Bad Company

by Sarah Dreher

  "I heard you call her 'douche-bag' at rehearsal," Stoner said. "That seems pretty healthy to me."

  "That was Seabrook, ventilating. It doesn't bother her. She probably likes it. It makes her the center of attention." She sighed. "Damn her eyes."

  Stoner nodded. "With some people you just can't win."

  "So true," Rita said. She took Seabrook from Stoner and toyed with his head. ''You really think he can be fixed?"

  "Easily." And she was willing to bet there were half a dozen women in Demeter Ascending who'd be glad to try.

  "I'll ask Div," Rita said. "She makes her own clothes."

  Remembering Divi Divi's elegant dresses and caftan, Stoner was impressed. "She's very good."

  "Sure is. She doesn't exactly like it, because her mother supported them by being a seamstress for Macy's. But she claims, with her size, the only clothes she can get into in stores make her look like a loaf of Italian bread." She pinched the edges of Seabrook's wound together. "He's lost a lot of sawdust. He's going to look skinny. Maybe I should try that."

  "I think," Stoner said, "getting your throat cut would have a very different effect on you than it does on Seabrook."

  It was beginning to rain. Fine, gentle drops that fuzzed the edges of the forest in the distance. It was the kind of rain that could last all day. That was all right. It would keep everyone in one place, instead of wandering off all over the grounds during breaks the way they usually did.

  “Want a banana?" Rita was saying as she rummaged through her tote.

  She realized she was hungry, and becoming more so by the minute. "Yes, thanks."

  Rita handed her one. "Organic. Don't ever eat stuff that isn't organic. Full of radiation."

  "Really?" She extricated her arm from around Rita to peel the banana. “I didn't know that."

  "Didn't you see 'Silkwood?' " Rita asked, working on.a peach.

  “Yeah, it was a great movie."

  "Remember where she worked, where they had all the radiation? Kerr-McGee. And what does Kerr-McGee make? Fertilizer."

  ''You're right. I never put it together."

  "I figure what that was about was, they're hiding radioactive waste in the fertilizer. It all ends up inside us." Rita shook her head. ''You have to be on guard all the time," she said. "They get you when you least expect it."

  An organic banana wasn't going to do it. Last night's pickle and pimento loaf, loaded with nitrites and fat and probably radioactive, was beginning to look like Treat of the Year. Maybe the last treat of the year. But she didn't dare go into the dining room, where Rita was talking seriously and animatedly with Divi Divi, who had gone with her to a table in a corner and was examining Seabrook with all the solemnity of a brain surgeon. Rita was talking, but she wasn't eating. And while Stoner had no intention of spending the rest of her stay here avoiding dangerous foods, it seemed unkind to flaunt Rita's well meaning advice only ten minutes after she gave it.

  So she loitered about the living room until most of the other diners had gone upstairs or to the barn, tempted by the goody array but knowing any more sugar would send her into outer space. Finally, she crept out to the kitchen to take advantage of Sherry's Hostess with the Most-ess hospitality and beg for food, any food. Which Sherry delivered with concern, nurturing murmurs, and characteristic cheerfulness. It almost made Stoner feel guilty for her lack of enthusiasm over Sherry. Almost, but not quite.

  She checked in with Gwen, who hadn't been able to get Marcy aside for a chat, but who had volunteered to take the inn's pick-up truck into Bangor this evening and pick up some large sheets of styrofoam to be used in the scenery. She thought she had a pretty good chance of getting Marcy to come along.

  She checked in with Clara and Esther, who handed over their surveillance reports for the morning. At a quick glance, it appeared as if the comings and goings in the Cottage were identical to yesterday’s—although the honeymooners had ventured downstairs for coffee around 10:30 am. Clara had underlined the event in red, and said they should always remember it as a Red Letter Day. A national holiday wasn't out of the question—Honeymooners Out Of Bed And Into The Dining Room Day. The Dyke Hikers had left, the Demeter’s had gone to the barn, and Sherry had joined them about a half hour later, after making a fInal check of lunch plans with the kitchen crew.

  No, they hadn't noticed anything suspicious, though Clara had an idea or two and was planning to do a little spying during the afternoon. Stoner asked if it involved breaking into people's rooms. Clara informed her it was none of her business.

  By the time she left the kitchen herself, brushing off the evidence of her gastronomic transgression—the left-over pork spare ribs were perfect, the chocolate cream pie to die for—Sherry had finished reviewing the dinner menus and walked her down to the barn.

  Sherry was uncharacteristically silent, though there was a glittery excitement about her that seemed barely contained.

  Strange. But maybe she'd come across the marijuana patch down by the lake.

  Maybe she had, and maybe she'd slipped it into Boneset's herbal tea stash, and maybe...

  Stop that, she reminded herself firmly. If you focus on Sherry, you might overlook something important. Keep the mind loose and open.

  Rebecca had announced another complete run-through, with whatever props and costume pieces were available. Stoner was glad. This morning, what with having to straighten out blocking messes and watch for missed cues, she really hadn't gotten to see the play. She still didn't know what it was about, quite, though it was beginning to come into focus. Something to do with oppression of women and reclaiming our herstory. Famous women from every known era meeting at a soft ball tournament. Standard Feminist fare, except that the Demeter’s had included in their cast of characters famous women who had opposed the liberation of women. It made for an interesting mix, with poignant moments like Phyllis Schlafley lecturing Medea on the proper behavior for a wife and mother.

  Medea, who was being played by Rita to Marcy's Schlafley in a brilliant stroke of type-casting, was not amused.

  When the time came for the entrance of Everywomon—who roamed time and space dressed in Birkenstocks and a strappy-tee—Roseann didn't appear. Rebecca asked Stoner to look for her.

  She found her outside, behind the barn, huddling under an overhang. Her face was pale, and she was shivering. Stoner hunkered down beside her.

  “What's up?" she asked.

  Roseann looked at her with dark eyes. "Guess I'm just trying to figure out what to feel."

  "About what?"

  "This." She held up a flannel shirt. It had been ripped to shreds.

  "Isn't that your Scene 2 costume?"

  "Yep."

  "And I take it you didn't do this."

  "Nope. But somebody sure did." Slowly, Roseann pushed herself to her feet. "Well, I'm out of here."

  "Out of here?"

  "Out of the play, out of Demeter, out."

  Stoner reached for her. “Wait a minute."

  "Forget it, Stoner. They don't want me here. I should have known better than to get above myself."

  "Damn it, Roseann, listen to me."

  "Hey, I'm not blaming you. You've been swell to me."

  "Listen to me," Stoner said firmly, and pushed herself to her feet. "Some really bad stuffs going on around here, and it doesn't have anything to do with you." She told her about Seabrook.

  Roseann's eyes widened. “Who'd want to hurt that cute little frog? That's really... really pathological."

  "Exactly," Stoner said. "And I think it was the same person who did this to your costume."

  "No shit?"

  "No shit."

  "You think it was one of the women?"

  Stoner shook her head thoughtfully. "I don't know what to think, except it's time to bring some things out in the open." She took the torn costume in one hand and Roseann's wrist in the other and marched into the barn and up to Rebecca. "Call everyone together," she ordered. "We have to talk."

  Rebecca blew
a shrill blast on her whistle, breaking up at least four private conversations and ruining Marcy's timing.

  All of a sudden Stoner was sorry she'd done this. It wasn't time to blow the lid off of everything, particularly her own role in it. But they were all waiting now, giving her their full attention. She had to make decisions fast, and move carefully.

  "Go along with whatever I say," she mumbled to Roseann.

  She held up the shirt. “We have a problem," she announced. "Roseann just found her costume vandalized. Can anybody shed any light on it? Did anyone see anyone unfamiliar hanging around the barn since last evening?"

  She waited.

  No response.

  "Okay, has anyone else had something trashed or stolen?"

  No response. Not even from Rita, who had apparently decided to keep quiet about Seabrook.

  "I'd like you to check your things now. All your props and costumes. Any personal things you have down here."

  Roseann nudged her. Stoner turned to her. "I didn't have it in the barn," she whispered. "It was in my room."

  "In your room?"

  Roseann nodded.

  “Was your door locked?"

  "Of course not," Roseann said in a normal tone of voice. "If I did that, the other gals would think I didn't trust them."

  Marcy groaned and rolled her eyes.

  Stoner made a mental note of it.

  "If you ask me," Boneset said, "this was a clear classist act."

  Sherry pushed herself forward through the shocked and silent crowd. She pulled something that looked like a check book out of her pocket. "Look, Roseann," she said, "I feel responsible for this. Let me give you a check to cover the damages."

  Roseann looked bewildered.

  “Well," Marcy said loudly to Rebecca, "I knew something was bound to happen, but I didn't expect this."

  Stoner looked at her. “What do you mean?"

  "There are some people in the group who resent her bringing in an outsider..."

  "That's ridiculous," Rebecca cut in.

  "...to play the lead."

  "Marcy," Barb interrupted, "I don't think anyone in Demeter Ascending…"

  "I'm telling you, there are some people who aren't happy at all." Marcy crossed her arms over her chest in a stubborn pose. "I hear things."

  “We processed this," Rebecca said.

  ''You bulldozed us," Marcy insisted.

  Stoner tried to think of a way to get Roseann out of the room. Actually, she wanted to get out of the room herself. It was turning nasty, and people were about to reveal parts of themselves she didn't want to know. She could feel it in the air.

  Sherry ripped a check from her book and held it out to Roseann. "Here," she said.

  Roseann took a step backward, looking hurt and confused. "I don't want the money."

  "Take it," Sherry said dismissively. "I have insurance." She took Roseann's hand and squeezed it shut over the check. "Please, Roseann. I feel terrible about this."

  Roseann twisted out of her grip and threw the check on the floor. “Why should you care?" she spat. "I'm just a hairdresser Rebecca picked up in a bar."

  She stormed out of the barn, slamming the screen door. Gwen slipped out quietly behind her.

  "Well," said Marcy knowingly, "it's obvious someone resents her, big time."

  Stoner wanted to choke her. Rebecca got there first and drew her to one side. Stoner followed.

  "Marcy," Rebecca said, "do you suspect someone?"

  "I don't want to name names," Marcy said with an insincerely innocent look.

  "We'll keep it between us," Stoner said.

  Marcy glanced around. “Well, there's one person crazy enough to do this."

  "Oh, come on, Marcy," Rebecca said. “Just because you two had problems..."

  "Just because of that you think I don't know what I'm talking about."

  "Rita wouldn't do anything to hurt the show," Rebecca insisted. "I've known her for years."

  "But I’ve been in a position to see a side of her you've never seen. And, believe me, she can turn very, very nasty."

  "Rita's been solidly behind Roseann from the beginning," Rebecca said.

  Marcy threw up her hands in frustration. "I wish I'd never even heard of that bitch."

  "Roseann?" Stoner asked.

  "RITA!" Marcy shrieked.

  From the front of the room, Rita shot Marcy a charming smile and a little wave which segued into a third-finger salute. Marcy stalked into the tack room and began nailing something together.

  Rebecca looked around at the other women, who seemed to be in shock. “Well," she said as calmly as she could, "I guess we should take a little break. If anyone wants to go check her room…"

  Nobody moved. The energy was rock-bottom low. Demeter Ascending was on the verge of falling apart.

  Stoner was determined not to let that happen. She pulled Rebecca aside. "We have to do something," she said. "Something we can all do together, as a group. Maybe something physical."

  Rebecca looked around the room. "We need to bring the piano down here from the lounge, but the grass is wet and it's drizzling..."

  Sherry had picked up the check and was looking at it as if it were an alien life form. Stoner went over to her.

  "I don't get it," Sherry said. "I was just trying to do the right thing."

  "It's complicated," Stoner said. "You see, she was really hurt, and feeling rejected, and when you tried to pay her off..."

  "I wasn't paying her off," Sherry said.

  “Well, it looked that way to her." And to me, too, she thought. "The point is," she went on, "you took what was emotionally loaded, and appeared to put it on a material basis. Do you know what I mean?"

  "But that's terrible," Sherry said. "How could she misunderstand me that way? I'd never be that insensitive." She turned to Rebecca. "Have you ever seen me be insensitive like that?"

  The slight hesitation before Rebecca denied it told Stoner she had, indeed, but wasn't about to get into that now.

  "The thing is..."

  "The thing is," Sherry said heatedly, "she thought something completely crazy and mean about me. Nobody's done more for this group than I have. Nobody cares more about Demeter than I do, and I really resent some outsider coming in here and trying to make trouble for me."

  Rebecca kneaded her face with her hands. "I'm sorry I brought it up," she said. "Nobody's trying to make trouble. Just forget it, okay?"

  Stoner wondered how what had originally been an insult to Roseann had suddenly turned into an offense against Sherry. And why she felt a little guilty for even mentioning it, as if the whole thing were her fault. "Look," she said, "who did what to whom and why isn't really relevant right now..."

  "It is to me," Sherry insisted petulantly.

  "Of course it's relevant," Stoner agreed, "but we have a major problem here and we need to do something about it right away." She had a bright idea. "And you're the one person who can help."

  It worked. The anger drained from Sherry's face and mood like water down the sink. ''You think it has to do with... you know what?" she asked under her breath.

  "I certainly do," Stoner said with deep solemnity. "And I want to look into it immediately. But I need the rest of the company to be diverted."

  Sherry nodded. "I hear you."

  "Rebecca says the piano has to be moved. But I know it's kind of damp out, even if we cover it. The grass..."

  "No problemo," Sherry said. “Wouldn't be the first time. Anything else?"

  "Not at the moment. I'll get back to you."

  Sherry bounced away and across the room to the other women. "Come on, guys!" she trilled. "Time to check our rooms and move the upright. Be there or be square."

  Rebecca watched them file out after Sherry, and turned to look Stoner directly in the eyes. “Who are you really?" she asked.

  Nothing like moving a piano on a wet lawn on a drizzly day to bring a bunch of women together. Stoner put her shoulder to it and shoved. It was hard, hot, dam
p, dirty, miserable work. Like playing softball during the July heat wave. Anyone from another planet observing the goings on would conclude that suffering made Earth-lesbians absolutely cheerful.

  Rebecca was the most cheerful of all, but not because she was moving furniture in the rain. Stoner had confessed that she was there, under cover, for the express purpose of finding out who was trying to sabotage the play. "I guess it's not very Feminist, hiring someone to spy on the sisters," Rebecca said, "but oh, Goddess, what a relief!” The back of her collar had seemed to stand up particularly high since then.

  Sherry had apologized to Roseann, and had managed to do so without insulting her further. Roseann had accepted her apology, warily but graciously. Sherry went one step further by asking Roseann to please, please correct her if she committed any more classist acts. Stoner thanked the Goddess for small miracles, and for Roseann's innate generosity of heart.

  Gwen had managed to talk Marcy into going into Bangor with her to pick up the styrofoam.

  Divi Divi had actually approached Stoner and invited her to drive in to Green Lake after dinner. She said she had a couple of errands to run, and maybe Stoner would like to take in some of the local sights. ''You don't often get a chance to see a place," she said, "with so little to recommend it."

  Perfect. It would give her a chance to call Aunt Hermione without worrying about others listening in on the line. She needed some serious advice of a psychic nature. And she hadn't forgotten that Dairy Queen cup. A chocolate covered cherry Blizzard would be a real asset about now. There might even be a Brazier Burger to be had.

  Gwen wished her well, and assured her there wasn't a thing on the potential menu that she coveted.

  Which reminded her of something... some little bit of information she'd stored away, something that hadn't seemed significant at the time, but was tapping at her brain like raindrops trying to get in a window.