Family Affair (32 page)

"I will," she said, and actually meant it.

Raul started the diesel. The dogs barked and Gitana came up the drive. She pulled the Land Rover off into the wild grasses so the delivery truck could pass.

She drove up to the house, honking at the dogs in the daily ritual of "Mama's home" and they danced gleefully at the gate on their hind legs like furry can-can dancers.

No one except a fur kid could make you feel so loved and needed, Chase thought, probably not even Bud.

"So what was that about?" Gitana asked as she walked up the drive from the garage.

"It was the toaster oven."

"They sent out a truck for that?" She opened the front gate and gave Chase a peck on her cheek.

Chase wanted to see her reaction to Lacey's surprise gift to see if it differed from her own.

Gitana walked into the sunroom, which now resembled an appliance warehouse. "What on earth?"

"Lacey."

"We can't take this. What all is it?" Gitana said, peering at the boxes.

"Stove, fridge, dishwasher and a toaster oven. All stainless steel."

"Must have been quite the conversion," Gitana said, stroking the fridge box.

"I tried. She won't take it back. She said something about saving her life."

"Still." Gitana bent over and studied the picture of the dishwasher on the front of the box.

"Enjoy it. It's pocket change for Lacey. Besides we should get a payoff for putting up with her ass."

Gitana smiled. "She'd say the same thing about you."

Chase flicked open the silver box cutter. "Sticks and stones and a new stove."

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chase stood in the middle of her mother's living room. Lacey and Stella cocked their heads in unison and peered at her from where they sat on the sofa. "I feel utterly and completely ridiculous," Chase grumbled.

"That's two adverbs in one sentence," Lacey said.

"So?" Chase straightened the dark blue blazer.

"You're the one who harps on Jasmine about killing adverbs and adjectives if possible."

"I don't know if this relationship is a good thing for you," Chase said.

" What's that supposed to mean?"

Chase could see the panic on Lacey's face.

"Don't let her get to you," Stella remarked. "You and Jasmine make a fine lesbian couple—and you make a fine lesbian." Stella studied Chase's brown penny loafers. She scowled. "They look too new. Hand them over."

Chase sat on the couch and took off her shoes. "That's the fourth time in your life you've actually said the word lesbian."

"Lacey is opening my eyes to a completely new culture."

"Wow, you act like you never had a lesbian daughter for the last twenty years. Next you'll be using the word dyke."

"You've always been hostile about sharing your domain. Lacey isn't." Stella raised her eyebrows and lowered the right corner of her mouth, studying the shoes. "Besides, I thought the word dyke was politically incorrect." She took out an emery board from her purse.

"Only if you're straight. Gay people can use it," Lacey said. She was lounging on the white couch looking like a bored movie star.

"I see," Stella said. She sanded the toes of Chase's brand-new penny loafers.

"Something's wrong with new shoes?" Chase asked, looking mournfully as her recent purchase was being destroyed. She glanced down at her socks. "Do these work?" They were navy dress socks but didn't seem the right hue.

"Top drawer, right side," Stella said to Lacey, who dashed from the room. She didn't look up from her destruction of Chase's shoes.

Lacey returned to the living room. "Here, these are much better." She gave her a pair of cream colored dress socks.

"Now, back to the matter we were discussing before we got into shoes and socks. What are we going to use for a career for you?" Stella said, referring to Chase.

Lacey flounced on the couch. "I know," and said nothing more.

Stella raised her eyebrows and tapped her fingers on the arm of the couch. "Ready."

"Proust," Lacey replied.

Lacey's favorite dramatic tactic was being cryptic. One-word answers designed to amp up the conversation.

Stella rubbed her hands together impatiently. "And?"

"The guy in the movie Little Miss Sunshine was a Proust scholar. Few people know about Proust other than he's a French writer. No one reads him. We'll get her some particulars on Proust and that's her occupation."

"I have read Proust," Chase said.

"Really?" Lacey said.

"In French, no less."

Stella smiled, which was rarity. "You really are smart. I'm glad to see that expensive education of yours wasn't wasted." She picked up her purse and dug out her car keys. Then as if to make up for that slip of affection she said, "How is your therapy going by the way?"

"Fine. Can't you tell? We're hanging out. Resolution with your mother is straight out of Freud," Chase replied petulantly. Why did she have to bring that up now? Chase thought.

"I always thought Freud was a pervert." Lacey picked up her purse and rooted around for her sunglasses.

"Am I going to need one of those?" Chase said, pointing to the purses.

Stella and Lacey stared at her and burst out laughing making such comments as "Now, I'd like to see that," and "Wait let me get my camera."

"Forget I said anything. Let's go," Chase said. Checking out straight people was losing its appeal.

Stella and Lacey regained their composure. They got in the black Bentley parked in the drive.

Chase sat in the backseat and Lacey rode shotgun. Stella started the car. She put it in reverse and floored the gas pedal. They flew through the stone gate. She hit the brakes and the car spun sideways. "How was that?"

"More like what was that?" Lacey said. "I almost peed my pants."

"I'd give it a nine." Chase nodded.

"A nine?" Stella knitted her brows.

"You were a little close on the right side."

Stella studied the mirror.

"Why are we doing this?" Lacey said.

"I used to do it until Gitana got pregnant," Chase said.

"I missed her doing it. So I took it up. It's actually quite fun," Stella said.

As they drove up the oak-lined entrance to the country club, Chase thought how easy it would be to describe it in a novel— old, moldy and verbose fit the cliche of money and snobbery. She hadn't been there since she was sixteen for a dance—thrown out later for illicit copulation in the women's powder room with her tennis pro.

The valet came out to greet them. "Thank you, James," Stella said, handing him the keys and a twenty-dollar bill.

Her mother did have class, Chase thought. She was never cheap.

"James, do you remember my daughter, Chase?"

James studied Chase. "No, ma'am, but she certainly has your lovely countenance."

"Thank you," Stella said.

Then James stuck out his hand to Chase. "But I would like to make your acquaintance."

Chase shook his hand. "It's nice to meet you." He looked to be about her age. His hair was dark and pulled back in a neat ponytail and he had a well-trimmed goatee.

They walked off and Chase whispered to her mother, "Was he here then?"

"Yes. He was at University the same time you were. He's a writer as well." They walked up the stairs and into the massive mahogany hall of the club.

"What does he write?" Chase asked her interest piqued.

"Sci-Fi," Lacey said.

"He told me the average book sells approximately two thousand copies and the rest end up on the remainder table. Most authors do not make money. So it is a labor of love," Stella said as she waved at various people in the dining room. "His appraisal of the situation has given me insight into your career. I didn't realize it was so difficult and I commend your efforts."

Lacey and Chase stared at her open-mouthed. Stella sighed heavily as if disappointed with their predictable response of shock at a compliment aimed at Chase. She pointed to a table.

They moved to a corner table, a vantage point that allowed a view of the rest of the room. They sat at the thick wood table with hard chairs. This is stiff business, Chase thought, envisioning a comfortable chair that ought to have gone with the luxury of the place. "So you have a better perspective on writing."

"No, I expect better of you."

"You expect me to buck the current publishing trend."

"Yes," Stella replied.

"Sit over here," Lacey said, pointing to the middle chair. "So we can talk trash and can't be seen while you observe the person we're backstabbing."

Stella nicked out her white linen napkin and studied her dinnerware. "It's not backstabbing. It's human nature being observed."

"Nice repackaging job," Lacey said.

A waiter in full tails who looked like a penguin came for their drink order. He looked at Lacey.

"I'll have a gin martini," Lacey announced.

"I'll have a beer," Chase said.

Lacey kicked her under the table. "She'll have a glass of Chardonnay."

"Ma'am?" He looked at Chase inquiringly.

"Yes, that's a much better idea." Chase rubbed her shin.

"I'll have iced tea, please," Stella said.

"Very good." He left.

Chase had never known her mother to turn down a martini. "You're not having a drink?"