Nonsense and Insensibility

This is post 18 of Section III. To begin at the beginning, go here. Section II begins here. Section III begins here.

Bennett retreated to his study. He opened a volume on Jane Austen. She was a favorite of his, and integral to his study of pastoralism and the nation-state, but he had a feeling that this critical tome, Undoing Jane Austen: Non-Sense and Post-Semiotic Sensibility, would do little to enhance his appreciation. Indeed, he had been putting it off for weeks. “Introduction,” he read cautiously, and then continued . . .

This work is predicated on the premise, now widely accepted, that “Jane Austen” operates within the semiotics of postmodern Western (and by imperialist extension, global) culture as at once a symbol of the hegemonic norms of British imperialism, and, through the heterosexualist conspiracies of her plots and their various perpetuations (in films, “critical editions,” etc. . . . ) as a naturalizing fetish of Western romance, or rather, the naturalized power relations purporting to operate as “romantic” signifiers within the imperialist, heterosexualist matrices of the postmodern West.

Bennett slammed the book shut, his stomach churning like the writer’s prose. He heard Chloe and Lizzy come in.
“Do we have to?” Lizzy was whining.
“Come on. He owes us this,” Chloe said grimly, and a moment later she presented herself and daughter in the doorway of Bennett’s study.

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All You Need Is Love

This is post 17 of Section III. To begin at the beginning, go here. Section II begins here. Section III begins here.

Bennett returned after a full walk to find his wife in glacial mode over the dinner table. “I hope you’re proud of yourself.”
Bennett consumed his humble quiche in silence.
“I wanted you to help her, not abuse her.”
“I’m sorry.” Never a good deed goes unpunished, he reflected, sighing. “Where are they, anyway?”
Gwen ignored the question. “Obviously, Lizzy needs to feel good about herself. These family problems are very hard on children, you know. We need to do everything we can to help her, to encourage her and build her confidence. We mustn’t ask too much of her.”
“Are you the same woman who made her nine-year-old son practice the clarinet two hours a day?”
Gwen looked down. “I love Robert,” she said in a low voice. “Just the way he is. I do. But I admit, I probably made some mistakes. He was the oldest, and I was at loose ends when the college wouldn’t let me work there after I married you, so maybe I wanted him to be someone extra badly. And they didn’t know as much about how children learn back then. . . .”
“Nonsense!” Bennett snorted contemptuously. “I wasn’t criticizing you, Gwen. Even if the clarinet did have something to do with—those tendencies—it was probably also the only thing that kept him from running off to Greenwich Village or somewhere and dying of AIDS. And that little girl needs something like that in her life, too. Something to teach her discipline, focus, responsibility.”
“Ed, we’re grandparents, not drill sergeants. She’s only four. All the experts agree that self-esteem is the most important thing you can give a child that age. She’ll find her way—”
“What if she doesn’t?” Bennett asked, keeping his opinion of the experts to himself.
Gwen looked at him blankly.
“Find her way.”
“Don’t be silly, Ed. All she needs right now is love.” And Gwen began to clear the table, humming “All You Need Is Love.”

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Carrie Helps Out

This is post 16 of Section III. To begin at the beginning, go here. Section II begins here. Section III begins here.

He relinquished his original idea of walking to the park almost immediately. The neighborhood was old, and some of the big houses had been divided into apartments, while others belonged to sedate sorts like him and Gwen. In the porches and front yards of the apartments some students were reading, playing Frisbee, drinking beer. They paused, concerned, as Bennett’s behavior modification experiment passed. He could see the older neighbors coming to their windows as well. The dogs slunk along as if embarrassed, ears back and eyes rolling in the direction of the human steam whistle.
After less than a block, Bennett looked up to find an earnest young woman confronting him. “Do you need any help, Professor?”
He recognized her, dimly. A nondescript sort from one of his last survey courses. But her presence had an effect on the kid. Lizzy pulled away from him and stood with legs apart, arms crossed and lips pushed out.
The student was crouching down at Lizzy’s level. “Hi there. What’s your name?”
Lizzy made a little jerky movement with her shoulders as if shaking off the unwanted attention. “Lizzy,” Bennett informed the girl.
“I’m Carrie. You sure are pretty when you’re angry, Lizzy.”
Lizzy eyed her dubiously from under knitted brows. “Grampa’s mean,” she said, emphatically. “I wanna go back.”
“Would you like me to run you home piggy-back?”
Her face cleared magically. “O. k., but you have to go real fast.”
Carrie looked at Bennett. “I hope that’s o. k.? I just don’t like to see children crying,” she explained, as she straightened. Lizzy stuck her tongue out at him over the top of Carrie’s head.

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Exit Bennett

This is post 15 of Section III. To begin at the beginning, go here. Section II begins here. Section III begins here.

Gwen intercepted them, aghast. “Edward, what do you think you’re doing?” she asked, over the screams.
“What you told me!” he yelled back, not letting go. “Taking an interest.”
“Gramma! Don’t let him take me!” Lizzy cried desperately, struggling to break free. It was touch and go getting the door open with one hand and holding Lizzy and the dogs with the other, but Bennett managed. He just caught a glimpse of Chloe, looking pale and shocked on the stairs, as he slammed the door.

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Bennett's Fancy Footwork

This is post 14 of Section III. To begin at the beginning, go here. Section II begins here. Section III begins here.

Bennett strode into the study with the dogs. “Come on now,” he said, and grabbed Lizzy’s arm.
She retreated into the kneehole of the desk. The dogs had barely gotten past the finger-sniffing stage of their acquaintance with her, and flanking her berserk grandfather they seemed monstrously large.
Bennett reached the end of his short fuse. “Come on out of there. Don’t be silly; they won’t hurt you.” He yanked.
She emitted a piercing shriek as he pulled, then hit her head on the underside of the desk on the way out and began to bawl. The dogs began to edge out of the room, tangling him in the leashes. He performed some quick-witted maneuvering and managed to emerge upright, dogs and child in tow.

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Bennett Takes an Interest

This is post 13 of Section III. To begin at the beginning, go here. Section II begins here. Section III begins here.

There seemed no help for it. Bennett rose, sighed, hiked up his pants a little, and emerged into the hall. Fafnir immediately got to his feet, hoping for a walk, and Bennett could hear the click of Siegfried’s approaching claws as well. It came to him that children liked animals. He proceeded down the hall to Gwen’s study. Lizzy was there, hunched over tensely as she peered at the screen, moving the mouse with mechanical expertise. From time to time a burst of color and noise issued from the machine.
Watching her gave Bennett an eerie feeling. He cleared his throat. No response. “Uh—Lizzy.” Nothing. “Lizzy?” (louder).
“What?” (through gritted teeth).
“I’m going to take the dogs for a walk.”
Two tails thumped in the doorway behind him. Click, click, click went the mouse.
“Would you like to come?”
“No.” (Teeth still gritted. Click, click.)
Bennett hesitated, but the way Gwen was clashing pots together as she prepared dinner brooked no cold feet. He strode to the thing, pushed past Lizzy, and yanked all the plugs he could see. It made a dying cow noise and was quelled.
Not so Lizzy. “Hey! What are you doing? I was playing!” she yelled. She got down on her hands and knees and began re-plugging while he stepped out into the hall and attached the dogs’ leashes to their collars. “Gramma!” she yelled. “Grampa’s trying to bust up your computer.”

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Gwen Takes Charge

This is post 12 of Section III. To begin at the beginning, go here. Section II begins here. Section III begins here.

“Well?” Gwen asked after a moment, startling him.
He looked up quickly. “You want me to—er—?”
“Not just you. I’ll help too, of course. We need to get her interested in other things. In life. You know, take her for walks, read to her, play with her.”
“That’s a wonderful idea,” Bennett said, admiring once again Gwen’s take-charge attitude. “You were always wonderful at that with the children.” He returned to his notes.
“Thank you,” Gwen said acidly, breaking in on his comparison of George Washington and Cincinnatus. “But I have to make dinner now, and I want you to get up out of that chair for once in your life and take an interest in your only grandchild, if that’s not too much to ask,” and she switched out, slamming the door a little behind her.

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Turn It Off?

This is post 11 of Section III. To begin at the beginning, go here. Section II begins here. Section III begins here.

“But that’s just it, Ed. She doesn’t talk. She doesn’t play. I’m concerned.”
Bennett looked to the off-white ceiling for inspiration, but none rained down. Three little words seemed to be dinning about in his head, however. “Turn it off?” he offered, meeting Gwen’s gaze hopefully.
She went into talking-to-an-idiot mode. “Well yes, Ed, but it’s not that simple.”
He frowned, puzzled. “It’s not?”
“She’s not going to like our turning it off, is she? She’s used to being on it with no limits at all, as far as I can tell.”
Bennett again gazed reflectively at the picture of his daughter, whom he viewed as a fairly successful product of the turn-it-off school. “Have you brought this up with Chloe?” he inquired.
She raised her eyebrows at him. “I don’t think now is the time, Ed. Not after what that excuse for a man put her through. She’s resting right now, and I don’t think she ought to be disturbed.”
Bennett nodded his head pensively, hoping that further details of his daughter’s marital debacle would not be forthcoming.

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The Fly in the Ointment

This is post 10 of Section III. To begin at the beginning, go here. Section II begins here. Section III begins here.

It was Lizzy who proved the fly in the ointment of domestic bliss.
“Ed,” Gwen said to him in a low voice one day while Chloe was taking a nap and Lizzy was playing on the computer. “That little girl spends entirely too much time in front of a screen.”
“Lizzy?” Bennett queried, looking up from his notes on the relationship between pastoralism and the nation state, a comparative study of Greece, Rome, and the modern West. “Quiet little thing,” he said, approvingly.

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Gregory's Call, Part Two

This is post 9 of Section III. To begin at the beginning, go here. Section II begins here. Section III begins here.

“Gregory,” she said.
“Yes Chloe?” he said formally.
“Don’t come. I’ll be back after the ceremony, and we can talk then.”
“You don’t want me to come?”
“ I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
There was a pause. “Will you at least let me talk to my daughter?”
“Of course.”
Chloe called her to the phone. After a short conversation she handed the phone back to her mother and ran off.
“Sounds like she’s having a great time,” he said, trying another tack.
“Yes. We all are,” Chloe said.
“Great. That’s wonderful. You know I only want you to be happy, Chloe. I’ve always only wanted whatever would make you happy.”
“I appreciate that, Gregory.”
“There’s no need, Chloe, there really isn’t. Just rest, o. k.? Promise me you’ll take care of yourself?”
After she hung up, Chloe gagged over the toilet. Then she took a bath. She would have taken a nap, but her father wanted to read Middlemarch to her, so she listened.

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Gregory's Call

This is post 8 of Section III. To begin at the beginning, go here. Section II begins here. Section III begins here.

Gregory could not disturb the equilibrium for long.
“It’s for you, Chloe,” Gwen said, and then, covering the mouthpiece of the receiver, she mouthed in capital letters over the back of Lizzy’s head, “IT’S GREGORY.”
Chloe left the lunch table and went into the privacy of her father’s study, feeling tight inside. She picked up the phone and heard the click of her mother putting down the receiver.
“Hello?”
“Chloe, honey, it’s so good to hear your voice,” he said immediately, and she was surprised at how cheap and oily it sounded, yet how much she yearned to believe in it all again. It was like the hankering to join Jeff’s church, to give herself body and soul, that had assailed her on the long, weird ride to D. C. She waited, knowing that was a course he was not prepared for.
“I guess you didn’t get my e-mails?”
“I saw them.”
“Oh.” There was a pause before he continued. “To be honest, Chloe, I’ve been quite—concerned about you.”
“Thank you,” she said, hating him and his selective honesty, and hating to thank him.
He sighed audibly. “I’m sensing—I don’t know—some hostility? That’s natural, I suppose.”
Still she waited.
“I can tell this isn’t a good time to talk. I hope you’ll feel differently when I come. I feel we have some issues to work through.”

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Family Reunion

This is post 7 of Section III. To begin at the beginning, go here. Section II begins here. Section III begins here.

At first the extended visit went well. The revelation that Chloe was just as much a liberal Episcopalian as ever, and not attached to a younger man inhabiting a double-wide, brought joy all round. Bennett recoiled from learning the intimate details of what had gone wrong with Gregory, and Gwen delicately forbore to inquire, at least of Chloe. She did canvass everyone else in the family, however, and eventually elicited from Bennett a vague reference to a porno tape. This seemed to her more than sufficient grounds for leaving the worm, so she stopped wondering how she might help patch the rift in the lute and felt prouder of Chloe than she had in years.
Bennett passively enjoyed Chloe’s presence. For one thing, it meant that Gwen was home more, and things, including himself, were generally better attended to than usual. For another, he was encouraged that Chloe did not once accuse him of having some neologistic emotional disorder, and she had time to listen to the bits he liked to read to her from Horace or one of the English masters. She curled up on the other armchair in his study, the one that didn’t recline, and sipped tea, smiling in the right places. Whole afternoons would slip by while Lizzy played on Grandma’s computer and Grandma did unaccustomed things like making cookies or bread.

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A Crisis

This is post 6 of Section III. To begin at the beginning, go here. Section II begins here. Section III begins here.

After obtaining full flight information, Gwen said goodbye, tottered unhesitatingly to Bennett’s sanctum, and threw open his door.
“Ed. Rouse yourself. We have a crisis on our hands.”
He looked up from the Times acrostic. “We?” He was used to Gwen’s life being a series of crises, but he was generally able to avoid active participation in them.
“Your daughter, egged on by God only knows what treatise on her inner child, has left Gregory.”
He peered at her blankly, glasses slipping down his nose.
“And the university,” Gwen continued.
This seemed a more serious matter. “Did she get into a better place?” he asked hopefully.
“As near as I can tell, she is going to be living in a trailer with a right-wing fundamentalist named Jeff while we raise Liz. Oh God, Ed. You don’t think she’s found Jesus or something like that, do you?”
Bennett placed the crossword and pen deliberately on the little table and stared in puzzlement at the picture of his daughter that had heretofore given him so much satisfaction. Echoes of a horrific dinner party at his friend Grout’s with the born-again son flitted through his head. A younger Gwen, standing in the same spot and explaining that their son was gay, not as in happy, also appeared briefly.
“Oh Lord,” he said.
“Of course, we must take care of Elizabeth for her.”
“We must?”
Gwen rolled her eyes at his obtuseness. “Of course, Ed, under the circumstances. But, what I was wondering. . . . Do you think we could get Chloe to stay here with us, too? Maybe this is just a—rebound thing. Maybe if we really laid ourselves out she’d reconsider the—” Gwen shuddered—“the trailer.”

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Chloe's Mom

This is post 5 of Section III. To begin at the beginning, go here. Section II begins here. Section III begins here.

Gwen didn’t need to think. “Chloe, you’re my daughter, and you always will be. I—this is a bit of a shock, I have to say. To tell you the truth, I’m having trouble understanding—what’s going on. But you don’t need to say another word. We can go into all that when you get here. If you’re up to it, I mean. If you want to. . . . The point is, of course, we’ll pick you up. You’re always welcome here, Chloe, and so is Elizabeth.”
“Thanks, Mom,” Chloe said, crying now. “It’s so good to hear you say that. I love you so much.”
“Love you too.”

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Chloe's Plea*

*This post contains a naughty word!

This is post 4 of Section III. To begin at the beginning, go here. Section II begins here. Section III begins here.

“Are you all right? Is Elizabeth all right?”
“Oh yes. We’re fine. We’re—just going to be arriving a little early for the ceremony.”
“You are? I mean, that’s wonderful, but I thought your teaching, and Gregory’s work—”
“I’ve quit, Mom.”
“What?”
“And I’ve left Gregory.”
“What? What happened?”
“I—I guess you could say I pistol-whipped him.” Chloe laughed wryly.
“Did you say ‘pussy-whipped’? That’s no way to talk even if you did get it out of one of your books.” Gwen believed in calling a spade a spade, but she also believed in refinement.
“That’s not what I said, Mom, and you’ll be happy to hear I’m never reading those again. I mean it this time. Anyway, I’m in D. C. with Lizzy. We’re flying into Endersburg tomorrow at 4 P. M. We were hoping someone could pick us up, but we can take the shuttle out if you want.”
Gwen clutched at the little she could grasp of all this. “D. C.?”
“Yes. It’s a long story, but the SUV was in the shop when I—when the thing happened, between Gregory and me, you know, so my student, Jeff, said he was going up for a right to life rally in D. C., and he would take me and pick up Liz from Greg’s mother’s on the way. He also said I could stay at his trailer while things are getting straightened out. He’s been a totally unexpected godsend, actually.”
“Oh,” Gwen quavered. She held the phone away from her ear and looked at it earnestly, unable to fathom the information it was emitting.
“—if Liz could stay with you for a week or two, just until I get my stuff and a place and a job—and a lawyer, I guess, though God knows I can’t afford one—” the voice was saying when Gwen returned the instrument to her ear. “So would that be o. k.? I know it’s a lot to ask,” Chloe finished, suddenly collapsing on the verge of tears.

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Interruption

This is post 3 of Section III. To begin at the beginning, go here. Section II begins here. Section III begins here.

The trouble with Ed, Gwen felt, was that he thought the world would get along just fine if only some sort of treaty of mutual forbearance could be arranged: he would leave it alone, it would leave him alone. He couldn’t understand why she was always trying to change things. He saw all the problems—dimly, at least—but as far as he was concerned shouting about them was tantamount to poking a wasp’s nest with a short stick.
The phone by the fax machine interrupted her musings. It was Chloe.
“Hello, Mother?” she said.
“Yes, dear? Is everything all right?” It was not her usual time for calling.
“Um—well—”

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Bennett Untapped

This is post 2 of Section III. To begin at the beginning, go here. Section II begins here. Section III begins here.

Bennett had snapped shut the paper and fixed her with the stare that made undergraduates go weak in the knees. “I suppose my problem is that I just don’t understand the etiquette. When my new toy-boy friend encourages me to ‘dump the bitch, make the switch’—”
(“Where does he pick up these expressions?” Gwen wondered.)
“—should I a) sneak out to the car for a quickie so that no one’s the wiser, b) bring him home, make a clean breast of it and move to San Francisco to live happily ever after, or c) openly explore my untapped sexual potential (as I believe Chloe puts it) right here, with your blessing and, perhaps, participation?”
Gwen clattered her coffee cup in the saucer. “Don’t be ridiculous, Ed.”

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III

This is post 1 of Section III. To begin at the beginning, go here. Section II begins here

Gwendolyn Bennett was spending a rare moment in her study, which had once been a spare bedroom. Now it contained a computer, a fax machine, a chair, and stacks of papers, shelves of books, all relevant to various causes. The walls were lined with photographs of Gwendolyn leading crowds of demonstrators or soothing children in need of assistance or shaking hands with public figures (Bishop Tutu, Jesse Jackson, Mario Cuomo, Tipper Gore). There were also plaques and certificates (AIDS Alliance, Southern Christian Leadership Conference, Lambda Legal Defense Fund, Nature Conservancy, Literacy Coalition, Special Olympics). They hung dusty and crooked, as if tired of jostling one another.
Gwendolyn was tired, too. The plans for her son’s wedding were finalized and unfolding smoothly, the permits for the PFLAG march had been issued, and the banner was rolled and ready in the corner, but she had failed to budge her antediluvian husband one iota. In fact, the young men’s invitation to their bachelor party had caused a nasty scene. On the front was a picture of copulating deer; inside it was inscribed, “In a rut? Come to a Stag Party.” Jack had crossed out the “s-t” in “Stag” and replaced them with an “F.” Recipients were informed that queer goings on would occur from 8 to ? at the Grotto, a gay bar on the river in Endersburg. When encouraged to put in an appearance, Bennett had emitted a Neanderthal grunt and buried the card under the Times.
It made Gwen question her whole raison d’être. If she couldn’t lift her own husband out of his morass of prejudice, was all her shouting and marching likely to change anyone else?
“It’s just a joke, Ed,” she said. “And if you ask me—“
(“I didn’t,” said Bennett.)
“—you’ve been in a rut ever since your retirement.”
There. The taboo was broken. She had said the “r” word.

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Trust in the Lord

This is post 30 of Section II. To begin at the beginning, go here. Section II begins here

“You know, Miz Weems, you could place your trust in the Lord,” Jeff said, as they neared D. C. “I know you’d like our church. There’s a lot of nice folks there could help you find the answers you’re lookin’ for.”
“Jeff, why don’t you get one of those TV thingies in your truck like they show in commercials?” Elizabeth interrupted.
“We’ll talk about that later, o. k. Lizzy-Beth?” Chloe said. She mused for a moment. It would be so easy to do that, to just go to church for all the answers the way she used to go to the Psychology section of Bookworld.
“’Cause my friend, Breanna, from Wee Care? Her daddy got one in their new van, and now she says she loves to go on trips. She used to hate it.” Elizabeth was not easily deterred from her favorite subjects.
“That’s very interesting, Lizzy, but Jeff and I are talking about grown-up things right now. We have to take turns when we talk.”
“Pooey on that. Right Jeff?”
It wasn’t until some time later, when Lizzy’s mouth was temporarily occupied with Kentucky Fried Chicken, that Chloe answered him. “I believe God wants us to make our own plans. I think that’s how we find out His.”
Jeff plunged his fork thoughtfully into his mashed potatoes. “You are one deep lady, Miz Weems,” he said.

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Trip to Greensboro

This is post 30 of Section II. To begin at the beginning, go here. Section II begins here

“I need to get to Ohio,” Chloe said, unhesitatingly. “I’ve got to leave Liz with my parents outside Endersburg—until I get this whole thing settled.”
Jeff was silent. Then he said, deliberately, “I tell you what. Tomorrow our youth group’s goin’ up to D. C. for a life rally. I wasn’t gonna go, ’cause of work, but what the hay, right? I’ll take you up in my truck; we’ll stop off and pick up little Elizabeth, and then when we get to D. C. I can put you guys on a plane to Endersburg. How’s that sound?”

Chloe knew she had not tied the cords that tightly—Gregory had already been working his way free as she left—but he seemed not to have communicated any version of the preceding night’s adventures to his mother. She was mildly surprised when Chloe found her and Lizzy at the upscale end of the mall, but accepted Chloe’s explanation
—that she was going to help with the wedding early and getting a ride with a student because the SUV was in the shop—without question. So after the well-meaning woman forced a tube of lipstick on her because she looked “peakèd,” Chloe picked up Lizzy’s things at the house and buckled the child into the booster seat she had placed in the truck. Jeff cranked up Jars of Clay on the stereo, and away they went.

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Advice from Jeff

This is post 29 of Section II. To begin at the beginning, go here. Section II begins here

“Do you think I should go to the police?” It was hard to believe she was asking Jeff for advice, but there it was.
He considered. “Well now, I took a look at that gun while you was upstairs. I unloaded it, too, by the way. Seems the serial number’s been rubbed off it, which means your husband’s in possession of a illegal handgun.”
“Greg?”
“Seems so. Then again, there he is, tied up half the night with a bump on his head.”
“Do you think he would really say I started this?” Chloe’s heart sank. “Do you think he’d tell them I’m crazy or something? Oh God, I couldn’t stand to lose Elizabeth.” She began to cry.
Jeff reached across the truck seat to pat her hand. “To be honest, Miz Weems, your husband strikes me as the type of guy who’s not going to put himself out much. The police start poking their noses in, no telling what they start finding.” He reflected. “No, I’m guessin’ he won’t want to start nothin’ he can’t finish. To my way of thinkin’ you’d best forget about what he’s doin’ and start askin’ the Lord to help you find your own way. For you and Elizabeth.”

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Chivalrous Jeff

This is post 28 of Section II. To begin at the beginning, go here. Section II begins here

Jeff was able to put her mind at ease on quite a few points.
“You can stay at my place for a while, Miz Weems, if you don’t mind a trailer. My roommate’s always at his girlfriend’s anyways.”
“Thank you, Jeff. I think maybe, just for tonight I could go to a motel, but if I won’t bother you too much—God, I can’t ever repay any of this. But I’ve got to get my daughter somehow, and my car’s in the shop again.”
“Where’s she at?”
“She’s at her grandmother’s near Greensboro. Do you think you could take me to the bus station tomorrow? I hate to put you to so much trouble.”
“No problem.”

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A Prayer*

*This post also contains a curse word!

This is post 27 of Section II. To begin at the beginning, go here. Section II begins here

Jeff was more decisive. “Here,” he said, bending down, and he helped Gregory up on his knees.
“Thank you,” Gregory said. Then, as Jeff made no further move, he continued, “Could you give me a hand with these cords, buddy?”
But Jeff let go of him and took Chloe’s hand. “I’ll go you one better,” he said, kneeling himself and drawing Chloe down beside him. “I’m gonna pray for you.”
“What the—?”
Jeff cut him off. “Oh God our Heavenly Father,” he began. “We ask that You shine Your countenance on these two lost people, that You lead them to walk in Your ways and heal this family. We ask that You turn this home into a temple, filled with Your love, Lord. We ask You to forgive them their sins”—here he gave Gregory a meaningful glance—“ and grant them salvation, so that they will bring up little—Elizabeth?”—he looked questioningly at Chloe, who nodded—“Little Elizabeth to walk with You. In Jesus’ name we pray. Amen,” he ended, and Chloe said, “Amen,” too, but Gregory was looking at them both in disbelief.
Then he began to laugh. “I think I’ve just seen the light.” (Jeff turned toward him hopefully.) “Chloe, I never would have believed it,” Gregory went on. “You’re fucking Jesus boy, right? Tell me, is sex really better with Jesus?”
Chloe was feeling cold and tired and mean. “Yes,” she said. “Watch him, please, Jeff. I’ll hurry.”
And she went upstairs to get some things together for her and for Elizabeth, who was at her grandmother’s.

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A Situation

This is post 26 of Section II. To begin at the beginning, go here. Section II begins here

“Looks like you got yourself a situation, Miz Weems,” Jeff said, gazing down at Gregory.
Shifting painfully, Professor Weems recognized his student. “Jeff! Watch out, Jeff. Chloe’s not herself. You know she’s got a gun?
“Chloe, you know you don’t want to do this. Think of us. Think of Elizabeth. Won’t you help me, Jeff? You can see she’s not thinking straight. Come on, Chloe. Don’t blow this thing out of proportion and do something we’ll all regret.”
Chloe hesitated. Gregory was right as usual. It would be easiest to just let it go. She tried to think, but she was sure not a single passage in Are You an Emotional Junky? fit the situation.

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Pistol Whipped*

*This post contains violence and strong language that may shock persons unfamiliar with modern media.

This is post 25 of Section II. To begin at the beginning, go here. Section II begins here

He crumpled, holding his hands to his eyes. “Damn it,” he said, Gregory again. “Get me a wet cloth. I can’t believe you did that. Fuck. My contacts. Get me a goddamn cloth, I said.” He was whimpering, holding out his hand for the cloth. “Come on, Chlo. Don’t be such a bitch.”
Unable to wait longer, he staggered to the sink and rinsed his eyes. Only when he turned back toward her, eyes streaming, did he realize she had the gun trained on him.
“Oh give me a break, will you?” he said disgustedly. “Put down that fuckin’ thing. Game’s over.”
Chloe was learning to listen to voices in her head. She lowered the gun, ignoring his hand, outstretched for it. “Just a minute. Let me get you the cloth,” she said in a normal voice, and came back a minute later with a damp washcloth.
“You hurt me!” he said accusingly, and began to clean the green gunk off his face and hair.
He never saw it coming when she hit him twice with the butt of the pistol and tied his hands and feet together with some extension cords while he lay unconscious. When she was plugging the phone back in, she caught sight of Jeff’s card, lying beside it.

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Saucy Chloe

This is post 24 of Section II. To begin at the beginning, go here. Section II begins here

She bent down, knowing it would not work, and picked up his bottle, handing it backwards to him while she picked up the pepper sauce with her free hand.
He said nothing. Had not noticed. Distracted by the beer, wrapped up in his demented drama. She clutched the bottle to her nightgown, pretending to have trouble opening it, using folds of material to unscrew the lid and conceal the contents.
He sipped, still not noticing, then looked at her critically while she braced herself for more (make believe) ridicule and humiliation.
But he said, “Need some help, sugar?” He laid his beer on the counter and reached out—and she let the sauce fly in his face, grabbed the gun, and held it on him.

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Chloe Gets Smart***

***This post is not suitable for children or the delicately nurtured.

This is post 23 of Section II. To begin at the beginning, go here. Section II begins here

He squeezed her breast, then prodded her with the gun. “Go git the beer, sugar.”
They walked in an absurd robotic synchronization to the big drafty kitchen, where she opened the refrigerator and saw the bottle of fancy pepper sauce he had brought from the Farmers’ Market in Atlanta. A cowboy winked from the label.
As clearly as if he had spoken to her, Chloe felt what she must do. “Mind if I have one too?” she asked, and was relieved that her dry throat conveyed just the right touch of meekness.
“Waal,” he drawled (“What bad acting,” she found herself thinking), “That’s the first intelligent thing I’ve heard you say, Red.”

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