Chase Banter [02] Marching to a Different Accordion (21 page)

“Make last night and those six shots of Patr
ó
n go away.” Another retch.

“Yeah, that tequila is a little too smooth for its own good,” Chase commiserated. “Have you kept anything down?”

“Not yet, but I’m hoping to in the next year or two,” Ellen said, flushing the toilet and exiting the stall.

Chase pulled over one of the straightback chairs that had been thoughtfully provided for the gold star people. Ellen sat down gratefully. Chase got her some wet paper towels to put on her forehead.

Graciela and Gitana came in. “Chase, you’re not dressed. Lacey wants to check you out to make sure you don’t pull any funny business,” Gitana said.

“She doesn’t look good,” Graciela said, peering down at Ellen.

“She’s not,” Chase concurred.

“Chase, you get dressed, and Graciela, queen of the hangover, you need to come up with something quick or we’re going to be looking for a new panelist.”

Graciela appeared to contemplate. “Stick out your tongue,” she instructed Ellen. “Ew, that doesn’t look good. Thrown up everything?”

Ellen nodded.

“What does her tongue tell you?” Chase asked as she pulled off her corn T-shirt and donned the dress shirt.

“Nothing. I just like to get people to do it,” Graciela said.

“Graciela, this isn’t helping,” Gitana said as she handed Chase her pants and belt.

“Stop worrying. I’ll be right back with the sure-fire remedy. You were drinking tequila?”

“Yes.”

“What kind?”

“Patr
ó
n, the white kind,” Ellen said, putting the cold towels that Gitana had handed her on her forehead.

“Okay, just hang on. I’m just going to run up the street to that corner market. I’ll be back in ten minutes.”

Chase had finished dressing. “You look really nice,” Ellen said weakly.

Gitana kissed Chase’s cheek. “You do.”

“I still have to get changed,” Ellen said, indicating a pastel blue sundress hanging up behind her.

“I’ll help you.” Gitana surveyed her. “You need some color in your face. Chase, go see if Lacey or someone has some bronzer or something.”

“What’s that?” Chase asked.

“Makeup. Just go find someone with makeup,” Gitana said.

Chase dashed from the bathroom. Volunteers were setting up the folding chairs. Chase found Lacey and Bud helping with the camera angles. Bud was seated on a phone book to add height as she sat on the platform in the middle panelist’s position. Lacey and one of the camerawomen were taking turns looking through the viewfinder. Bud waved at her.

“Lacey, I need some makeup,” Chase said.

Lacey pulled back from the camera. “You look fine the way you are. We want you to look as natural as possible.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s why I’ve got this monkey suit on. No, it’s not for me. Ellen is looking a little sickly so Gitana thought we could spice up her color a bit. She said something about bronzer.”

“I’ve pretty much given that stuff up. I really feel that being a lipstick lesbian just doesn’t hold true to my sense of self. Men do not feel the need to alter or fabricate their facial features and I subscribe to the same notion of personhood as an ‘as is’ existence.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake never mind.” Chase scanned the room for a lipstick lesbian. There didn’t appear to be any. This is a tough crowd, she thought. Then she spied Isabel, who did appear to have to have some makeup on.

“Isabel, do you have a makeup bag?”

“Yes.”

“Come with me. We need you in the bathroom.” Chase took her elbow and led her through the crowd.

“Should I take mine off? I just have a little mascara on,” Isabel said as they entered the gold star room.

“No. We need to put some on Ellen, who looks white as a sheet.”

“Oh, I’ve got bronzer. It’ll give her that healthy glow of an outdoorsy type. I put some on before I go in REI so I don’t look like I spend all my time indoors.”

“But you do,” Chase said, thinking ‘Is everyone trying to be something they’re not?’

“I know, but I really like their shoes for wandering around at work.”

“Book hiking.”

“Precisely.” Isabel took one look at Ellen, who was now dressed. “She does need some color.” She rooted around in her bag until she found the tube of bronzer. She handed it to Gitana, who was putting Ellen’s beautiful long dark hair up in a stylish sort of careless bun.

“Some color in your face…” Gitana said.

“And something to keep me from throwing up and I’ll be all set,” Ellen said glumly.

“I’ve got just the ticket,” Graciela said as she came through the door carrying a brown paper bag. She put the bag on the counter and pulled out a four-pack of Red Bull and a forty-ounce Budweiser Chelada, a bottle of Aleve and a pack of peppermint Mentos. Chase’s eyes lit up. “Hands off, buddy. These are for the sick lady.”

“What are you going to do?” Gitana asked.

“Well, she’s going to drink one Red Bull, which is full of B vitamins, take an Aleve for her pounding head, then she’s going to get down at least a third of the can of Chelada, hair of dog—it’s going to fool her body into thinking everything is all right—and the Mentos have peppermint in them, which helps with a tummy ache, not to mention covering up the alcohol smell. It’ll work, trust me.”

“Are you sure?” Ellen said.

“It doesn’t look like you have a lot of options, honey,” Graciela said, opening the Red Bull and then giving her two Aleve tablets. “Chug the Red Bull, because timing is everything.”

Ellen obeyed. When she was finished, Graciela handed her the Chelada. “Okay, now slowly sip this,” she said.

Gitana finished her hair and Isabel applied the bronzer. “You look much better,” Gitana said as she and Isabel surveyed their work.

If only Lacey could see this homespun girlie moment in the bathroom, Chase thought smugly.

Ellen finished the Chelada. She looked up in wonder at Graciela, who handed her a Mentos and reluctantly gave one to Chase. “I feel a lot better.”

There was an urgent tapping on the door and Donna stuck her head in. “It’s show time, everyone.” She looked them over as they left the room. “You all look very nice. Chase, where are your shoes?”

They all looked down at her feet. She’d been standing in her bare feet after she’d taken off her Teva sandals to put her pants on. Chase pursed her lips. “You didn’t bring them?” she asked Gitana.

“I thought you had them,” Gitana said. “They weren’t with your suit.”

Chase thought for a moment. “I don’t have any shoes to go with this suit. Lacey and I never got any. How do my toenails look?”

They all peered at them. “Pretty good,” Graciela said.

“It could be a signature thing…like you meant to do it,” Isabel said.

Donna looked skeptical. “But how do we keep Lacey from seeing it?”

“I’ll take care of that or rather I’ll help Delia take care of that. Wait until you hear her opening speech,” Graciela said.

“I can only imagine. She’s right. My feet will be the last thing on Lacey’s mind.”

“Just walk on my inside,” Isabel said, “until we get up to the platform. Then if she does notice it’ll be too late to do anything about it.”

“Brilliant.”

People were taking their seats and Jasmine and Delia were already seated at the panel table on the dais. Jasmine looked very nice in an obviously expensive, sage green, V-necked cashmere sweater that accentuated her well-formed breasts—Lacey’s idea, Chase was sure—with a nice pair of camel-colored trousers.

“How come Jasmine didn’t have to wear a suit?” Chase whispered savagely at Donna.

“Lacey didn’t want everyone to look too butch,” Donna replied.

“Oh, so now I look butch.”

“No. You look professional and the suit looks nice except for the lack of footwear,” Donna said.

“Look at Delia’s outfit,” Isabel said.

Delia was wearing a red skirt that seemed to have multiple layers that gave her the appearance of a char woman in a Dickens’ novel and then a leather halter top that looked straight out of
The Rocky Horror Picture Show.
She looked like a char-tart who was going to do some laundry while bent over and fucking a customer.

“Wow,” Gitana said.

“How the hell did she get away with that?” Chase said.

“Delia is as strong-willed as Lacey.” Donna dug around in her bag. “Oh, no, hold on. I almost forgot to give you this.”

“You shouldn’t have,” Chase said as she stepped up on the makeshift stage.

“No, it’s the ear bug silly, in case you get stuck,” Donna said, handing it discreetly to Chase.

“Fuck, I forgot.” She kissed Donna on both cheeks. “You’re the best P.A. ever.”

“Hey, what about me?” Gitana said, puckering up. “A kiss for luck.”

Chase kissed her. “Say a couple Hail Mary’s for me, Bud too.”

“Bud already took care of her end. She made your coffee with holy water.”

Isabel and Chase looked at each other as they took their seats. “I don’t know about that,” Isabel said.

“Me either,” Chase said, wondering if the Holy Ghost was making his way through her kidneys as they spoke.

“Ladies and more ladies,” Lacey said. “Oh, and our one honorary lesbian, Bo Brighton.”

Bo stood up and took a bow.

“We are gathered here, not to perform a wedding because we are denied that by law, but we are here as part of the intellectual, emotional, spiritual and sexual awakening of a new generation of lesbians.”

Ellen leaned over to Chase and said, “I thought this was a book group.”

“I guess we’re living large,” Chase replied.

Lacey continued, “Today we have brought forth some of the greatest thinkers and writers of our time to answer questions about how they are helping to form this new lesbian nation through their works of fiction.”

“See, I told you. You better read that book on Marx that I gave you,” Isabel whispered.

Chase glanced over at Jasmine to see how she was taking it. Jasmine was staring up in awe of Lacey. Delia was preening and cracking her knuckles, two completely opposing gestures that Chase found disconcerting.

“Now, I’d like to turn the floor over to Delia Montoya, our first speaker for the day. She writes erotic fiction…” This was greeted with great applause.

That figures, Chase thought. It’s always about the vagina.

“And she runs an e-book site that is listed on your program. Please support your local writers and buy a book,” Lacey finished.

Delia stood up. “Not only do we need it in the sheets—we need it in the streets.”

This was also greeted with great applause. Wow, Chase thought. She had expected something along the lines of Lacey’s introductory sentence: “We are gathered here today to join this absurd idea to an equally absurd idea that lesbians will shortly be running the planet and shipping the straight people off to another nice planet filled with suburban housing developments and family sitcoms.” And here Chase had thought she was just writing a silly little novel on the foibles of a lesbian commune when in actuality she was part of a revolution—her mind played images of
Doctor Zhivago
. She hoped she didn’t end up being the persecuted doctor or his poor lover Lara. With Lacey, it seemed, anything was possible. Somehow she didn’t think Lacey was going to let her get away with her usual excuse of “I’m just not a group person.”

“It’s time as a nation that we stand up for ourselves, our senses of self, not hiding, not making a hullabaloo about coming out or the toaster oven. Because we don’t become lesbians. We are born lesbians.”

Ellen’s face gained some natural color as she realized Delia was dissing her novels.

Before Ellen got a chance to say anything, one of the audience members stood up and pointed a hostile finger at Delia. “What about those of us who work at appliance stores? The toaster oven is just the beginning of lesbian appliance purchases, the U-Haul, the move-in, the dishwasher and washer and dryer—that is an important part of our heritage.” The burly woman sat down and her partner, a petite woman dressed in a frilly white dress, nodded her agreement.

“I like coming-out stories,” a baby dyke chimed in. “And the toaster oven thing is the equivalent of the Neighborhood Meet and Greet.”

Isabel gave Ellen a gentle nudge and whispered, “I think this would be a good place for you to start in.”

“And maybe get Tinkerbell to shut her trap before we end up with a fistfight over lesbian rites and rituals,” Chase added.

Ellen rang the tiny bell that each panelist had been given to indicate that they desired the floor. Delia looked over, perturbed. “Yes?” she inquired, giving Ellen the stink eye.

“I agree with the audience member that coming-out stories are important,” Ellen said.

“You would. You write them,” Delia said.

Isabel sighed. “I think you’re going to need to be a little more forceful.”

“You might have to jump in here,” Chase suggested. “Like how many times those kinds of books are checked out or something.”