In the Unlikely Event... (6 page)

“She thinks we’re your fucking imaginary friends,” Divine Vulva said, jumping up in a fury.

“Can you do something about her?” Chase said, pointing at Divine Vulva.

Commercial Endeavor looked dubious. “Like what?”

“Control her,” Chase suggested, glancing in Divine Vulva’s direction. She had her forefinger placed against her lower lip and was studying the artwork on the mocha-colored walls. Some of it looked original and expensive—nice watercolors of Southwestern vistas and adobe houses with ristras.

“Oh, like I can do that when you can’t. You’re the one in charge here. You should never have given her such free rein when she was a teenager—this is what happens to muses when there is no structure,” Commercial Endeavor said.

“Great! That’s just what I need right now—a lecture from you on muse control. Thank you.”

“Now that we have discussed your muses and put them in context, I think we can better understand your psyche. I do find the names you’ve chosen for them interesting.”

“You didn’t name us. We named ourselves,” Commercial Endeavor hissed.

“All right. I’ve had enough of this psycho-babble. It’s time for action,” Divine Vulva said, taking a watercolor from the wall. Before Chase could stop her, she hurled it across the room. The painting hit the opposite wall and the protective glass cracked and tinkled to the floor.

Chase watched as Dr. Robicheck took in this new development.
She wrinkled her brow and studied the damage and glanced at Chase. “Did I make one or both of them angry?”

“Divine Vulva—she’s the more volatile one,” Chase said.

“I see.”

“I guess you did,” Divine Vulva said, swinging her neck from side to side and putting her hands on her hips. She resembled a pissy Queen Latifah.

Chase leapt up and went to sort out the mess.

“No, leave it. I want to study this phenomena,” Dr. Robicheck said, getting up and contemplating the distance from one wall to the next.

By this time Commercial Endeavor had wrestled Divine Vulva to the door. “We’ll meet you at home for a family conference,” she said, wrenching Divine Vulva’s arm.

“Good idea,” Chase said.

Dr. Robicheck was now on her haunches and picking up pieces of glass as if making certain that she hadn’t imagined the whole thing. “So this Divine Vulva…” she glanced around as if looking for her.

Chase, sensing her trepidation, said, “They’ve left.”

“I suppose under the circumstances that’s a prudent course of action. Now Divine Vulva, your muse, picked up and threw this painting because she didn’t like what I said.”

“It was your explanation of her existence. I think the painting is okay. It’s just the glass. I’ll pay for the repairs,” Chase said. She didn’t like the look in Dr. Robicheck’s eyes. She’d seen it before. Oh God, please, she thought, not again
.
She couldn’t bear being in another one of Dr. Robicheck’s papers in
Abnormal Psychology Monthly
. Chase had already been in one issue for her “Role Reversal Therapy.” She’d put Dr. Robicheck in the patient’s place as an empathetic learning experience for both parties. Now Chase had supplied more fodder.

“So, were you angry when I denied the muses’ existence?”

Chase didn’t meet her eye. “I told her this wasn’t a good idea, but Divine Vulva insisted and since Commercial Endeavor is pussy-whipped she’d do anything Vulva asked her to.”

“Pussy-whipped?”

It had gone downhill from there. Chase had to explain what pussy-whipped meant, which was not as easy as one would think. Chase had to Google the
Urban Dictionary.
The definition was helpful and Chase decided the “answering to another’s beck and call” was the best explanation. Dr. Robicheck got it.

It occurred to Chase that perhaps she was pussy-whipped by Lacey. Instead of blaming Divine Vulva for the defection, Chase hoisted up her big girl panties and said, “I’d like to resign.”

Her response sent Lacey into hyper-control drive. “You what?” Lacey’s eyes turned to slits—hostile slits to be exact. She looked terrifying.

“I just don’t think this whole Institute thing is working out for me. I’m a writer, not a teacher. I don’t make a good board member because I’m not punctual and I have a short attention span…” She would have gone on coming up with excuses except that Lacey grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her.

She stared hard into Chase’s eyes and said, “You can’t abandon ship. It’s not allowed and I’m not going to let you.”

“Yes, I can,” Chase said, feeling her ire getting up. “I’m a free citizen the minute I walk out of here, well, after I get my notebooks and pencils, I will be free.”

“You used ‘free’ twice in one sentence. You should be a writer,” Lacey taunted.

Chase colored. “I don’t write like that. I’m under duress at the moment.”

“No, you’re under house arrest,” Lacey said.

“Arrest? You can’t arrest me.”

“Are you aware of tribal law?”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“The Native Americans are a sovereign nation.” Lacey was now into her President of the Boardroom mode. She assumed the posture—legs spread, arms akimbo.

“So?” Chase attempted to ease sideways and away from Lacey, but she was up against the cherry wood table.

“The Institute is also a sovereign nation.”

“You’re making that up,” Chase said, watching as Lacey fished in the pocket of her gray pinstriped suit.

“No, I’m not. I applied for and received a charter,” Lacey said, still patting herself down.

Chase wondered what she was fishing around for? Who carried the charter for the Republik of Lesbekistan around in the breast pocket of their suit coat? Maybe it was like the laminated card of lesbian rules that the Pink Mafia handed out.

Instead of pulling out the charter, Lacey produced a pair of handcuffs. She clicked them open. “Chase Banter, you are under arrest for desertion.”

Before Chase knew what happened her left wrist was handcuffed. Gathering her wits, she held her right arm as far away from Lacey as possible.

“Oh, that doesn’t matter. I don’t need your other hand,” Lacey said as she clamped the other cuff on her own wrist.

Chase was dumbstruck. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Lacey smiled at her. “We’re going to be spending some serious time together until you come to your senses.”

“You’re crazy.”

“No, I am protecting my assets.”

“This is illegal.”

“Not in the Republik of Lesbekistan.”

“She’s what?” Gitana said, taking Bud’s hand as they sat on the couch in the den as Donna paced.

“She’s under house arrest,” Donna said.

“How can they arrest her?” Bud let go of her hand and fished around in her backpack.

“What has she been doing?” Gitana asked.

Bud took out her Panasonic HDC TM900 camcorder, switched it on and zoomed in on Gitana, who was biting her lip.

“Honey, do you really have to do that now?” Gitana said, looking disconcertedly at the camera.

“I need footage of interesting things. Chase getting arrested constitutes interesting.” She pointed the camera at Donna, who paid no mind as she paced. Bud climbed up on the back of the couch so she wasn’t recording Donna’s knees going back and forth. From this angle, Bud could see Donna’s upper body pacing back and forth. She looked like one of those ducks at the carnival shooting range.

“Actually, they can arrest her. The Institute is now the sovereign nation of Lesbekistan.”

Gitana’s eyes widened. Bud caught it on film. “Is she in a cell?” Gitana said.

Bud climbed down on the couch and nestled in next to her mother. The TM900 shook slightly. “Can we bring her food?” Bud said.

“This isn’t like that going-to-the-Gulag thing, is it?” Gitana said. She picked up the
Communist Manifesto
off the coffee table. “Is this for school?”

Bud turned the camera on herself. “Not exactly, but I am interested in Communism because I think it has relevance when it comes to state control. This house arrest thing with Chase is a perfect example.”

Donna stopped pacing. “She’s not in a cell. I don’t think Lacey has gotten around to building a prison yet. At the moment, according to my sources, she’s handcuffed to Lacey.”

Bud panned the TM900 over to Donna. “That’s worse than being in a cell.”

Donna looked down at the camcorder. “Is that a 3MOS 3D compatible?”

“Yes, with a Leica Dicomar lens with intelligent zoom with a hybrid O.I.S.”

“Can we get back to the task at hand?” Gitana said.

“You know, it occurred to me that from your height you are filming a lot of people’s nose hairs,” Donna said.

“I know.”

“Is that a good idea?” Gitana said, touching her nose.

“Yours don’t need trimming,” Bud said.

“I hope Lacey is smart enough to keep Chase away from sharp objects. I don’t want to be a prison wife,” Gitana said.

“And Chase doesn’t draw well, so we won’t get those artistic hand-drawn pictures on the envelopes,” Bud said, turning the TM900 back on herself.

“What are you talking about?” Gitana said.

“Prisoners write letters to their girlfriends and they draw pictures on the envelopes of things they like,” Bud said.

Donna regarded her quizzically or rather the camera that had become Bud’s face. “How do you know about those?”

“Jimmy Ferrari’s brother is in prison for burglary. Jimmy brings the envelopes from the letters he writes to show us.”

Gitana glanced at Donna. “What kind of drawings?” Gitana said.

“Usually, he brings the anatomical ones,” Bud said.

“What kind of anatomy?” Donna inquired. She watched as Bud set the camcorder on a tripod that she had positioned in the corner of the den for when group discussions were going to ensue.

“Breasts, mostly, and sometimes…” Bud pointed to her nether regions.

“Breasts and vaginas!” Donna squeaked.

Bud appeared nonplussed. “Like I haven’t seen those before. What I really need to see is a penis.” She stared at the TM900 pointedly as if it could produce one on the spot.

“What?” Gitana said.

“For my life drawing studies. I can draw women fairly well, but I need to learn to draw men complete with genitalia. I looked at all the dolls I could find and not one of them has any anatomical parts except Barbie with her pointy breasts and those are hardly lifelike by any stretch of the imagination.”

Gitana sighed and put her head in her hands. “What are we going to do?”

“About the penis or Chase?” Bud asked, watching as Donna stood behind the tripod and looked through the camcorder lens at the two of them.

“Right now, I think we should focus on Chase. We’ll deal with the penis issue later,” Donna said, adjusting the TM900 slightly and putting herself in the frame as she spoke.

“Can we get a lawyer or something?” Gitana said.

“Let’s not go that extreme just yet. We’ll try negotiation first,” Donna said. “I pulled up the charter on the Republik. Bud can read it to us while I drive and we’ll look for a loophole. Three heads are better then one.”

“Especially when one of us is a genius,” Gitana said, ruffling Bud’s curls.

Bud got up and started packing her video gear, which included the camcorder as well as her Contour HD 1080P helmet video camera.

“Is that a good idea?” Gitana said.

Donna stared from the helmet camera to Bud. “Bring it. We might be able to work it to our advantage. People act differently in front of the camera.”

Bud packed the camcorder and the tripod and checked to insure there was a spare battery.

Gitana grabbed some granola bars and two bottles of water for Chase. “Not that I lack confidence that we’ll get her out, but just in case. You never know what Lacey is capable of.”