger in the red wine, recalling the plagues on the Egyptians. Everyone around the table said, “Frogs. Boils. Death.” Olivia McDoyle and her posse of boys were my family’s plagues.

  Stein continued, “Several recent studies support that girls take more risks and perform better socially and academically when they’re in a single-sex setting. If we make an exception for Logan, then we have to admit all boys or else we really will be discriminating.” She looked at Logan softly and continued. “Logan seems like a terrific kid, one who can socialize with his female friends at school, at home and through a myriad of other after-school programs and activities. If he’s allowed to join Girl Scouts, it ceases to be Girl Scouts and the organization becomes just another after-school club for kids. Make no mistake, there are many benefits to these co-ed programs, but what they fail to deliver is the unique experience that comes from girls being among other girls.” She sat.

  Jorge whispered to me, “Doesn’t she remind you of Jenna Moore from Berkeley?”

  “Who?” I whispered.

  “Jenna Moore,” he whispered. “She ran the Women’s Center and was always spouting all those facts and figures. She was like a feminist encyclopedia.”

  I wrinkled my nose at him. “What’s your point?”

  “No point,” Jorge whispered. “This lady reminds me of her, the way she talks and all. So serious.”

  “Shhhh,” I urged him. Could he ever just sit still and be quiet?

  “Counsel?” the judge prompted, addressing Wax.

  “Girl Scouts does provide something very special for its members,” Wax began, “which is exactly why my client is so passionate about joining that he’s gone so far as to sue. The question isn’t whether Girl Scouts benefits girls. It does. The issue here is—”

  The judge interrupted Wax. “Logan, I’d like to hear from you. Do you understand why Girl Scouts—”

  Wax interrupted the judge like the retired legend that he was. “Yaw Honor, this is a demurrer hearing.”

  “In my courtroom,” she finished. “I understand this is unorthodox, but this is an unusual case. Now, Logan, tell me, why are you suing to be a Girl Scout?”

  Wax dropped his hand on the table with a bit too much weight. “Come on, yaw Honor. Has the trial started and someone forgot to tell me?”

  “Mr. Waxman, I’m warning you,” the judge said flatly. “Now, Logan, tell me why can’t you join Boy Scouts instead?”

  I saw Logan’s back stiffen as he prepared to answer her. But he never got the chance. Wax jumped in again, “Yaw Honor, you are cross-examining my witness!”

  Lexie Stein rose and opened her mouth to speak, but the judge interrupted first. “Mr. Waxman, consider this your final warning.”

  Jorge whispered, “Oh this lady’s a bad ass, just like Jenna, I’m telling you. They even look a little alike. I wonder if they’re sisters or something. Wouldn’t that be a small world?!”

  “Will you shut up?” I whispered, stifling a laugh.

  Wax continued. “Yaw Honor, there are reasons that Logan cannot join the Boy Scouts. Boy Scouts has discriminatory policies that would exclude Logan, which means Logan does not have an equal opportunity for scouting. Without the Girl Scouts, he’s denied the scouting opportunity that every other child in this country is afforded.”

  “Except the boys you say are discriminated against through Boy Scouts’ policies,” the judge corrected. “So your issue is really with the Boy Scouts?”

  Wax sighed heavily. “We will prove that Girl Scouts is, in fact, discriminating on the basis of gender, which, I might add, is wholly unconstitutional when considering that the Girl Scouts campgrounds are located on state land and are rented to the organization at the rate of one dollar per year!” Wax certainly had a flair for the dramatic presentation. I swore he addressed the jury box for a half-second before remembering that it was empty.

  Michelle leaned in to me and whispered, “What did he just say?”

  I explained, “The park is owned by the state, so it can’t give sweetheart deals to groups that discriminate.”

  “Is that good?” she asked.

  “It kicks ass.”

  Michelle smiled and nodded.

  The judge was unimpressed. “Mr. Waxman, the state offers the same deal to the Veterans Administration, the senior center and the Braille Institute. Are you planning to sue these groups for discrimination as well?”

  Wax turned red. �
�Yaw Honor, I didn’t realize that not only had the trial started today, but that you’d assumed the role of lead counsel for the Girl Scouts!”

  “That’s it, Mr. Waxman,” the judge snapped. Banging her gavel, she told Wax he was in contempt of court, and called for the bailiff to take him away. Logan turned to me with bulging eyes as his attorney was taken away in handcuffs.

  Michelle leaned in toward me again and whispered. “This doesn’t really seem like we’re kicking ass.”

  ™˜

  “Logan! Logan! Over here!” several reporters barked. “What did the judge say?” Click, click, click. Click, click, click. Click, click, click.

  “Did she rule in your favor?” Click, click, click. Click, click, click. Click, click, click.

  “Ms. Stein, were you happy with the judge’s decision today?” Click, click, click. Click, click, click. Click, click, click.

  Click, click, click. Click, click, click. Click, click, click. Click, click, click. Click, click, click. Click, click, click. Click, click, click. Click, click, click. Click, click.

  We stopped at the top of the courthouse steps paralyzed by the cameras. Supporters and protesters gathered closer to the steps to listen as well. Click, click, click. Click, click, click. Click, click, click.

  “Did she give you any indication which way she was leaning?” shouted a reporter. Click, click, click. Click, click, click. Click, click, click.

  “We’ll know the judge’s ruling shortly,” Lexie said. Click, click, click. Click, click, click. Click, click, click.

  “Where is Mr. Waxman? Is it true he was arrested?”

  “That is accurate,” Lexie Stein confirmed.

  “Is it true that you’re gay, Logan?” shouted a British reporter.

  Click, click, click. Click, click, click. Click, click, click. Click, click, click. Click, click, click. Click, click, click. Click, click, click. Click, click, click. Click, click,.

  I glanced at Logan, who looked mortified to be outed in such a public way. It was one thing for him to tell his parents and friends, but an entirely different thing to have a reporter question his orientation while dozens of others clicked away, filmed and recorded.