Bliss (13 page)

Hortencia was having none of it. “Isn't that right, Pauline?” she prompted.

Serafina wondered if she was going to be hearing about Rule Number Two at any point tonight.

The Back Room Babes had all gone quiet, and Sera had no doubt they were well aware of the rift between their founder and her beloved. Sera read sympathy, impatience, frustration in their eyes—like children watching their parents fight, all the while knowing nothing could be as important as the love that formed the foundations of their relationship. It touched her to realize these women felt as deeply connected to her aunt as she herself did. Pauline Wilde was an extraordinary woman, who had a powerful effect on others. Unfortunately, she was also extraordinarily
stubborn.
Stomping one Birkenstock-clad foot in pique, she climbed down from the counter, clashing and chiming as she strode up to her ex. “You should talk. You've got a funny way of showing support, yourself,” she huffed.

“Me? It's
you
who's trying to bar me from the club—”

“All right, all right, ladies,” Aruni interrupted, rising gracefully from the arm of Sera's chair and clapping her hands for attention. Her years of yoga teaching came in handy, providing the authority to wrangle a roomful of wayward women and realign their focus. “We're all here to have a good time and show Serafina how much
fun
the Back Room Babes are.
Fun
—remember? So why don't we take a nice, deep breath,” she demonstrated, inflating her belly to almost comical proportions, then whooshing it out with exaggerated release, “and chant a friendly
ohm
to shake off any negativity and get us in the mood. Ready, gals?”

There were nods and a couple of isolated woo-hoos from the BRBs.

Aruni raised her arms as if she were conducting an orchestra. Her minions, well-trained and enthusiastic, rewarded her with a mighty
OHHHHHHMMMMMMM!
that fairly blew Sera's hair back.

Fetched up in the wake of the chant, Hortencia and Pauline both wore somewhat abashed expressions, but they still refused to look at each other.

“Fine,” Pauline muttered, fiddling with the cord on her sombrero to tighten it around her neck. “She can stay. But I'll be damned if I demonstrate the sensual foot rub on her horny old toes. I don't care
what
tonight's agenda says.”

“I wouldn't let you near my
perfectly bunion-free
feet if it was Maundy Thursday and you were channeling Jesus himself, you sour old shrew—”

Aruni raised her hands again, and the BRBs responded with another deafening
ohm
that effectively drowned out the women's squabbling. Their mouths snapped shut with identical clicks. They knew when they were outnumbered.

“Now then,” Aruni said, dusting off her hands briskly. “Who's for more kombucha before we head out?”

Several hands shot up.

“Wait! Wait, 'Runi, you're forgettin' the best part.” Janice was laughing as she gestured for attention. “Gals, put down the dang kombucha for a second, will ya? We ain't shared Rule Number Two with Serafina yet. And we cain't neglect that. Every newbie needs to know about Rule Number Two if they're gonna hang out with us Back Room Babes.” She tunneled her arm behind Sera and urged her up from her seat, turning Sera to face the assembled
femmes.
“The thing ya gotta know, Sera, is that every time we meet, Rule Number Two states
someone
gets challenged to a dare. And you can't back down or say no if you're the one that gets herself picked.”

“Um, like what kind of dare are we talking here?” Sera asked, her sense of the evening's fun suddenly wavering.
Please don't say demonstrating my oral skills by giving a banana a blow job. Or describing my favorite sexual position. Or, or…
The possibilities were terrorizing.

“Well, it has to be for the person's own good, ya know?” Janice explained. “Like, if you have a hang-up or something you're ashamed of, we give you a task that helps you get over it. For instance, last winter, Syna here shared that she wasn't too comfortable with her body. And just look at her!” Janice pointed at the other woman—a cute, zaftig mommy type in her mid-thirties. “She's gorgeous. So we dared her to go make naked snow angels on the plaza after midnight, and damned if she didn't have to do it.”

“Nearly froze my bits off, but I made some kick-booty body sculptures,” Syna September said genially. “Tourists were taking pictures of them for days. First time I was ever proud of my bod.” She gave a little shoulder shimmy, flipping her auburn hair sassily.

“Anyhoo,” Janice continued, “it wouldn't be a true BRB get-together without someone dolin' out a dare, and someone else having to fulfill it. Tonight's a little different, since we're straying from format to go see Zozobra instead of sticking around the clubhouse all night, but I still say we ought to let Sera have a shot at it. What do you gals think?”

Chants of “Dare! Dare! Dare!” ricocheted through the room.

Sera could feel herself stiffening up; wanting to retreat. This felt like too much attention, too much pressure from too many strangers. Her gaze automatically sought out the nearest exit. But then a wave of unaccustomed calm washed over her. This wasn't high school, or one of Blake Austin's premeditated humiliations. This was all just good fun, with good people who clearly harbored only good intentions. And hey, they were giving her the opportunity to dish it out, which meant she didn't have to
take
it—not just yet anyway.
You came here to try new things, to open yourself up,
she reminded herself.
Go ahead, Sera, live a little.

“You want me to dare someone? Right now?” She plunked her hands on her hips, surveying the women.

“C'mon, Sera, show us what you got!”

Inspiration struck. As did the urge to giggle. “Well, I don't really know most of you well enough to venture a dare, but there is
one
I have in mind.” A sly grin spread across her face, and the women cheered.

“Lay it on us!”

“Yeah, Sera, go for it!”

Sera held up a finger. “Just a sec, I'll be right back.” And she headed right back—to the back room. It didn't take her but a moment to find what she needed. She tuned out the various rubber, latex, and realistic “vix-skin” toys, her eyes seeking humble steel (well, fur-augmented humble steel). She grabbed what she sought off a peg on the wall and hustled back to her new pals, who waited anxiously for her reveal.

“This one's for my aunt. Pauline,” she beckoned with a grin. “Come on down.” Jangling like a tambourine, Pauline sashayed forward to her niece. Her mien plainly said,
“Oh, please, you can't fluster
me.
I was sexually liberated before you were a zygote.”
Sera took her hand, holding it up for the BRBs to see as if she were a referee proclaiming Pauline the victor in a prize fight. In a way, she
was
a referee, Sera thought, biting her cheek as she drew out her moment with unaccustomed showmanship.
Hey!
she marveled,
This is actually pretty fun!
“Hortencia, you're next. Get up here.”

Hortencia looked as if she might refuse to come forward. “Dear, are you sure you've got the hang of the rules?” she prevaricated. “I'm sure it says somewhere that you can only dare one person at a time, and—”

“Horse hockey, Hortencia!” shouted Lou-Ellen. “There's nothing in the rules that says she can't dare two for the price of one. You're just chicken shit.”

“Bwock, bwock, bocka-bocka-bwwwwwock!”

The Back Room Babes were convulsed with laughter. Kombucha and margarita mix sloshed over the lips of cups, and howls of hilarity hit the rafters. Sera herself was bubbling over with mirth. “C'mon, Hortencia. Show a little spine. I know you've had a tough day, being raised from the dead and all, but I promise this won't hurt.”

“Oh, very well, if it'll stop you ladies from going any more
loco
than you already have…” Hortencia stepped forward. Sera took hold of her soft, crepe-skinned wrist, holding it close to Pauline's with one hand.

And with the other, clamped pink, faux-fur-trimmed handcuffs around both of them.

Pauline and Hortencia sent up instant squawks of protest, tugging at their wrists but finding themselves unbreakably bound together.

“Serafina Bliss Wilde!” shouted Pauline. “Unlock us this instant!” She tried for a stern, authoritarian stance, but the sombrero and belly-dancing outfit rather undercut her efforts. With a pang, Sera read a trace of real panic in her aunt's eyes. Yet even as she second-guessed herself for her impulsive act, Sera noticed Hortencia was biting back a reluctant smile, and she was reassured she was doing the right thing. The wink Hortencia sent sidelong in her direction further reassured her.

“These dares are supposed to be for the person's own good, right? Help you with your hang-ups and whatnot? Well, it looks to me like you two ladies have got one hell of a hang-up you need to hash out, and you don't show any signs of doing it on your own. Maybe this will give you the opportunity—and proximity—you need. Come see me for the key at the end of the night if you still want to be separated,” said Sera, grinning fit to crack her face.

“Now, who's going to tell me about this Zozobra thing?”

W
here are we going again?” Sera asked Aruni. The Back Room Babes formed a noisy procession, strolling, staggering, and skipping down Santa Fe's sidewalks in the gathering gloom. They seemed to be heading north of the main tourist destinations, and as they walked, they slid into the slipstream of hundreds of other celebrants, citizens and tourists alike, festively dressed and visibly excited. Despite her request, no one had come forward with any information about the festival with the oddball name, and Sera wished she'd had the foresight to Google it before she came out tonight.

Aruni relented, but just a tad. “We're headed up to Fort Marcy Park for the burning,” she said, chuckling at her own cryptic comment. “Then after he's toast, we'll be coming back to the plaza to eat and drink and dance the night away. Well, some of us will be drinking. Not me, though—pollutes the body, and besides, I want to save room for Frito pie!” She laughed at her own hypocrisy, and Sera spared a moment of gratitude that she wouldn't be the only one abstaining from alcohol this evening. “You got back just in time, girl,” Aruni continued. “Tonight's not only Zozobra, it's also the first night of Fiesta. This town's been throwing itself a weekend-long party every September since 1712, if you can believe it. I'm told it's the oldest citywide celebration in North America. The whole city will be dancing and singing and stuffing their faces all night long!”

Aruni did a little jig, thrusting her arms skyward and twirling in a circle, unable to contain herself. But about this “burning” business, she would say no more, insisting Sera would have more fun if she waited until they got there to witness the event with unspoiled eyes.
Jesus,
Sera thought.
This town is like dry tinder. I hope, whatever's burning, it's far away from any buildings or loose brush.

They'd started out heading down West Marcy Street, just a block from where their little
placita
nestled, first turning onto Washington Avenue, which was one of Santa Fe's wider thoroughfares, then crossing Paseo de Peralta, where the hideous pink erection that was the Scottish Rite Temple (according to Aruni, owned and operated by a local Masonic sect) loomed over the neighborhood like a Pepto Bismol–colored cry for help. They soon passed the turnoff for Artist Road, where Pauline's house stood, and past which the ski basin opened up, though Sera had yet to visit it. As they walked, more and more people joined the procession, some holding flashlights, others drinking surreptitiously from concealed containers. Many families carried blankets and picnic baskets. With the crowd swelling and spilling onto the streets, it was impossible to take one's car out tonight, which pleased Sera's Manhattan sensibilities. She loved to walk, even if the thin air here did steal her breath.

Or perhaps it was the enchantment of the evening that was making her light-headed. Along the adobe outer walls of big hotels, museums, fancy restaurants, and modest homes alike, little brown paper bags lit from within by tea candles—
farolitas,
according to Aruni—added atmosphere along with twinkling light. Chile ristras—mostly deep red, but some with yellow or green dried peppers mixed in—hung from the patios, door frames, and fences of many buildings, a ubiquitous decorative accent here in New Mexico, though still foreign to Sera's eyes. Flags featuring Spanish heraldry from what must have been colonial days flapped in the light autumn breeze. Yet decked out as the city was in her festive best, her citizens shone brighter still.

Pauline was by no means the only one outrageously dressed. Bands of mariachis in tight toreador-style outfits competed with street vendors swinging glow sticks, their heads half-buried in bands of neon glo-tubes like Burmese women's necklaces gone psychedelic. Buskers and performance artists were sporting everything from conquistador outfits to traditional Pueblo Indian attire, reminding Sera that Anglos were relative newcomers to a city that had been old before America was even a nation.

At last they reached Fort Marcy Recreational Complex, where, Aruni informed her, there was a very nice pool and a ball field if she were ever in the mood for some exercise. Sera, whose idea of a workout involved dead-lifting thirty-pound racks of steaming hot bread to and from her ovens, doubted she'd be seeking out softball leagues anytime soon, but she could appreciate the green space the park offered. At least, she assumed it'd be green. In the gathering darkness, surrounded by thousands of her fellow Santa Feans, it was difficult to tell what color the grass beneath all those shuffling feet might be.

At the gates, Pauline inadvertently yanked Hortencia's arm up as she reached to pull a pile of tickets from underneath her sombrero.
Guess belly-dancing costumes don't come equipped with pockets,
Sera thought.
Hope Pauline doesn't freeze her bits off later on, considering how much the temps drop at night around here in the autumn.
Hortencia shot her lover the hairy eyeball and ostentatiously rubbed her wrist, but Pauline was all cold shoulder—at least toward Hortencia. She had a bit more love for the rest of the Back Room Babes.

“Women!” she shouted. “Gather round. I've got our tickets here.” The BRBs flocked to her side, taking their tickets and waiting their turns to funnel through the gate in the park's chain-link fence along with what felt like—and probably was—half the city. “If we get separated,” Pauline called, “meet back at the plaza after the burn, ladies. And don't forget—have a goddamn
great
time!”

Sera followed Aruni closely, anxious that they
not
become separated. As far as her eye could see, swarms of people spread out, picnicking, meeting up with friends, laughing, blaring music. It reminded Sera of concerts she'd attended on Central Park's Great Lawn in summers past. Well, that was until she looked
up.
Sure, there was a stage, much the same as those shows she'd seen in New York. But Manhattan's stages didn't tend to boast fifty-foot effigies of what looked like the world's largest, ugliest waiter.

“What the fu—” Sera stopped stock-still, just yards inside the park's entrance. The colossal marionette took center stage, white-faced, huge-eared, with angry staring eyes and a long, white outfit sporting a painted-on black bow tie, black buttons, sash, and cuff links that looked to be fashioned from pizza pans. Actually, the effigy looked quite a bit like the Mr. Bill Play-Doh doll from old episodes of
Saturday Night Live
, to Sera's astonished eyes—if Mr. Bill's torture
du jour
were being stretched into Gumby shapes on a Spanish Inquisitor's rack. As if aware of Sera's thoughts, the figure's long, spindly arms began to wave in slow-motion distress, and amplified moans of distress started issuing from its wide, gaping mouth, echoing across the grassy field.

The crowd responded with a roar of delight.

Aruni and Janice swept their arms around her, laughing. “C'mon, girl!” Aruni cried. “It's starting! Let's get as close as we can. We don't want to miss the fire dancers or the little gloomies!”

Sera allowed the two women to tug her forward, vaguely aware of the rest of the Back Room Babes spreading out into the crowd. She saw Hortencia start determinedly off in one direction, only to be pulled up short as Pauline just as stubbornly headed along a different vector. Hortencia, on the right, yanked her handcuffed arm. Pauline glared daggers at her and planted her Birkenstocked feet. Then the crowd surged between them and Sera, and she momentarily lost sight of their angry tableaux.

“Um, guys…” Sera began, resisting the pull of her two new friends. “Is there supposed to be a moaning Mr. Bill looming over us like that?”

“Yup. Not to worry. He's an invited guest. That there's Zozobra himself,” Janice said, following Sera's dumbstruck gaze. “His name means something like ‘Old Man Gloom' in Spanish. He's supposed to represent all the negativity of the past year.”

Sera could see why. He looked a lot like a grouchy neighbor she'd once had, whose greatest joy in life had been waving his tennis-ball-tipped cane at neighborhood teens for anything from littering to displaying their tramp-stamp tattoos too close to his front stoop.

“Um, what is the crowd chanting? I can't really make it out.”

“They're shouting
‘Burn him, burn him!'
” Aruni told her. “They're going to set him on fire pretty soon, purge all that bad energy. He's full of tax returns and divorce decrees and foreclosure notices. All that awfulness. I put a kiss-off letter to my ex in there myself. Had to slip the kid from the Kiwanis Club's Zozobra-decorating crew ten bucks to let me stuff it in there, but it was worth it.”

“Nice,” Sera complimented. She could think of quite a few negatives she'd like to see go up in flames, but somehow, she doubted the Kiwanis kid would be able to assist her in squeezing Blake Austin's bloated ego into the effigy.
Not that it would fit.

“And what're those tiny figures dancing around the base all about?” They looked like they were practicing for a Casper convention.

“Those're the gloomies.” It was Janice who answered, dimpling. “They're local kids picked to take part in the ritual. They're supposed to be ghosts of negative energy, if I remember right. Syna's boy Jimmy got himself picked to be one of them this year. She was so proud. Oh, and look, there's the fire dancer.” She pointed.

Sera could just make out a figure in flame red, twirling and leaping around the base of the wailing effigy, waving a torch tauntingly. “I can guess what her job is,” she said. The chants of the crowd were growing louder, fists pumping in unison in the direction of the stage, like protestors at a rally, or rock 'n' roll fans. No few of them held up lighters, showing their eagerness to help toast the grotesque figure.

“Yup. C'mon, Pauline's calling us.” Aruni urged her to close the gap between them and the rest of the Back Room Babes. Janice gave Sera a wink and linked arms with her.

Despite the rowdy crowd, the BRBs were able to form a loose circle, and at Pauline's urging, they all clasped hands. (Of course, Pauline and Hortencia had little choice in the matter, but they seemed to be keeping their simmering dispute under a tight lid for the moment.) Sera's hands were taken by Aruni on one side, her birdlike fingers cool and serene, and Syna's on the other, warm and slightly sticky. Janice had moved farther down the circle, linking up with Crystal and another woman whose name Sera couldn't recall.

“Women,” cried Pauline. “I'm so happy to be sharing this moment with you tonight.” She had on her lecturer's bon vivant voice, Sera noticed with a smile—the one she'd perfected on NPR interviews and during commencement speeches at small women's liberal arts colleges, back in the day. “What we have here is a perfect opportunity to free ourselves of just about any damn thing that's been holding us back. You each joined the Back Room Babes because you were searching for fulfillment, something that was missing in your lives.

“For some of you, it was a disappointing marriage bed,” she continued in her booming voice, oblivious to the grins and interested looks she was gathering from outside their circle. “For others, it was simply a desire for
more
desire, or to get to know and befriend your bodies better. And some of us—let's face it, we just needed a place to shoot the shit with other women.” She jiggled her arms, sending a wave of friendly energy through the group's linked hands. “Zozobra's your chance to literally watch all those hang-ups go up in flames, and to chart a new course for your future. Now, I want you each in turn to get in the middle of our circle and share one thing that's been blocking you from being the ultimate, bad-ass woman you've always dreamed of being, and then tell us what you're going to do to change it. We'll hold space around you to honor what you share and help you focus your affirmation for change. Who'd like to be first?”

Syna let go of Sera's hand with alacrity, hustling her booty into the center of the ring. The other women closed ranks around her, with Sera now holding River Wind's callused hand. (River, she'd learned, was a local sculptress, and the one responsible for the earth mother fountain in
Placita de Suerte y Sueños
's courtyard.)

“
My
biggest problem is my exercise equipment,” Syna announced. “I spend hours every day wallowing in guilt over not using my stupid elliptical machine. I'm tired of hating myself because I don't want to get motion sickness wobbling away on that darn torture device for forty-five minutes a day, all so my buns will sit a quarter-inch higher in my ever-so-fashionable mom-jeans. So here's my Zozobra-resolution: that glorified clothes hanger is getting kicked to the curb! My butt is just fine, and anyone who says otherwise—including my husband—can just suck it!” She waggled her fist in the air, cheeks flushed.

The BRBs let out a lusty cheer. “No, elliptical!” they shouted, in unison except for Sera, who only caught on belatedly. Aruni leaned over to Sera and murmured, “Funniest part is, her husband
loves
her curves. She just refuses to believe him when he tells her so. He's absolutely crazy about her.”

Sera smiled, touched.
What would it be like to have a relationship like that?
She had no real frame of reference. Her brief flings in college and culinary school had been… unsuccessful… to put it kindly, and her relationship with Blake… Forget burned; she'd been
incinerated.

Syna stepped back into the circle, which opened to welcome her. Immediately, another woman stepped forward.
Not a bit shy, are they?
Sera thought, admiring the BRBs even as she began to dread her own turn in the ring.
Maybe I can arrange a fainting spell, or fake a nice seizure?

“Harvey won't go down on me,” Bobbie blurted as soon as she got to the middle of the group, startling Sera straight out of her reverie. The perfectly put-together woman smoothed her cardigan twin set and checked that her pearls were sitting straight. “I told him it's really
not
a cardinal sin to perform cunnilingus, despite what his ex-wife told him. I even begged him to ask his priest if he needed confirmation, but he keeps refusing. Well, if he doesn't at least give it a whirl
once,
I'm going to find someone who will!”