Mrs. Weirsdo's Novella

The End

2006-03-04T11:08:00.000-08:00

Gwen Gets Her Way

2006-03-03T05:26:00.000-08:00

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

Stephen, meanwhile, seized their opportunity. “Come on, Professor!” he yelled, and plunged over the line, just as the transgendered float was passing. This was a simple wooden platform to which were moored two enormous inflated stick figures with flowing streamer hair, perpetually swaying toward and away from one another in an awkward, but oddly seductive dance. Bennett found himself appallingly close to it. He knew Stephen was in his vicinity, because he could hear Serena Mayfield quite close, screaming, “I can’t! I just can’t! I’m sorry Steve!” but he was unable to locate the boy because after the exertions of the day, he was suddenly overwhelmed by the heat, which until then had seemed merely one oppressive nuisance among many of that afternoon. He felt dizzy and weak, and the noises were reaching him through an annoying buzz of static. His glasses also seemed to have gotten foggy or something, and he was fumbling with them and staggering a little when a willowy brunette, somewhat husky in the voice, caught his elbow. “Hey, mister. You shouldn’t be walking around in this heat,” she said loudly into Bennett’s ear, so as to be heard above the crowd. Waving her free arm, she yelled, “Yo! Madison!” A very clean-shaven young man on the float grasped the problem and came to the edge nearest Bennett. With surprising strength the two managed to boost him up to the platform, where he collapsed on a lawn chair beneath the giant figures. Madison handed him a bottle of Naiad from which Bennett drank, gasping out his thanks.
He felt better immediately and was able to sit back and take stock from his new vantage point. To his left he could see Serena standing just over the yellow line, looking back to her mother. The female police officer was trying to take her hand and get her back behind the line, but she just stood there stiffly, tears streaming down her face. Her mouth was moving, but she was no longer audible, owing to the divine bowlers, who loomed on Bennett’s more immediate left, their faces distorted with anger, chanting “God hates queers!” To his right, with equal anger, rival chanters proclaimed their support for sundry alternative persons. He spotted a small knot of particularly annoying junior faculty from his college and raised his water bottle to them in ironical salute. Startled, they held a brief consultation before resuming their counter-protestations. Finally, looking straight before him, Bennett could clearly see Gwen, with Stephen walking resolutely beside her under the red PFLAG banner, taking no notice of Serena. Lizzy looked happily round from her perch on his shoulders. Behind them he could see the AIDS Alliance, then Unitarians and other assorted friendly straights. In the distance, he could hear the revving of engines and see a large lavender balloon that probably bore the legend, “Her-ley Davidson” in giant black letters.
Focusing on Gwen, he noticed that she was giving him the shining-eyed look. “Ah well,” he thought, as he toasted her with his water. She had gotten her way after all, but he was getting used to that.

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An Incident

2006-03-02T06:04:00.000-08:00

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

The jazz band took a hiatus. Bennett was noting the sheer fabric of Robert’s shirt with renewed distaste when the amplified voice behind the megaphone sang out, “Attention—Mitchell Grout!”
Bennett was quite close to the barrier, but was not sure he had heard correctly above the din. He leaned over and looked along the line of protesters. “You forgot this, honey!” the amplified voice continued. “Lucky for you I found it again!” Peering around a burly officer, Bennett saw the rubber arm arc toward the protesters to his right. A police officer dashed forward toward the float, but at the same moment Bennett saw a placard swing savagely forward, making contact with the arm and sending it winging toward the officer, whom it struck in the head. Her helmet was dislodged and her hair freed from its restraints, but she apparently sustained no injury.
Nevertheless, surrounding officers rushed to her assistance. With vicarious satisfaction, Bennett saw them subdue the placard swinger, who was indeed Mitchell Grout. Not only was this a course Bennett himself had often longed to pursue vis-à-vis that individual, but he had the added gratification that he would not be the only one in his circle of friends to be embarrassed on the TV coverage that evening. All this he merely remarked in passing, however, for at the same time other officers, including the ones nearest his little group, rushed to the float to take care of the fist hurler. As they scaled it, though, a large African American actor clad in a spotless white linen suit and panama hat (again, he seemed vaguely familiar to Bennett) detached himself from a theatrical tableau to offer assistance, and proved so effectual that the ginger-haired perpetrator was able to bound away into the friendly crowd on the other side of the parade, not to be seen again.

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The Parade

2006-03-01T05:10:00.000-08:00

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

Just as the tension between the voluptuous contents of her T-shirt and its printed message (“Dare to say No”) threatened to overwhelm him, Mrs. Mayfield’s voice cut in. “Oh look! They’re coming.” She hoisted her placard.
It seemed to Bennett that bedlam had broken out. Everyone around them was yelling out insults, warnings and slogans; the police were snarling at them to keep back; and the first paraders—a rag-tag and bobtail lot of gay men and lesbians marching under a rainbow banner—were thundering out their mantra: “Two four six eight! It’s our turn to celebrate! Say it strong and say it loud: We are out and we are proud!” Altercations broke out along the perimeter. Bennett saw that the police could not be everywhere at once and turned to look for Stephen, who nodded at him, edging toward the barrier with Serena and Lizzy in tow.
For some time, however, no significant disturbances occurred around them. The floats, sponsored by gay-friendly local businesses, began to roll past. The Grotto sponsored a poolside scene with giant inflatable bottles on the corners and the pool composed of blue flowers; a gym and the Naiad bottled water company had body builders; the Interior Designers Alliance and the local Association of Antique Dealers had put together a living room under an awning, with people lolling about on Chesterfields and divans. Behind this was the largest float in the parade, “The Arts.” Bennett could see Robert playing in the jazz band on it, under a gigantic cardboard cut-out of Michelangelo’s David, which Mrs. Mayfield had mentioned prominently in her censorious account of previous parades. Also on the float, Bennett could see, as it rolled past, were costumed actors and actresses from the Endersburg Stage, the theater company, and—a slight figure with spiky ginger hair, holding a megaphone to his lips and brandishing a rubber arm with a fist. He seemed somehow familiar to Bennett, who thought he must be perpetrating some repulsive performance art and resolved to ignore it, if possible.

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Serena Tempted

2006-02-28T03:59:00.000-08:00

This is post 22 of Section V. To begin at the beginning, go here. Section II begins here. Section III begins here. Section IV begins here, and Section V begins here

Serena examined the toe of her sneaker. “Mom made me,” she said, in a low voice. She continued more plaintively. “What am I supposed to do? My whole youth group decided to go.” She indicated a number of people in T-shirts like hers who were standing nearby. “You think I’m just gonna stand up in front of them and my parents and our pastor and everyone and say, ‘I think you’re ignorant about the Bible and I’m not going’? Oh yeah. That’d go over real well.”
Stephen looked at her face, raised towards his in appeal. Then he put an arm around her shoulders. “Come on, Serena,” he said in her ear. “You’re not a lemming. Listen. The professor and Lizzy and I are going to sneak over the line and join the parade the first chance we get. For once in your life, be your own person. Come with us. Your parents love you. They’ll get over it.”
“Yeah, come on. We’re gonna be on TV, Serena,” piped up Lizzy, who had heard the end of the conversation.
Serena smiled down at the little girl, and then looked up at Stephen and giggled. “I might do it, just to see their faces. Oh my God, if Dad saw me on the news!”
“That’s the spirit,” Stephen said, giving her an encouraging squeeze.

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Explanations

2006-02-27T04:58:00.000-08:00

This is post 21 of Section V. To begin at the beginning, go here. Section II begins here. Section III begins here. Section IV begins here, and Section V begins here

Mrs. Mayfield shook her head and looked admiringly from Lizzy to Stephen. “She’s a darling. Aren’t you, angel? And you are obviously great with kids, Steve.” Lizzy took refuge behind Stephen, who briefly considered doing the same behind Bennett. “Professor,” Serena’s mother continued, in a lower tone, “Don’t you think this scene is just a little—adult—for a small child? Maybe you haven’t been before, but let me tell you, these—people—get up to some pretty X-rated antics.”
Bennett expressed a polite interest, and in an undertone, Serena’s mother filled him in on incidents of preceding years, thereby giving her daughter a chance to clarify matters with Stephen.
“What are you doing here? I thought your dad was—you know.”
“Just as you know as ever,” Stephen said. “We got lost. What’s your excuse? I thought you said you were, you know, open-minded.”

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Introductions

2006-02-25T05:43:00.000-08:00

This is post 20 of Section V. To begin at the beginning, go here. Section II begins here. Section III begins here. Section IV begins here, and Section V begins here

“Hi Stephen,” Mrs. Mayfield said brightly. “It’s great to see so many young people involved, isn’t it? I see you brought your little sister. Hi, cutie!” She waved down at Lizzy and made a face.
“Hi,” Lizzy said, ignoring the face. “Who’re they, Steve?”
“Oh!” Stephen said. “Uh—Lizzy, Professor Bennett, this is my—friend, Serena, from school, and her mom, Mrs. Mayfield. This is Professor Bennett, my, um—”
“Friend of his father, Mrs. Mayfield, Serena,” Bennett broke in, coming to the boy’s rescue. “And this is my granddaughter, Lizzy.”

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Serena Protests

2006-02-22T16:44:00.000-08:00

This is post 19 of Section V. To begin at the beginning, go here. Section II begins here. Section III begins here. Section IV begins here, and Section V begins here

Suddenly, though, they were hailed. “Steve!” shrieked an excited female voice. “Over here! Look, Mom, it’s Steve!”
The crowd, which had been swelling, surged forward at that moment, pushing them toward the girl. She was buxom and blond, not tall, but more fully developed than a girl that young had a right to be, Bennett observed, with a flash of irritation at his own decrepitude.
“Serena!” Stephen exclaimed, turning pink. “What are you doing here?”
She smiled and raised her eyebrows. “Duhh. Protesting?” She pointed to the sign her mother was holding up, and the mother turned it so they could see both sides. One read, “Homosexuality is a SIN.” The other said, “‘Take a walk with me—Love, Jesus.’”

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Toe-ing the Line*

2006-02-21T20:46:00.000-08:00

*This post has a filthy word in it.

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

Stephen straightened up like a soldier, his mouth set grimly. “No. I want to go, now. But it’s just—why are they all against us?”
Bennett took a deep breath and began to explain, as tactfully as possible, at the same time separating “us” into more specifically accurate components, but Stephen interrupted. “No. I don’t mean, ‘Why are these assholes—excuse me—here?’ I mean, ‘Where’s the other side?’ Don’t they usually come out for these things, too?”
They soon found out. Arriving at City Center, they discovered that the parade was already moving on its route, and they were caught on the side designated for anti-gay protesters. Bennett waved his permit in vain at the stolid policeman.
“I keep telling you. Ya gotta go to the end of the line at Enders Station and catch up from there. No one across the yellow line.” He chewed ferociously on his gum and looked from Bennett to the two children with deep disapproval.
“Come on,” Stephen said, in an undertone, shooting the officer a resentful look. “We’ll find a way.” They drifted to the back of the crowd, looking for a less vigilant guardian. Bennett did not look hard. He was happy to fade into obscurity.

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KKK**

2006-02-20T20:47:00.000-08:00

**This post contains very offensive language that does not reflect the views of the author.

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

The man recoiled abruptly. His mouth twisted, and he leaned forward, spitting into Bennett’s face. “You queers make me sick. This ain’t a country for perverts and kikes and niggers and spics. This is God’s country, and one day us God-fearing white Americans are gonna take it back.” He turned on the heel of his snakeskin boot and strode away.
“Hey!” Bennett said loudly, carried away in spite of himself.
But Stephen caught his sleeve. “Did you see what he was carrying?’ he asked in a low voice. “He’s got a hood. A white hood.”
“But why was he so mad, Steve?” Lizzy asked. “We don’t even have any kites.”
“We’ll explain later,” Bennett said, taking her free hand and patting it. He looked at Stephen hopefully—the boy was obviously shaken. “We can still go back,” he suggested, sotto voce.

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Onward Christian Soldiers

2006-02-19T20:58:00.000-08:00

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

All too soon, Bennett felt, they found themselves among spectators. He was glad Lizzy could not read the placards they carried: “God Hates Queers”; “AIDS: Scurge [sic.] of Evil”; assorted biblical verses; and the tried and true “Repent! The End is at Hand.”
They continued their descent, making a few turns and heading for City Center, the renovated downtown area. Bennett had not been able to locate Gwen’s map of the parade route, but every parade passed through here sooner or later. The crowd became denser. A group of nuns in blue habits walked by, nodding affably. They were complaining about the weather and fanning each other with their large cardboard signs. On the steps of the Endersburg Museum of Industry a heavy-set man whose T-shirt proclaimed him a bowler for Jesus exhorted his celestial patron in the flat, heavy accents of the Plains states, while his sober audience, doubtless fellow bowlers and their spouses, silently bowed their heads.
A pleasant, bearded fellow fell in with them and winked at Lizzy. “Zat yer grampa?” he asked indicating Bennett with his head.
“Yes,” she said boldly, flattered by the attention. She looked around the man, hoping he was accompanied by a TV crew.
“And who’s this?” he asked, jerking a thumb in Stephen’s direction.
“That’s Steve.”
“Zat yer brother?”
“No. He’s Grampa’s friend.” Stephen smiled tentatively, and Bennett patted him on the shoulder in a fatherly way.

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Qualified Relief

2006-02-18T20:42:00.000-08:00

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

At first the car ride was a relief, after the screaming. Downtown Endersburg, however, was difficult to negotiate. Traffic toward the parade had long since reached its destination, but the maze of one-way streets was now blocked off in what seemed to Bennett the deliberately stochastic plan of a madman. It was not easy to ratchet his IQ up to the requisite level with Lizzy enthusiastically gabbling from the backseat. Stephen had made another error in judgment when he pointed out a van from a local TV station on a side street. The little girl was practically bursting out of her booster seat at the prospect of appearing on her favorite medium.
Stephen somewhat redeemed himself, however, by suggesting they park at Robert’s and Jack’s apartment building, which was not far from the parade route, and by adding his ingenuity to Robert’s to help get them there.
From the apartments, which were up on a small hill, the trio disembarked and began to walk downwards. It was hot and stifling, but Bennett rolled up his sleeves and tried not to think about it. Lizzy capered about, swinging on Stephen’s arm and keeping an eye out for TV cameras. Stephen seemed unusually preoccupied, responding only briefly and sporadically to Lizzy’s many queries.

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Decidedly Negative

2006-02-17T19:25:00.000-08:00

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

“I wanna go. Why didn’t Grandma take me?”
Stephen looked uncertainly at Bennett, who shifted apprehensively. “It’s a very grown-up parade, Lizzy. You wouldn’t like it. It’ll be much more fun here playing musical chairs with Stephen.” A note of pleading crept into Bennett’s voice as Lizzy’s face clouded over. “Besides, how could you go off and leave your poor old Grampa all alone?”
“I wanna go,” Lizzy repeated. “And you and Steve could go too. Please Steve? Pretty please?”
Stephen again looked at Bennett, who shook his head firmly. “No. Absolutely not. That is no place for children.”

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Very Young Love

2006-02-16T19:09:00.000-08:00

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

At dinner that night she interrupted Gwen’s rather strained monologue about the PFLAG table they were planning for the pre-parade festival to say, “I’m gonna marry Steve when I grow up.” There was a shocked silence. It was the longest sentence they had ever heard her utter on a non-electronic subject.
After that, Lizzy and Stephen got into the habit of playing different kinds of music for each other and reacting to them. When she began to tire of that, Stephen introduced her to musical chairs, (a game she had never played before), but with the twist that one had to dance around the chairs, following a leader who decided what sort of dance was appropriate for what music. This game went best with more than two players, but by this time Gwen was positively jealous of all the fun Stephen seemed to be having with her grandchild, and Bennett therefore had no choice but to participate. Surprisingly, he was a resounding success at the game, as his moves tended to be the most ridiculously ungainly; and although he did not admit it, he rather enjoyed his newfound popularity.
On the day of the Gay Pride Festival and Parade, however, Lizzy immediately noticed that Grandma was not there to participate in their interpretive rendition of Mahler’s Fifth Symphony. It was Stephen who made the mistake of telling her that Grandma had gone to a parade. Grateful though he was toward the lad, Bennett could have strangled him.

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Emptying the Mind

2006-02-14T20:18:00.000-08:00

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

Stephen lay down obediently on the worn Persian carpet in the living room, and Lizzy began imitating the recording she knew so well. “Close your eyes,” she began, in a fake, flat, grown-up voice.
Stephen recognized the genre. “Oh God! I can’t see!” he screamed in mock horror.
“ShhHHHhhh!” Lizzy said, imitating the sound of the surf on the CD. “Tweet! Tweet!”
Stephen put his hands over his ears and writhed in mock agonies. “Not the boring nature sounds! No! Please!”
“Relax,” she continued relentlessly, stifling more laughter. “Empty your mind.”
“Oh no! What’s going on? I can’t think! It’s all—a—blank . . . ” Stephen wound down like a broken record player and lay inert. Lizzy collapsed on top of him, her gloating cackle finally dissolving into the long-suppressed giggles.

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Yanni and Guided Mutation

2006-02-13T20:56:00.000-08:00

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

“You know. Boring stuff. Yanni, guided mutation.”
Stephen took a seat, lowering his face to her level. “Hmm. That’s a tough one. I doubt Professor Bennett is a big Yanni fan, and I don’t know the Guise of Mutation group. Doesn’t exactly sound peaceful to me.”
After some confused discussion, which threatened to become acrimonious, Lizzy stamped her foot and yelled, “O. k.! I will do the mutation. You be the prisoner. Lie down!”

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Lizzy the Onion

2006-02-12T18:12:00.000-08:00

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

“What are you gonna do to me?” Lizzy asked, wriggling with delicious horror.
An evil smile spread over Stephen’s regular features. “First, ve vill twist you like a pretzel vis yo-gah; zen ve vill BORE you. Ha ha ha! Tell me, my leetle flowair”—his accent got crazier as they went along—“haf you evair heard of zee—lotus poseetion?”
“Wait! Wait! I wanna be an onion!” Lizzy shrieked, freeing herself from his clutches.
It took him a moment to realize she meant “minion.” She carefully removed the tiara and set it on the coffee table. “First,” she said, imitating his delivery, “ve haf zee boring CD! Ha ha ha!”
“What would that be?” Stephen inquired in his real voice. Professor Bennett had asked him to try to get her to listen to some classical music, and the boy sensed opportunity knocking.

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Capturing the Princess

2006-02-11T16:05:00.000-08:00

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

A few minutes later, Lizzy allowed her persona to be temporarily overpowered by Rasputin’s nefarious hypnosis. “Tell me—tell me the secret of your power,” Stephen intoned, stretching his hand toward the tiara.
“No! Never!” Lizzy said defiantly, overcoming the giggles.
“Very well then. Ve vill see if you feel differently after a little session in my torture chambers.” Stephen snapped his fingers, summoning imaginary minions. “Seize her!”

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Subjugating Princess Power

2006-02-09T19:23:00.000-08:00

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

She nodded. “NOW can we play?”
“O. k.,” Stephen said. “But only on one condition.”
“What?” she said suspiciously.
“This time you let the evil Rasputin get you in his clutches—just for a little while. Like in that episode you told me about. Remember? When Princess Power fights Prince Evrymon because Rasputin makes her think he’s a Dino-bot?”

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Fun with Yoga

2006-02-08T17:06:00.000-08:00

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

As Gwen and Bennett agreed that Stephen was practically a second Annie Sullivan, and paid him accordingly, he was soon back.
“Oh, I think I’m having a Princess Power outage,” he groaned, in response to the inevitable exhortations. “What else do people do for fun at your house?”
“Boring stuff,” Lizzy pouted, her brow furrowing.
“Like what?”
“Yoga,” she said, the same way she would have said, “Liver.”
“Eww. Really?” Stephen said, sympathetically.

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A Magic Tiara

2006-02-07T19:51:00.000-08:00

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

“I know,” Steve said. “Why don’t we look at the DVD case, and when I point to a character, you explain what they do, o. k.?”
“O. k.,” Lizzy agreed, happy to get even this close to an electronic medium. In the doorway she paused, however. “Are you sure you didn’t bring a Game-Boy?”
As he had not, he spent his afternoon learning about Princess Power’s magic tiara and all the different ways she could use it in her fight against the evil Rasputin and his minions. Lizzy was disappointed in the tiara they made out of cardboard and foil; as she repeatedly pointed out, they could have got a much neater looking one with sound effects at Wal-Mart. On the other hand, when he put on Gwen’s poncho and tried to block Lizzy from the Emerald Cave (actually the kitchen) by hypnotizing her with one of her Princess Power official necklaces, she allowed that he was quite convincing, and his death throes when zapped by the tiara sent her into fits of giggles.

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Another Weirdo?

2006-02-03T18:30:00.000-08:00

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

Stephen appeared to ponder this. “Well, o. k.,” he said doubtfully. “But let me tell you, I am so bad at computer games I think you better tell me all about the game first. Whoa!” he said, flinging up a hand as she launched into incoherent floods of explanation. “Let’s start with the main characters. Who are they, what do they try to do, and why?”
Lizzy sighed heavily. “Too hard to explain. I think we should watch the video.”
“But see,” Stephen said, “I need to know how to play the game. So I thought we could sort of act it out.”
Lizzy looked at him appraisingly. He had seemed cool, but maybe he was just weird.

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Princess Power

2006-01-31T20:03:00.000-08:00

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

Lizzy, who had scarcely been able to keep her mind on her computer game that morning, flung herself on him. “Steve! Come on. Let’s play my new Princess Power game. I got to the Emerald Cave this morning.”
Stephen, who had been apprised of his task, made a face. “Do we have to? See, I’m not really good at those games, and I don’t like to lose all the time.”
“It’s o. k., Lizzy said, encouragingly. “I’ll teach you. It’s easy.”

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Hope for the Future

2006-01-29T16:14:00.000-08:00

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

Returning her attention to her parents (who were peering at her anxiously) was like waking from a nightmare. Suddenly she knew the color of her cheese without even reading the book. “Actually,” she said, “I’d like to go to law school,” and for the first time in her life she felt cool all on her own.

She left the next day to begin the divorce and collect her things. Bennett drove her to the airport and on the way ascertained that she had not taken any special notice of Jack’s brother at the wedding. After he came back he felt confused and retreated to his chair in the study, where he dozed off and dreamed that Chloe walked down an aisle in a satin dress with a briefcase and hit Jack’s brother over the head with it, but somehow in the dream it was all for the best. He woke feeling better and began to work on the introduction to his book, tentatively titled, “Swords and Ploughshares: Pastoralism and the Western Nation-State.”
Stephen came over that afternoon, and Bennett and Gwen retired to their respective offices, leaving their doors ajar, however, to hear how he did.

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Finding the Yellow Brick Road

2006-01-28T17:50:00.000-08:00

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

Chloe rolled her eyes. “Thanks for the encouragement, Daddy. Seriously, it’s about empowering you to go after the job that’s right for you, in the way that’s right for you.”
“(Follow the yellow brick road),” muttered Bennett, recalling Scarecrow Man.
“I never thought I’d say this,” Gwen said, “but Chloe, maybe you should try not reading for a while, dear. At least, nothing recent.”
There was a lull in the conversation while Chloe counted to ten, breathing deeply, a technique she recalled from Good People, Bad Feelings. After all, like it or not, she would have to depend on her parents for a while.
“You could make an exception for The Chronicle of Higher Education,” her father said. “Your mother and I will support you if you want to go back to graduate school.”
Tension gripped Chloe at the very suggestion, undoing most of the good of the breathing exercise. A vivid memory of her boss at North Central, smiling as he encouraged her to substitute authentic, hands-on projects for dry writing assignments, finished the job. Still under the impression that he actually meant to be friendly and helpful, and intending to point out the weakness of such notions if taken too far, Chloe had jokingly suggested that she be allowed to decorate cupcakes with the major characters of The Faerie Queen in lieu of submitting a dissertation. Now, of course, she realized she might have gotten off on the wrong foot with him in that conversation.

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V

2006-01-27T20:12:00.000-08:00

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

The day after the wedding, while Lizzy was watching her Princess Power DVD, Chloe and her parents had a talk.
“So, honey, what are your plans now?” Gwen asked kindly.
Chloe looked worried. “I’ve been giving this a lot of thought,” she said. “Of course I don’t want to be a drain on you guys. But the thing is, I’ve never been really good at much besides reading books. Speaking of which, have you heard about this new book, What Color Is Your Cheese?”
“Stinky Jobs in a Moldy Economy?” Bennett enquired.

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Fairy Tales May Come True

2006-01-26T19:51:00.000-08:00

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

Back at home, Bennett sat next to Gwen on the sofa with Fafnir’s head in his lap. Gwen kissed him on the cheek. “It was beautiful, wasn’t it?” she said. “I’ve never seen Robert so happy.”
Bennett nodded, patting the dog’s head absentmindedly. He felt peculiar, and not only because of an overeager consumption of oysters and champagne. Closing his eyes, he saw Chloe floating down the aisle again and wondered if she had the same thought he did, that she should have a day like this, a perfect, fairy-tale day. With the thought came awareness of his omission. “You didn’t get to know Jack’s brother by any chance, did you, Gwen?”
“What’s to know?” she said, dismissively. “He’s not as big a homophobe as the parents, according to Robert.”
“Oh dear,” Bennett said, trying not to sound too pleased. He closed his eyes again, and this time enjoyed the vision of Chloe in the satin dress. Her day would come.

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Where Troubles Melt Like Lemon Drops

2006-01-25T19:06:00.000-08:00

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

Bennett, Gwen, Chloe and Lizzy had arrived early and thus avoided the Grout menace. Bennett stood as near as he could to the door of the sanctuary, listening to the delectable strains of a string quartet recruited for the occasion and wondering moodily if homosexuals would be the sole heirs of civilized culture in a generation or two. He was dimly aware of a sort of angry buzzing from time to time among the guests, and gathered that the Grout boy was at the bottom of it, but he refused to allow any of that to impair his listening pleasure. Gwen, it is true, had come in from the steps, where she was helping Chloe with Lizzy, ablaze with righteous indignation, but apparently the problem had been handled, because Bennett escaped conscription. Chloe was too busy containing the peripatetic Lizzy to get involved with anything else.
Bennett enjoyed the ceremony, in so far as that was possible. He liked coming in to Haydn’s Emperor Quartet. He enjoyed the other music too, mostly. The counter tenor aria made him feel a bit hinky, but it was mercifully short, and the hymns and prayers were old favorites. Gwen spent the first few minutes whispering some unintelligible story about the man in the loud tie who was stretched out in the back pew massaging his ankle, but once she saw Lizzy and Chloe start down the aisle she squeezed Bennett’s leg and dabbed her eyes like any sentimental mother of a bride. Chloe floated past them in a simple cream satin confection of a dress that caused Bennett himself to get misty-eyed for a moment. It did not escape him that Jack’s square-jawed, granite-faced best man and brother lost his grip on the proceedings from the moment he saw her, and Bennett made a mental note to get to know him better at the reception. Lizzy, who accompanied her mother, holding a pillow with the rings, did indeed look, as her grandmother said, like a little angel, but the heavy bribery this illusion had entailed was apparent when she interrupted the ceremony to enquire in audible stage whispers about when Chloe was planning to purchase the Princess Power movie on special edition DVD as promised. The tactful Stephen, who had settled in a front pew after ushering, eventually removed the little girl, to everyone’s satisfaction.
The reception, at the Enders art museum, was tasteful and gourmet, with a woodwind quintet—Frank was feeling well enough to play—and at the end the happy couple left to catch a flight for a few days on Key West amid a cloud of bubbles and the quintet playing “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.”

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Judgment Day

2006-01-24T20:04:00.000-08:00

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

“Oh no,” Mitchell said, looking around in case any more apparitions were preparing to rise up around him. “I know my rights. Your kind always think you can flaunt your twisted, sinful ‘lifestyle’ and silence all the God-fearing citizens of this great country. Well, let me tell you, I’ve read the Constitution, and last time I checked I was still free to—”
“Listen honey,” Sheba cut in. “Alls I know is, I just saw what sure looked like a hate crime. Now why don’t you get your little Rush Limbutt outa here, before I call the cops. O. k.? Let me escort you to your car.”
Sheba stood, smiling encouragingly and offering a large arm that seemed meant to be comforting. Grout looked behind him wistfully at the cars that had begun to come in a steady stream. “All right,” he said. “All right, I’ll go. But you keep your filthy hands off me. And just remember this. We’ll all be judged one day. And when that great day comes—” “Don’t sweat it, sweetheart,” Sheba said. “And don’t forget your Fist of Adonis.” She threw it in the back, and after seeing Grout off returned to the church, humming melodiously.

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Groutrage*

2006-01-22T18:35:00.000-08:00

This post contains a dirty, stinky word.

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

At last Grout reacted. “You perverted little shit—” he glanced upward nervously—“excuse my language.” Stepping heavily forward, he pushed Frank hard in the chest, causing him to lose his footing and lurch backward into the drainage ditch beside the driveway.
Sheba seemed to materialize out of nowhere. A few recent arrivals also hurried over. “I’m o. k.,” Frank said weakly, enjoying their ministrations. “Just help me inside, please.”
“Mr. Grout!” Sheba intoned. “Such unpleasantness. Shame on you.” She stooped and picked the arm out of a puddle. “Come on, now. Take your present and go home.”

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Frank's Gift

2006-01-21T17:49:00.000-08:00

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

“Of course they do,” Frank said, placing an understanding hand on Grout’s arm and chuckling inwardly at the instant rigor homophobis this provoked. “I just wanted you to know that I personally read your materials and found them absolutely fascinating.”
While Grout was looking at him suspiciously, several cars drove in unmolested. Frank moved his attack into phase two. Looking earnestly into Grout’s eyes and now stroking his sleeve, Frank continued, “To tell you the truth, you got me really worried.”
With an awkward twitching movement, Grout threw off his admirer’s caressing hand. His eyes darted to the item swathed in a plastic bag under Frank’s other arm. “Good. That’s the first step, like it says right here--” he pointed to a paragraph in one of his pamphlets. “But don’t stop there. You’ve got to get right with God. Because God is love, buddy. The greatest love you’ll ever know. Believe it.”
“Oh I do, Mitchell,” Frank said, halting Grout in the act of turning away. “That’s why I’m worried about you.” He unshrouded the object—a rubber arm with a fist at the end—and extended it toward Grout. “I worry that people like you don’t feel enough of God’s love. Deep down, where you need it, I mean.” Grout stared at the thing in disbelief. “Don’t worry. It’s lubricated.”

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Flouting God's Word

2006-01-20T17:22:00.000-08:00

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

In the parking lot Frank stopped at his vintage purple MG, withdrew an item from his little blue gym bag, and waved it at Sheba, who laughed approvingly. Then he strolled to the mouth of the driveway, leaving Sheba by the car. As Frank approached, another car gunned its engine, accelerating past Grout, who smacked his leaflets angrily against his free hand and strode after the car, aiming to accost the passengers.
Frank distracted him. “Oh Mitchell,” he called, waving. “Over here!”
Grout crossed the driveway opening, apprehension writ large on his coarse features. “I have a right to be here, you know,” he said. “People have a right to know how this ‘church’ is flouting God’s holy word.”

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Cleaning Crew

2006-01-19T15:13:00.000-08:00

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

Frank raised a hand. “Children, children. Please! I will scrub the Grout. (It’s the least I can do to make amends),” he added, in an aside with a wink to Robert.
“Wait for me, honey!” Sheba called, tripping after him. They went out arm in arm. At the door Sheba looked back and sang, “‘We are family. I got all my sisters with me’” in falsetto. Frank joined in.
On the way out of the church they passed several guests with disgusted looks and the nervous priest, who was stuffing his leaflets into a wastebasket. “Do you know what’s going on out there?” he asked. “Condoning same-sex union ceremonies is a pretty recent development for our church, you know. I mean, we don’t want to seem as if we’re flaunting it or something. Some people might misinterpret—”
“Relax—it’s under control,” said Frank, breezing by.

Çontinue

Close Encounter

2006-01-18T17:55:00.000-08:00

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

Sheba fluttered nervously. Frank burst out laughing and declared Glenn was priceless. But before he could say more, Willie Eisenberg, the woman who had danced so provocatively on the bar at the bachelor party, strode in, towing her date for the occasion, a wiry looking African American woman who made up for very short hair with very long earrings. “Jack,” Willie said, biting off each word with her faint German accent. “Something has got to be done about that Troglodyte out there.”
“Hi everybody. I’m Karen,” Willie’s date put in, shaking hands firmly all round. “We made the mistake of trying to have a discussion with him.”
“Wow—a close encounter,” Robert said in an awed voice. “A rational exchange with an alien life form. What was it like?”
Karen snorted. “You’re giving the alien too much credit.”
“I never wanted to strike somebody so much in all my life,” Willie said grimly. She was shifting her weight from one foot to the other like a boxer. “He desecrated my grandparents’ memory.”
“We tried to draw an analogy between the way the religious right stigmatizes people who disagree with them and the tactics of the Third Reich,” Karen explained.
“He went berserk,” Willie said, taking over. “Started yelling about how the religious right was going to be the victims of the next Holocaust, and how there ought to be a Holocaust Museum for all the unborn children we butcher each year.”
“Wil was practically frothing at the mouth,” Karen said. “I had to drag her away—and only out of consideration for you guys. Can we beat him up after the ceremony? Please?”

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Symptoms of Grout

2006-01-17T20:20:00.000-08:00

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

Robert recognized the symptoms immediately. “Mitchell Grout,” he said. “Has to be.”
Glenn, who had been propped morosely in a corner since Frank’s arrival, snorted with disgust. “Damn hypocrite Bible thumpers. Why can’t they mind their own business?”
Everyone looked startled. “Ex-wife,” Jack explained. “Long story.”
Sheba made a sympathetic cooing noise and everyone else nodded, but Glenn said, “No, it’s not just my marriage, actually. I’d be the first to admit I don’t exactly—understand you, Jack, or all these—people—you hang around with” (here he looked distastefully at Frank). But you’re my little brother. I’ve stood up for you all my life, and if you want me to go out and deck that bastard, I will.” He detached his large frame from the wall he had been leaning against and adjusted the bow tie on his tuxedo.

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Godly Relationships

2006-01-15T20:28:00.000-08:00

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

As he opened the door to leave, he heard his son say, “Mom, do we have to eat Dad’s casserole? It tastes like poop.”
The mouth on that boy. Mitchell’s hand drifted toward his belt as he heard the surprise and hurt in Denise’s reproval. “Spare the rod. . . . ” But his business wouldn’t wait. If he left right now he could swing by the church, pick up some leaflets, and be at their so-called church in plenty of time. He started his car and drummed impatiently on the steering wheel, waiting for some black kids to get out of his way. Too many bad influences around here, he thought.

Frank came bouncing into the “groom’s room,” where Sheba was just touching up the makeup over Jack’s bruised jaw. “Sorry to interrupt,” Frank said happily, “but who invited the jackass in the parking lot?”
Reveling in their attention, he proceeded to relate, with appropriate dramatization, Mitchell’s approach, buttonholing, and forceful leaflet distribution. He showed them the ones he had: “‘Gay’: The Saddest Word”; “Homosexuality: Jesus IS the Cure!” and “Biblical Sexuality,” with “Why God’s Love Is Better Than Your Wildest Dreams!” in bold letters under the title.

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In God We Trust

2006-01-13T20:46:00.000-08:00

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

She was unpacking the groceries now, almost flawlessly graceful. It was startling to see a box of Hamburger Helper fall out when she was unloading the rice. “Whoopsy-daisy!” she exclaimed, scooping it up in one fluid motion, but casting an appealing look in his direction.
“It’s all right,” he reassured her. “You do a beautiful job, Denise.” He passed her the celery from the bag nearest him. “You really do.”
She smiled timidly, looking at him from under her long lashes. “I made your favorite casserole for dinner,” she said. It was almost a question.
He straightened, reminding himself of how well he could have done in the Marines if his parents hadn’t always belittled his dreams. “Sorry, hon. No can do.”
“Oh, that’s too bad,” she said, laying the celery down. “Do you have another meeting?”
He shook his head. “No,” he said. “I’m going on an errand for the Lord.” He took her in his arms. “Denise, honey. You know how much I’d like to be here with you and the kids. But I was—called today, and I’ve just got to go. I’ve got to protect the sanctity of marriage. I’ve got to stand up and testify, even if they put me in jail for it.”
She looked up into his eyes. “We’ll be praying for you, Mitch. You tell us all about it when you come back—if you want to.”
He kissed her forehead and folded her in a quick, tight hug. “God bless you. I’ve gotta go.”

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Mitchell the Promise Keeper

2006-01-12T20:10:00.000-08:00

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

Mitchell Grout ended his conversation with his father abruptly as he pulled his Chevy under the porte-cochere of the mobile home his family occupied in the trailer park he managed. He strode in, slamming the car door behind him.
Mitchell’s wife, Denise, rose smilingly from the table where she had been homeschooling their eldest, Matthew, and ran to get the two heavy bags of groceries he had left out in the car. “How was the store, honey?” she said, giving him a peck on the cheek as she went out.
Mitchell trailed out to the kitchen with his bag and set it on the counter. Through the window over the sink he watched the white kids and black kids riding their bikes together under a golden sky that promised an unusually glorious sunset. He was of two minds about the scene. On the one hand, it showed America was the greatest country—God’s country, in fact, where white people and black people could live in perfect harmony, if it weren’t for the liberals (like his father) and their Affirmative Action crap. On the other hand, it showed he wasn’t wealthy enough to buy a home in a really good neighborhood, a fact his hypocrite father’s face never failed to register on those rare occasions when he visited and saw the black kids playing around.
Denise’s reentry distracted him. She was lovely, he thought, as he watched her hoist the two plastic bags onto the counter. No one would ever call her exactly a looker—she was a little too thin, perhaps—but he didn’t want some floozy mothering his children. He remembered making this point at his last Promise Keepers meeting. A man can’t lead without the right kind of follower.

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Apprehensions of Grout

2006-01-11T16:55:00.000-08:00

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

Gwen smiled, but still looked concerned. Then she shrugged. “Oh well. Probably nothing will come of it.” She hung the suit on the door and started to go into the bathroom. Then she came back. “Still, it couldn’t hurt to have your father put in a call to his father.” She started toward the door, but nearly collided with Bennett.
“Oh—ah—Gwen,” he said. “Just the person I was coming to see. I just had a call from Don Grout.”
“Oh?” Gwen gave a meaningful glance at Chloe, who pricked up her ears. “He said he didn’t want to worry us, but Mitchell called him up, apropos of nothing and was asking a lot of questions about Robert’s wedding—where, when, and so forth.”
Gwen blew out her cheeks, considering. “I guess it’s too late to prepare a PFLAG contingent.”
Bennett looked startled. “Gwen, dear, wouldn’t it be better to call as little attention to the proceedings as possible? Keep a low profile, I mean, so as not to spoil the occasion,” he added, seeing her look at him suspiciously. Of course he did mean the other things as well, that he was not allowed to think: he wished his son were not gay, saw no need to celebrate his gayness, and especially did not appreciate concerned friends and their semi-deranged offspring dragging the so-called celebration into any sort of spotlight.
But Gwen was too anxious to take further notice of his political incorrectness. They dressed in silence, except for the protestations that wafted down the hall as Chloe combed Lizzy’s hair in the guest bathroom.

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Fagomosexuality

2006-01-10T19:16:00.000-08:00

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

“He’s certainly devout,” Gwen said brightly, still putting a hostessy spin on Mitchell. She began to disentangle Bennett’s suit from its dry-cleaning wrappings.
“That’s what worries me,” Chloe said. “He asked me how Robert was, and before I realized what I was doing I had mentioned the wedding and said how happy we all were for him.”
Gwen straightened, looking concerned. “What did Mitchell say?”
“He looked strange and said, ‘That’s funny. I always thought Robert was a fagomosexual.’”
“A what?”
“That’s what he said. You know, switched to the ‘right’ word halfway through.”
Gwen nodded thoughtfully. Did you explain to him?”
“I didn’t know what else to do. I don’t think he would have believed Robert had seen the error of his sinful ways. So I just said, ‘Oh that’s all right. His fiancé’s a fagomosexual too,’ and lost him in the feminine hygiene aisle.”

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Mitchell Grout

2006-01-09T19:25:00.000-08:00

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

Most people who met him remembered Mitchell, the way they might remember a place where they had stepped in dog droppings.
Gwen put on her hostess voice, used for company and all-purpose defense against the unpleasant. “Of course. Your father and I had dinner with him and his parents just a couple of months ago. He was a classmate of Robert’s, you know.”
“Yes, I remember,” Chloe said. “He was always huddled up in the carrels in the library before tests, praying. Robert said with grades like his you’d think he’d turn atheist, but I always thought he was just doing it so someone would ask him what he was doing and he could tell everyone.”

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IV

2006-01-08T18:46:00.000-08:00

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

The next morning there was a brief run-through of the ceremony. Lizzy and Chloe were subdued by the preceding day’s traumas and appeased by the Stephen solution, especially after meeting the young man. Jack, whose jaw was already feeling better, had managed to catch Glenn before he checked out of his hotel and explain things, if not to his satisfaction, at least sufficiently to prevent his decampment. All went smoothly right through the sumptuous brunch, provided by Jack and Robert. Chloe was downright penitent, in fact, and not only volunteered to go to the grocery store that afternoon, but coaxed Lizzy to go with her, even though the little girl’s favorite TV show, Princess Power, was coming on.
When they returned, however, Chloe had worrying news. “Mom?” she asked, as Gwen was getting her suit out of the dry cleaning cellophane.
“Yes dear?” Gwen was anxious to put the past behind them.
“Do you remember Mitchell Grout?”

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Tapped Out

2006-01-07T15:27:00.000-08:00

This is post 45 of Section III. To begin at the beginning, go here. Section II begins here. Section III begins here

Back at home, they settled the dogs and gazed briefly at their incomprehensible descendants, curled together in Chloe’s old bedroom, then climbed into bed with pajamas on for form’s sake, even though Bennett believed they would soon come off. But Gwen still had one last concern to air.
“Ed?”
“Yes?” He felt the darkness and warmth settling over him and fought against them, placing a hand on Gwen’s still shapely leg beneath the blankets.
“You haven’t said much about tonight. Was it a nice party?”
Evasive maneuvers seemed in order. “Oh yes,” he said. “Quite a shindig.”
“That’s good. I’m happy for them.”
Danger averted. He resumed his tentative exploration of the leg.
“Ed?”
“Yes?” The exploration halted.
After a silence she continued. “I can’t believe it’s so hard to say this. But you know how when we first discussed your going to the party you mentioned something about your ‘untapped sexual potential’?”
Bennett recollected with effort. “Yes?”
“Do you think you might really have some?”
He laughed aloud.
“Shh, Ed. You’ll wake the kids,” she said, but she had her arms around him now, and his were around her.
“Trust me,” he said, looking down at her eyes, faintly visible in the light from outside filtering in through the sheers. “It’s tapped.” He kissed her deeply and gratefully.

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Gwen Approves

2006-01-06T15:52:00.000-08:00

This is post 44 of Section III. To begin at the beginning, go here. Section II begins here. Section III begins here

“Come on, now,” she said, but she was smiling. “Buckle your seatbelt.”
He re-buckled laboriously. “I can’t redeem the past for you, Gwen, but I did have a possibly productive discussion with Jack. He suggested sending Stephen over to help with Lizzy.”
She gave him a shining-eyed look that made him adjust his tie modestly. He could do with a few more of those looks, he felt. “Ed, that’s a terrific idea. I can’t believe it never occurred to me. Somebody with good values, old enough to direct her, but young enough to be ‘cool.’ Would he be interested, though?”
“Apparently he has been a big hit with dubiously raised step-siblings.”
“Sounds perfect. Ed, I can’t tell you what a load you’ve taken off my mind. We’ll introduce them tomorrow. Lizzy should be on her best behavior, and the sanctuary is still computer-free, so if we cross our fingers and bribe him heavily, this just might fly.”
They were quiet the rest of the way. Bennett basked in the unaccustomed waves of approval emanating from the driver’s seat.

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Politically Incorrect

2006-01-04T04:52:00.000-08:00

This is post 43 of Section III. To begin at the beginning, go here. Section II begins here. Section III begins here

She smiled. There was a pause. “Ed?”
“Yes?”
“Did we drive Robert to homosexuality?”
Bennett sighed and looked out the window at the dilapidated farms. It was a victory, but hollow, like most. “Do you remember what you said when I asked you that, oh, about ten years ago?”
She held up a hand. “I know, I know. I should be ridden out of PFLAG on a rail for even thinking such a question. It’s utterly bigoted and narrow-minded, not to mention self-defeating and negative parenting of the worst kind. But did we?”
They were on the highway now. Bennett leaned over and kissed her. “Careful,” he said. “Your human limitations are showing. You know I can’t resist them.”

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Revisionist Parenting

2006-01-03T06:18:00.000-08:00

This is post 42 of Section III. To begin at the beginning, go here. Section II begins here. Section III begins here

Bennett patted her knee. “You did the right thing.”
“Did I?”
“Sure. We just probably should have done it a long time ago, as you said.”
“Done what, exactly?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Encouraged autonomous psychic development.”

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Satanic Verses

2006-01-02T05:27:00.000-08:00

This is post 41 of Section III. To begin at the beginning, go here. Section II begins here. Section III begins here.

“Well I never suspected it, but according to Chloe, that book might as well be the Satanic Verses. She blamed it and us for every problem she’s ever had. She said we completely failed to understand the importance of socialization or multiple learning styles—What was that honking?”
Bennett had been clutching the door handle for some time. “Oh nothing. I think you ran a red light back there.” It seemed his ordeal was not over yet.
“I’m sorry, but she got me so worked up. Does she ever have that effect on you? Anyway, we, along with L. Frank Baum, have ruined her life by turning her into a geek. Oh—And we drove Robert to homosexuality. She actually said that.”
“And you said?”
“A lot of things I probably should have said a long time ago. I told her she wasn’t in Kansas any more, and that if she’d learned anything from that book she should know that no one was going to wave some magic wand and make her life perfect. I told her you and I gave our kids the finest education available, and if that made me the Wicked Witch of the West, then I happily accepted the title. I was just telling her that no grandchild of mine was going to end up an intellectually challenged, socially delayed, Ritalin-popping alternative learner, when Lizzy began to scream.”
Bennett nodded, remembering. “She has terrific breath control.”
Gwen hit the brake with unnecessary violence this time. “Fortunately, your call interrupted us, or I don’t know what would have happened.”

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Inappropriate Material

2005-12-25T10:22:00.000-08:00

This is post 40 of Section III. To begin at the beginning, go here. Section II begins here. Section III begins here.

“So I thought, her—father”—Gwen put an unpleasant emphasis on this word—“is in software, maybe this is some wonderful new educational stuff. She had it with her, so we went downstairs and put it on.”
“Let me guess,” Bennett said. “The witch turned out to be a nice person who happened to be a senior citizen and taught everyone a lesson about age-ism.”
Gwen laughed. “I think that would have been an improvement. This really wasn’t even a story at all, but just a video game. Like, you have to move to the right place to hear the evil stepmother planning to lose them. Then you have to find the right key, pick up the stones, et cetera. . . .
“Of course Lizzy was very good at it, and I’m afraid my attempts to wean her away were about as successful as yours. But the worst thing about it was Chloe’s attitude. She got very defensive, and said Lizzy just wasn’t ‘ready’ for the Brothers Grimm version. I must admit I lost my temper a little. I reminded her that not only did she love that story when she was three, she also had The Wizard of Oz memorized, word-perfect, when she was five.”
Bennett nodded his head fondly. “I remember,” he said. “She used to correct me if I slipped up when I was reading it aloud to her.”

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Gwen's Self Doubt

2005-12-24T11:38:00.000-08:00

This is post 39 of Section III. To begin at the beginning, go here. Section II begins here. Section III begins here.

Besides, there was the other point of tension. He cleared his throat. “Uh—Gwen, I’m sorry about Lizzy. You know I am.”
She held up a hand. “No, Ed. I’m the one who should be sorry. You were right about them. Maybe you didn’t go about it in the best way, but your ideas were sound. You know, about responsibility and all that.”
Bennett sat up a little straighter. Sound. It was a good, chest-thumping word. But what had brought about this correction in Gwen’s understanding? “Did she straighten up when I left?” he inquired.
Gwen tossed her head impatiently. “Hardly. I’ll tell you about it in a minute, but first let me ask you, was I a bad mother?”
Bennett had sufficient husbandly experience to answer without thinking. “Of course not. You were a wonderful mother. Believe me, anyone who can sit through two hours a day of beginning clarinet practice is a veritable saint. You couldn’t have done more for those kids.”
Gwen felt a little better. She certainly couldn’t say the same about Bennett’s level of involvement. But blame was beside the point now. She shook her head doubtfully. “We must have done something, or not done it. Do you know, I went up to read Lizzy a bedtime story, after she’d calmed down a bit, and she actually didn’t know any—or claimed not to? So I got out our old Grimm’s fairy tales that we used to read to Chloe, and I started reading ‘Hansel and Gretel.’ When I got to the part where Hansel drops the little stones, she interrupted and said it was boring to listen to, and she had it in video and in hypertext on CD-Rom.”
Bennett rolled his eyes in the darkness.

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End of a Long Evening

2005-12-22T17:28:00.000-08:00

This is post 38 of Section III. To begin at the beginning, go here. Section II begins here. Section III begins here.

Bennett climbed with relief into his wife’s little car. It had been a long evening. First the getting lost and wandering in dangerous parts of town; then the tire, and having to drive on it flat rather than risk death by pulling over and getting out. At the party, where he’d hoped for a quiet drink free from women, even if infested by the wrong sort of men, he’d instead been assailed by mindless blaring and offensive, possibly dangerous, contortions. Immediately after, his son had decided to exhibit masculinity for the first time, but chose as his target the first decent person he’d ever voluntarily associated with. And throughout that enormous Negro androgyne hovering over everything like some sort of sorrowing Buddha. Bennett wondered vaguely if Robert might be into some new recreational drugs.
Now, though, there was the new problem of diagnosing Gwen’s mood. That, at least, was quickly resolved. After berating him affectionately for not carrying a cell phone, she placed a hand on his knee. “Thank God you’re all right, Ed,” she said. “I was worried when you left, but I was proud, too.”
“Proud?” He wasn’t sure he wanted that. Changes disturbed him.
“Yes, she said. “I have to admit I underestimated you. You took a big step tonight toward accepting Robert. I’m sure he and Jack appreciate it.”
Bennett pondered. After the first irritated shock of recognition—only natural, given the misunderstanding that had occurred—perhaps Robert’s incredulity had been tinged with something approaching gratitude. Still, the less said about the regrettable evening the better.

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Sushi at Home

2005-12-21T05:39:00.000-08:00

This is post 37 of Section III. To begin at the beginning, go here. Section II begins here. Section III begins here.

Back at the apartment, Robert handed Jack a brandy. “You look very Dickensian,” he said. Propped up on pillows, his jaw bound up in a large handkerchief, Jack only rolled his eyes in reply and applied an ice pack.
Robert put on his silk dressing gown, climbed into bed with a smaller brandy, and snuggled. “If your brother doesn’t come back, who’ll be your best man? Second best after me, of course?”
“Hmm. ’Rank really knows how to perform gayness.”
“Oh stop.”
“I hear he was ’rying to show you some new moves.”
Robert sipped his drink. “Put it this way,” he said. “Why go out for sushi when I can wrap my own at home?”
Jack thought. “Variety?” he queried.
Robert set his empty glass on the bedside table. “Honey, underneath all that wasabe, Frank is nothing but a California roll. Everybody knows that.” He rolled lazily over and began to unbutton Jack’s pajamas.

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Aftermath*

2005-12-20T04:47:00.000-08:00

*This post has the f word in it.

This is post 36 of Section III. To begin at the beginning, go here. Section II begins here. Section III begins here.

In the car on the way home, Robert flexed his knuckles, feeling the unfamiliar ache. “I still can’t believe I did that. It just came over me, like an electric shock or something—God, I love this man!”
“You ha’ a funny way o’ showin’ it,” Jack said, trying to move his jaw as little as possible.
“Well, really, who would have thought my father would show up at one of our parties? It’s like a miracle or something—the mountain coming to Mohammed. It’s a sign.”
“Prolly your ’other made him,” Jack said.
“Yes, I admit Mother is an irresistible force, but until now, my father has been a steadfast immovable object.”
Jack smiled, then winced in pain.
“And even if I had been expecting him, there was no way I could have guessed he’d get a flat and end up sitting in the front seat with you; or that you would just happen to be reaching into the glove compartment for the flashlight right when I just happened to come barreling out full of misinformation—from your brother, I might add. What’s the matter with the car again?”
Jack made a dipping motion with his hand. “’Otholes. ’Ront end job. Axle,” he said, with difficulty. There was a pause, and then he said, “Where is ’Enn?”
Robert stopped a little abruptly at a red light. “Fuck me, I don’t know. He just stormed out. Frank was a little too much for him, I think.”
Jack punched the door. “’Astard,” he said.
“Frank or Glenn?”
“’Oth.”

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Robert Takes Action

2005-12-19T05:24:00.000-08:00

This is post 35 of Section III. To begin at the beginning, go here. Section II begins here. Section III begins here.

It was pouring rain outside, but Robert hardly felt it. He ran around to the narrow street beside the club where he had parked. No one was there, but he caught a glimpse of movement inside the Maxima. His stomach lurched. It was Jack, bending over the fat guy’s lap. Without thinking, he ran to the driver’s side door and wrenched it open. Then he hauled Jack out by the collar and slugged him.
There was a confused rush of sensations. Sheba’s strong arms were around him, and her deep voice was murmuring, “Now, Robbie, let’s don’t have any unpleasantness. You got too much class for that, sugar.” He could feel pain in his knuckles, and he saw Jack crumpled over the hood of the car, holding his jaw, but incredibly, he also heard his father’s voice: “Robert? What the hell?”

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Exit Robert

2005-12-18T06:04:00.000-08:00

This is post 34 of Section III. To begin at the beginning, go here. Section II begins here. Section III begins here.

There was a moment of silence, and then Frank burst out laughing. “What was that? What’s he talking about? He was the oldest, fattest guy out there! Talk about disgusting.”
“Shut up, Frank,” Robert said. He felt a little hysterical, as if he might burst out crying. He brushed past his colleague and made his way to Sheba, ignoring invitations to dance and drink from various well-wishers.
“Where’s Jack?” he demanded.
Sheba raised well-plucked brows. “He left with that Ben fellow a few minutes ago, baby,” she said, prepared to comfort the afflicted. But Robert had already rushed downstairs and out the door like the wind.

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Glenn Takes Action

2005-12-17T05:39:00.000-08:00

This is post 33 of Section III. To begin at the beginning, go here. Section II begins here. Section III begins here.

After dispatching Frank, Jack went to the bar to get much needed drinks for himself and Glenn. He had to go around the crowd on the way back to avoid collisions, and as he came close to the stairs he was startled to find Bennett there, staring at the scene in wide-eyed horror.
“Wait here,” Jack said, but he knew he could not make himself heard above the din. He tossed back his own drink, put his brother’s down hurriedly on the table, muttered a doubtless inaudible apology, and made his way back in time to rescue the old professor from Sheba’s well-intentioned ministrations. Steering the man by the elbow, Jack helped him descend the staircase and exit the club.
For some reason, watching his brother leave in that way infuriated Glenn more than anything else that night—more than being duped and frustrated by Frank, even. As he had always suspected, these people were animals, driven along by their basest, most perverse inclinations. His own brother was worse than any of them, because he was the biggest hypocrite. All his pretentious “refinement”—positively wallowing in culture. He remembered Jack sneering at his collection of John Grisham paperbacks, tolerating the country music station in the car. Then he practically ran out with that disgusting old queen as soon as he crooked his little finger. On the eve of his so-called commitment ceremony, no less. It nauseated Glenn, and he was by God going to do something about it.
Slamming down his half-drunk fourth whisky, he followed Frank to the men’s room, where that artist was complimenting Robert on his embouchure, and Robert was half-heartedly explaining that commitment was not just a straight thing.
Glenn took it all in at a glance. “You people make me sick,” he said. “Commitment means nothing to you. Look at you. Cavorting with some sick fucking drag queen. I came in here to beat the crap out of him, but you know what? I’m not even gonna get my hands that dirty. You disgust me. Oh, and in case you care, Robert, Jack just left with some fat old faggot.” He stared at them and shook his head. “Damn. My ex-wife had nothing on you guys.” Turning on his heel, he departed.

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In the Men's Room **

2005-12-15T06:00:00.000-08:00

**This post contains some fairly adult material.

This is post 32 of Section III. To begin at the beginning, go here. Section II begins here. Section III begins here.

Robert went to use the men’s room, less of an adventure at a private party, but one never knew. Nothing much was going on this time, however, and Robert was just zipping when Frank came in, pulling off the wig.
“Did you see?” he asked gleefully. “It was priceless. If your ball and chain in the mud hadn’t interrupted he would have fallen for it.” Frank batted his false eyelashes at Robert. “Thank goodness I ran into you, Glenn. Honestly, I had no idea all their friends except me were—“ he dropped to a whisper and raised penciled brows—“you know.”
Robert laughed. “Was Jack very angry?” he asked, a little nervously.
Frank rolled his eyes and shrugged as he shimmied out of his pantyhose. “You know what a hard time I have paying attention to Jack. Are you sure he’s not really a closeted straight?”
“Frank!”
“Oh help me with my zipper and don’t get your panties in a wad. I know he’s your betrothed and all that, but why don’t we forget about what’s-his-name for a few minutes? God knows it should be easy enough. Drop some X with me, and let’s have some fun for old times’ sake—what do you say?” Clad only in the zebra stripes, Frank stowed his costume in a gym bag. Then he straightened up and came very close, stroking Robert’s crotch. “Come on. Let me wet your reed for you,” he murmured in Robert’s ear.

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Glenn and Friend

2005-12-14T04:54:00.000-08:00

This is post 31 of Section III. To begin at the beginning, go here. Section II begins here. Section III begins here.

Looking around at the crowd during the lulls between songs, Robert felt a reassuring warmth. Although he delighted in all aspects of the club scene, it was not true, as Jack had implied, that he was promiscuous. It was just that these people were his family. He could relax among them without fear, and he made the most of it. He even relished the anxiety of Jack’s brother. “It’s good for them to feel the way we do,” he thought, looking over toward the little table in the shadows.
But Glenn was no longer alone. He was talking to a petite, attractive blonde, who looked somehow familiar. . . . “Oh my God,” Robert said. “You better rescue him, Jack.” The blonde was leaning toward Glenn intimately with a cigarette between her lips, evidently asking for a light.
“Who is that?” Jack asked, peering. He had not brought his glasses. “I didn’t invite her.”
“It’s Frank!” Robert said.
Jack compressed his lips. “Really,” he said grimly. “Enough is enough.”

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Dirty Dancing

2005-12-13T03:30:00.000-08:00

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

The room filled. The D. J. began cranking the techno, mixing and sampling masterfully. Jack settled his brother at a table where he could sit, gripping his straight scotch apprehensively, and after a flattering toast over the mike by Sheba, Robert and Jack danced a tango specially mixed for them under Sheba’s direction.
Then everyone joined in (except the brother). There were all kinds: ballroom dancers spinning their partners around with ease, dirty dancers sinuously seducing, hip, athletic dancers with all the latest video moves, those who had never gotten past the basic two-step, and those who thrashed about in a wild orgiastic frenzy. They danced in pairs and in big circles or clumps, and some even danced by themselves. Frank got up on the bar and did a striptease down to his semi-transparent zebra-striped underwear, which would have come off too, had he not been helped down by Sheba; and then a couple of other guys from the music scene and one butch lesbian Jack knew from the German Department also danced on the bar in their own provocative fashion.
Jack was a good dancer. As with everything else he was good at, he had studied it, but Robert didn’t mind. Jack was tastefully eclectic, matching his practiced styles to the music. Robert, who had an easy gift for dance that had always been a marvel in his under-coordinated family, sometimes copied Jack’s moves, but more often blended his own grace with his partner’s, letting Jack lead, but occasionally embellishing—turning a simple dip into a bit of dirty dancing, or spicing up the tango with a little old-fashioned disco hustle.

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Naughty Boy

2005-12-12T05:12:00.000-08:00

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

The bartender busied himself, and Jack turned to greet his brother, who was straight and clutched him as if he were a life preserver. At the same time Frank turned to Robert, whom he was still holding close, and murmured, “Scored some X. See me later. Men’s room.”
Robert reached for his drink. “Oh Frank. You’re such a naughty boy.”
Frank winked and allowed his hand to drop down to Robert’s ass. “You don’t know the half of it.” And with a light squeeze he went off to resume his self-appointed role of greeter and announcer.

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At the Grotto

2005-12-11T04:57:00.000-08:00

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

The Grotto was an old warehouse in the restored waterfront area of Endersburg. The second floor, with a deck over the river added on, could be rented out for parties. Across the water were smoke stacks, and upstream the eerie illumination of a steel mill cast a fiery glow on the water. Downstairs there were lights, shiny accessories, and big-screen TV’s, but the upstairs interior featured exposed pipes and a mural heavy on phallic rocks, with Sapphic mermaids and well-endowed sailors discovered (separately) in compromising positions.
Robert and Jack were welcomed in a mellifluous bass by Sheba (as in Queen of), an enormous, very dark-skinned African American who presided over the proceedings like a benevolent fairy godmother, but was more than capable of handling any “unpleasantness,” as “she” invariably called it. They had invited all of their gay friends, as well as, in what Jack insisted was a courtesy, Robert’s father and Jack’s brother. As Sheba bore away their coats and umbrella, they could see that a few of the guests were already there, although the D. J. was still setting up in the booth.
Frank in particular made a point of greeting them and drawing them into the center of the group. He was small and Puckish, with mischievous, catlike green eyes and a nearly pentagonal face surmounted by spiky ginger hair. He put one arm around Robert’s waist and the other around Jack’s and propelled them toward the bar, enveloping them, as he did so, in a cloud of “Moi” cologne. “Make way! Make way for the Queens of the Night!” he announced. “What’s your pleasure, gentlemen? Wait! Don’t tell me! One sloe gin fizz—with paper umbrella—and one very dry martini without, please.”

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Featuring Gay Versions of Kenneth Starr and James Dobson

2005-12-10T05:37:00.000-08:00

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

It was raining. Robert got raincoats and an umbrella out of the closet, clattering unnecessarily, Jack thought. “If you don’t have faith in action, what do you have faith in?” Robert asked as they left. “If anything.”
“Could I take the fifth on that?”
“Not unless you want to spend our honeymoon being investigated by the gay version of Kenneth Starr.”
“Oh well, then. Pretty traditional stuff, really. God, family, love—agape AND eros, before you jump all over me.”
They were silent as they rode down in the elevator with a straight couple whom they often saw around. The woman smiled timidly, the man pretended not to see them.
Once they were alone again, Robert said slowly, “So, what you’re telling me is, you’re not my father but some sort of gay James Dobson?”
Jack slammed the door of Robert’s little white Maxima. “Christ, Robert. What are you, central casting? You want to know what faith means to me? It means I don’t have to play to the critics. Including you.”

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Performing Gayneth

2005-12-09T05:47:00.000-08:00

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

Jack gazed at the full-length mirror reflecting Robert’s golden hair nestling against his chestnut. “Leaving aside the question of who’s the right kind, do you have faith in the arts, Rob?”
Robert shrugged the shoulder that wasn’t pressed against Jack’s body. “I decided a long time ago to do, not to think.”
Jack repressed the impulse to say, “Like your mother.” “That goes for everything?” he asked, rising, but holding Robert’s hand.
“Yes.”
“So you’d like me not just to be gay, but to perform my gayneth?” He executed a clumsy arabesque, duly reproduced by the mirror.
Robert refused to crack a smile. “Tonight, anyway, if it’s not too much to ask,” he said petulantly.

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Bennett's Good Points

2005-12-08T05:32:00.000-08:00

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

“Where is all this heterophobia coming from all of a sudden?” Jack faced Robert and put his hands on his shoulders.
Robert looked him in the eye. “I’m no heterophobe. But you’re right. I probably am afraid of being my parents. Who wouldn’t be? And you know why you’re not afraid?”
“They’re not my parents?”
Robert pushed him off and sat heavily on the bed. “You already are my father. Look at yourself if you don’t believe me. I’m marrying my father, God help me.” He sagged forwards, pulling his hands down his cheeks and creating a ghoulish effect.
Jack sat next to him and draped an arm over his shoulders. “Maybe we are a little alike, but is that so awful? He has his good points.”
“Name one.”
“Let’s see . . . ”
“Don’t take all night.”
“He likes the arts.”
“The established ones,” Robert said, grudgingly.
“He likes me.”
“Yes. You’re the first thing I’ve done in my whole life he’s approved of. I’m not sure it’s a point in your favor.”
“He didn’t approve of your landing Principal Clarinet in the symphony?”
“Not exactly. You see, according to him the clarinet had Pied-Pipered me away from the straight life. His attitude was, if I had to be a clarinetist I should be Principal Clarinet in a good orchestra, but if I really wanted to go places, law school was the ticket.”
“He wanted you to sell out? I don’t believe it.”
“Oh no—all good causes, all good causes. It’s tragic, really. He lost his faith in the arts. He still thinks they have something to say; it’s just that he doesn’t believe enough people of the right kind are listening.”

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The Gay Thing

2005-12-07T06:00:00.000-08:00

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

But when Robert emerged from the bathroom in a soft, loose, lavender silk shirt and artfully faded black jeans, he had been thinking.
“Damn it, Jack, ‘natty’ is not a compliment.”
“No?”
“No. Natty doesn’t do it.”
“It?”
“It. Us. The gay thing.”
“Back to that again, are we?”
“Yes we are. Don’t you remember when we planned this, Jack? Tonight was supposed to be for us. Tomorrow we play for the straights.”

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Conflict Renewed

2005-12-06T05:30:00.000-08:00

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

But after dinner conflict was renewed.
“So you’re wearing that?” Robert asked, playfully flipping up the rear flap of Jack’s sports jacket.
“Sorry. Leather g-string’s at the cleaner’s. Besides, I forgot to get my ass tattooed.”
Robert backed up to get a better look. “It’s all right,” he said, drumming his fingers meditatively against his lower lip. “Natty.”
“Glad you approve.”

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Prenuptial Jitters

2005-12-05T05:54:00.000-08:00

This is post 22 of Section III. To begin at the beginning, go here. Section II begins here. Section III begins here.

“Oh yeah,” Robert said. “You can dish, but can you swish?”
“That’s rather clever, enfant,” Jack said, pausing coffee cup in hand. “Your own?”
“No, Frank’s.”
“About what you’d expect from a piccolo player.”
“Hmm.” Robert sipped his latte.
“Anyway, this isn’t really about my insecurities; it’s about yours.”
“Come again, Herr Freud?”
“You fear—not commitment, maybe—but let’s call it domestic life. The quotidian ‘Whose turn is it to make dinner?’ and ‘How was your day, chéri?’ and ‘Guess who I saw at the health club?’ In a word, becoming your parents.”
“My parents wouldn’t know a health club if it bit them in the gluteus,” said Robert, reaching for the paper. Then he paused, reflectively. “Still, there may be something in what you say.” He looked up, putting his hand to his cheek and widening his eyes in a frightened manner. “Tell me, Doktor. Vat can I do about zees feelings?”
Jack looked at his watch. “Sorry—our time is up. But I sink you must never overcome your transference.”
They kissed briefly; then Jack went off to the library and Robert took out his clarinet.

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Trouble in Paradise*

2005-12-03T02:02:00.000-08:00

This is post 21 of Section III. To begin at the beginning, go here. Section II begins here. Section III begins here.

*This post contains foul language.

It had not been such a wonderful day chez Robert and Jack, either.
“I cannot believe you invited my father to the bachelor party,” Robert said at breakfast. “If I weren’t positive he’d never show, I’d call the whole thing off.”
“Which would be just fine with me,” Jack snapped. “I’ve never been one for the club scene.”
“Are you calling me a tramp?” Robert raised one eyebrow archly.
“If the mattress fits. . . . Pass the preserves, please.”
Robert shot the jar across the table. “You don’t have to come, you know. You could stay here—in the closet.”
“I can’t believe you’re saying that. I am so out. I belong to every gay organization there is.”
“That proves nothing. Anyone can write a check.”
“I never knew before that my sexual orientation was some sort of test. Tell me, Robert, what do I have to do to score true faggot status?”
“Stop using that word, for starters. You know I hate that word.”
“Ponce? Pansy? Pantywaist? Pouf? Queen? Queer—as a two-dollar bill? Ho-mo-sexual?”
Robert shook his head, but Jack went on, “Cock sucker? Fudge packer?”
“Stop it,” Robert said coldly. “You’re just proving my point. Dripping with self-hatred.”
“On the contrary, it’s you who dare not speak the name.”

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Sensitive Bennett

2005-12-02T05:45:00.000-08:00

This is post 20 of Section III. To begin at the beginning, go here. Section II begins here. Section III begins here.

All hope of turning swords into ploughshares seemed gone for the nonce. Bennett did not feel equal to the Austen volume, and did not immediately resume the comparison of Cincinnatus and Washington. Instead, he gazed at the window, where the deepening night mingled with the reflection of his study, seemingly warm and bright. His reverie was interrupted by Gwen. “Exactly what have you done now, Ed? Chloe’s up there sobbing hysterically, and Lizzy says she hates you and wants to go home. You know she’s supposed to be the ring bearer this weekend. Maybe I have to accept that you’re never going to get up out of your chair and fight against injustice, but I’m damned if I’ll let you perpetrate it in this house!”
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” Bennett snapped, and picked up his notes so violently that a few other items on the table, including a card with a picture of two deer being intimate, fluttered to the floor. Stiffly, he retrieved it as Gwen watched, making no move to assist.
“I’m talking about people in pain, Ed,” she said coldly. “People suffering, and all you can do is moon around in here, nattering on about some dead white European male who probably made his wife, children, and slaves equally unhappy.”
Bennett stood irresolutely, fingering the card. Then he straightened, and the gleam in his eye took Gwen aback as he brushed by her and started almost briskly up the stairs. “Ed—Ed—what are you doing? For God’s sake, don’t make things any worse.”
He leaned over the banister, waving the card at her. “I’m off to pamper my inner child, Gwen. And be a sensitive, caring dad to my queer son. I thought you’d approve.” He continued up the stairs, leaving her gaping.

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Bennett in the Dog House

2005-12-01T05:41:00.000-08:00

This is post 19 of Section III. To begin at the beginning, go here. Section II begins here. Section III begins here.

“Daddy, I think you owe us an apology.”
He slapped the book down on the little table and took off his glasses. “Ah hell, sweetheart. You know I’m sorry. Your mother said we ought to—spend some time with Lizzy, and I was only trying to—”
“Don’t swear in front of my daughter, and don’t you dare try to pin this on Mom.”
“I’m not,” he interrupted. “It’s just that she and I both happened to notice that Lizzy was spending an awful lot of time on that computer—”
“Oh, so now I’m a bad mother because I don’t hit my child over the head and drag her kicking and screaming all over town? Do you know that Lizzy has a lump on her head the size of a—well I can feel it, anyway. And even if I am a bad mom, it’s your fault, you—emotional avoidant!”
“You’re mean. You made Mommy cry,” Lizzy said, and then followed Chloe up to her room.

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Nonsense and Insensibility

2005-11-30T05:57:00.000-08:00

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

2005-11-29T05:47:00.000-08:00

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

2005-11-28T05:26:00.000-08:00

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.

Continue

Exit Bennett

2005-11-27T05:44:00.000-08:00

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

2005-11-26T05:37:00.000-08:00

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

2005-11-25T05:12:00.000-08:00

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.”

Continue

Gwen Takes Charge

2005-11-23T05:35:00.000-08:00

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?

2005-11-22T05:13:00.000-08:00

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

2005-11-21T04:57:00.000-08:00

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

2005-11-20T04:55:00.000-08:00

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

2005-11-19T05:44:00.000-08:00

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

2005-11-17T21:48:00.000-08:00

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

2005-11-16T04:03:00.000-08:00

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

2005-11-15T04:02:00.000-08:00

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.”

Continue

Chloe's Plea*

2005-11-14T05:22:00.000-08:00

*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

2005-11-12T05:10:00.000-08:00

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—”

Continue

Bennett Untapped

2005-11-11T05:10:00.000-08:00

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.”

Continue

III

2005-11-10T02:32:00.000-08:00

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.

Continue

Trust in the Lord

2005-11-09T06:17:00.000-08:00

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

2005-11-08T05:02:00.000-08:00

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

2005-11-07T04:03:00.000-08:00

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

2005-11-06T06:19:00.000-08:00

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*

2005-11-05T06:29:00.000-08:00

*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

2005-11-04T05:59:00.000-08:00

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*

2005-11-03T03:58:00.000-08:00

*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

2005-11-02T05:37:00.000-08:00

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***

2005-11-01T04:59:00.000-08:00

***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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Scary Costume***

2005-10-30T20:14:00.000-08:00

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

This is post 22 of Section II. To begin at the beginning, go here. Section II begins here

The panic was real now. Scenes from the tape raced through her head. “Gregory?” she said, in her real voice. “Gregory, I’m really scared.”
Gregory didn’t appear to have heard. Evil Redneck placed the muzzle of the gun against her chest just at the base of the V-neck opening of her nightgown. “Now, little lady, ain’t nothin’ to be scared of. You just do exactly as ole G. W. says, and then you won’t have nothin’ to cry about, see?” His free hand caressed her hair, her face, and then slid down, coming to rest over the small curve of her right breast.
Chloe nodded assent, her mouth dry, her body tensing away from him. Looking into his eyes, she could see behind the mask of Evil Redneck the eagerness, the hungry need for her to do this. He gave an almost imperceptible nod, and she hesitantly resumed her role.

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Evil Redneck

2005-10-29T16:32:00.000-07:00

This is post 21 of Section II. To begin at the beginning, go here. Section II begins here

Evil Redneck interrupted her thoughts. “Just shut up and git the hell over here,” he said, spitting over the side of the recliner. Without removing his hand from the waistband of his pants, he added, “And bring me a beer whal yur at it.”
Now Chloe had a decision to make. She could be “Surrendered Christian Wife,” who believed that if Jesus could just show her the way to make her husband happy he would stop making his bizarre sexual demands. Or she could be “City Slicker Woman,” who defied Evil wherever it reared its ugly red neck. Although Are You an Emotional Junky? offered no advice on this head, she remembered the tape she had found and reasoned that a show of resistance might enhance his masculine triumph. She drew herself up, every inch a feminist.
“Who are you?” she said severely. “Get the hell out of my house, or I’ll call the police.” The dialogue was always stock, at the beginning.
Gregory rose and dug deep to scratch his balls, while stretching his free arm out and giving a loud, exaggerated yawn. “Go ahead and call, then,” he said, with a nasty smile. Casually he hooked the phone up with his free hand, and she saw that he must have unplugged it before starting the game. He threw it at her, and she caught it, feeling almost as stunned as her character. She had forgotten her cell in the SUV, which was at the garage again. The cordless was somewhere in the house, unless he had hidden it.
“Th-the beer’s in the kitchen,” she fake-stammered, putting the phone down on the vanity. “If you’ll just let me get my robe . . . “
“Oh no you don’t, Missy,” he said, and without breaking character, he drew a gun from the back of his jeans and, pointing it at her, began to advance.

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Too much JERRY SPRINGER

2005-10-28T18:37:00.000-07:00

This is post 20 of Section II. To begin at the beginning, go here. Section II begins here

A few nights later, when Chloe was sitting at a little gold dressing table her grandmother had given her, brushing her long auburn hair, she suddenly caught Gregory’s eye in the mirror and smiled. He gave her an evil, gap-toothed grin.
Her heart raced with surprised anticipation. “Have we been watching too much Jerry Springer again?” she asked, teasingly. Unless she missed her guess, they were about to play one of Gregory’s latest role-playing games, “Evil Redneck.” If she hadn’t found that tape, it wouldn’t bother her. She even used to enjoy his inventiveness.

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More Games, Less Fun

2005-10-27T20:27:00.000-07:00

This is post 19 of Section II. To begin at the beginning, go here. Section II begins here.

Once more, as in the early months of their relationship, Chloe dedicated herself to his fulfillment, and now as then he enjoyed this intensively in brief spurts, but he also found reasons to be away. He was beginning to realize that Chloe, like her mother, was driven by something he couldn’t understand, some fierce, quixotic determination to rewrite reality and make it come out “right.” A teleological distortion typical of the modern West, he thought, one that no amount of Tantric sex, or yoga, or chant (Tibetan or Gregorian) seemed to eradicate. The trouble was, he didn’t wish to be revised. She should accept him. Accept life.
So when he was home and she was there he teased and coaxed and bullied her out of her mission, made her forget he was her project and made her be someone or something else—even if it was just dessert. He believed she was grateful for this. Anyone should be grateful to be untrammeled, in flux, striking out moment by moment for freedom.
And gradually, he flattered himself, he had gotten her to go further, take more risks, release herself. Sometimes his plans were quite elaborate—the time he had broken into the house, for instance. As soon as she saw him she recognized him, of course, but the fear and surprise made her wild afterwards, the way he liked them.
He could hardly imagine her reaction to the gun.

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