Chapter Twenty-Four. There was entirely too much change for Chase

There was entirely too much change for Chase. First, there was Nora and Eliza and now Lacey. It was like she was in the fun house and everyone, once familiar, had gone weird.

"I just don't understand why you're not more militant," Lacey accused her.

"I don't know what you mean," Chase said.

She and Lacey were having coffee at Starbucks. Chase had an appointment with Dr. Robicheck later that day.

"Yes, you do." Lacey slurped her latte.

Chase wasn't ready for this kind of discussion. In the back of her mind, squarely filed under things to be fearful of, was gay parenting—specifically rights and how Bud would fit into a world where most kids had a mom and a dad. It was going to be awkward and she didn't like it.

Lacey stared at Chase. Before she was a militant lesbian, Lacey had always been distracted by scoping the crowd, thus Chase was free from scrutiny. She had found that most restful, but now Lacey was focused and seemingly always asking questions about being gay.

"You know, there are whole days when I don't have a lesbian thought. It's quite refreshing to be liberated from the apron strings of my vagina," Chase replied. This would shut Lacey up.

Lacey's eyes grew wide and she positively gaped. Chase knew she had the advantage. A lesbian couple walked by. The one with the buzz cut took an appraising look at Chase. Her girlfriend with the curled back hair doused heavily with hair spray grabbed her girlfriend's hand in a proprietary manner.

Lacey watched them closely as they walked from the door to the counter. "Is there a chart?"

"Of what?"

"Lesbian hairstyles," Lacey replied.

"I don't think so. Why?" This was definitely a curve ball, Chase thought. She'd been using a lot of baseball lingo since her foray into professional sports.

"I heard there are seven. I want to know what they are."

"Why? Do you want One?" Chase asked, studying Lacey's well-coiffed hair.

"I want to be close to my people." Lacey finished her latte and wiped her mouth.

"We need to go to the bookstore," Chase said.

"To find my people?"

"No, to get a book. We might see some hairstyles, though."

"I'm in," Lacey said, hopping up.

They strolled by the lesbian couple with the two of seven lesbian hairstyles. Lacey apparently couldn't restrain herself. She stopped. "I just love your hair. I was wondering where you get it cut."

Chase was mortified. The one with the flattop, smiled. "New to the fold?" she asked Chase.

Chase nodded. "We need to come up with a handbook."

"I wish," Lacey said petulantly.

"We get it cut at Supercuts," the woman replied, her girlfriend eyeing Chase and Lacey suspiciously.

"Thank you," Lacey said. She gave Chase her I-told-you-so look.

"Whatever," Chase responded as they left. When they got in the car, Chase glanced at Lacey. She did look different—more sure of herself. Still, there were hurdles. "Have you told your parents?"

Lacey turned on Cutler and toward San Mateo. Chase hated this intersection. It was the most accident prone in the entire city.

Lacey breezed through it. "No, but I told my accountant. He said that's great. He won't have to worry about a prenup."

"Why'd you tell him?"

"Because he's a bigger part of my life than my parents. Besides, I don't think my parents would care and it doesn't matter if they do. It's a little late to impose any sort of moral parenting on me now."

"That's true. Where is Jasmine living?"

"At her condo. She's thrown him out."

"Good," Chase said.

Lacey pulled into the Uptown District. "Have you been here yet?"

"No."

"It's fabulous. It's like real big city stuff—a Pottery Barn and a Williams-Sonoma." Lacey pointed as they looked for a parking spot.

Chase noticed the modern architecture, the chrome and bright colors of purples, reds and oranges. It was like a PeeWee Herman mall. Lacey pulled into a spot.

"So Jasmine and you are both serious about this relationship?"

Lacey put the car in park and looked at her. "Of course. I love Jasmine and I intend to spend my life with her."

Chase was taken aback. "Don't you think you're moving a little fast?"

"Like you have room to talk. Who went home with Gitana

one night and never left? What was it, a four-hour courtship?"

She had a point. Chase would talk to Jasmine—tell her if she hurt Lacey she'd kill her. That might be a little extreme. Maim, perhaps. "That's different."

"How?" Lacey pouted.

"We were already gay."

"What? So I'm not gay enough to have a partner," Lacey said.

Lacey looked really pissed off. This alarmed Chase. "No, I didn't mean it that way. You're my best friend and I love you. I don't want you to get hurt."

Lacey stared at her. She gave her a big hug. "You're such a better person now. I love the new you. Come on, let's go get your book."

Chase was startled. They got out of the car. Lacey linked her arm in Chase's. She tried not to freak out.

"What book are you getting?" Lacey said as they walked toward the bookstore.

"Heather has Two Mommies." She didn't look at her.

"Aha! You are worried."

"Maybe just a little," Chase admitted.

Lacey opened the door of Borders for Chase who smugly thought, we know who favors the trousers. Lacey said, "I think we should start a whole new method of total confidence—of utterly confiding in each other as an embracing of our gayness."

"Have you been to meditation class again?" Chase asked.

"Yes, why?"

"It's your good vibes-speak," Chase replied, eyeing the aisle placards for the right section.

"No, I mean it," Lacey said.

"All right. No more secrets, but it has to be a gradual progression. This new life of mine is getting a bit overwhelming." Chase headed toward the gay and lesbian section.

"I can accept that. We'll nurture each other."

Chase automatically cringed at the word "nurture."

Lacey noticed. "Say it."

"Say what?" Chase scoured the lesbian section.

"Nurture," Lacey said. She stood looking at the "B" section. She counted. "They have ten of your books. I hadn't realized you had so many." She picked one up off the shelf and studied the cover. It was a half-naked woman walking through a cornfield.

"All those autographed copies I gave you, you never read one of them." Chase found the book and snatched it from the shelf. There was only one copy and she needed it. She felt like one of those ladies at the sale table finding the only jewel in a stack of unwanted cast-offs.

Lacey defended herself. "I wasn't a lesbian then. I'm going to read every last one of them."

This gave Chase an uneasy feeling. "You don't have to." She didn't like people she knew reading her stuff—other than the writers group, but they were looking at craft not for stolen details whittled from her friends' and acquaintances' lives. She was a spy and a thief who did not wish to be revealed.

"I want to." Lacey scooped up all ten books.

"But you already have copies."

"Royalties, dummy," Lacey said.

"You shouldn't do that."

"I love you and now I can appreciate all your hard work." She kissed Chase on the cheek.

"You're really freaking me out," Chase told her.

"I know and I like it."

Chase stood in Dr. Robicheck's office. She was ten minutes late. Lacey had dropped her off—they hadn't had time to retrieve Chase's car from Starbucks. Lacey would pick her up after her appointment and take her back to her car.

"Was there a lot of roadkill?" Dr. Robicheck said, picking up her yellow legal pad and crossing her legs.

"No, I was in town actually. I lost track of time while I was at the bookstore." Chase sat down in her usual spot on the soft brown leather couch. Today Dr. Robicheck was wearing a red

business suit with a cream blouse. She resembled a raspberry swirl.

"Doing a book signing?" Dr. Robicheck raised her left eyebrow as if expressing her interest by using this gesture.

"Oh no, I never do those."

Chase noticed the cobalt blue glass vase filled with sunflowers. Her wildflower garden, which included sunflowers, was going to seed. These somewhat unnaturally perfect sunflowers must be from a florist.

"Going out tonight?" Chase said, using her interrogation technique of startle and sneak that she'd learned from her mystery writing.

Dr. Robicheck stared at her. "That's a little personal, don't you think?"

"You ask me personal questions all the time." Chase shifted on the couch and tried to get comfortable.

"But you're the patient."

"And you're the doctor. Where does it say that I can't ask a personal question?"

Dr. Robicheck furrowed her brow. She wasn't used to being cornered, Chase thought. She told the doctor, "I know all about me and frankly I'm bored with it. I think I'm doing much better, but I still have to come here so I thought we could talk about you. I know nothing about your life and right now I think you're in love—the new kind, not the repackaged, rekindled kind."

Dr. Robicheck looked completely taken aback. Chase wondered if she'd get thrown out. Can one get thrown out of therapy? Did a therapy bouncer come and escort you away? What about the Hippocratic Oath? Surely that stood for something.

Then Dr. Robicheck smiled. "I suppose you're right. I am a perfect stranger to you."

Sensing her advantage, Chase said, "So are you in love?" She suppressed an urge to get out her mechanical pencil and her notebook. She crossed her legs and looked intuitive or what she thought might pass for intuitive. She wondered if they might

switch chairs. "You know what would make this complete?"

Dr. Robicheck raised an eyebrow. "No, what?"

"If we switch places."

"Excuse me?"

Chase stared at her. Maybe that's where she got her own annoying habit. "My mother told me that using the phrase, 'excuse me' was a cop-out."

"How do you figure?"

Chase got up. She patted the couch. Her escapades with Delaney, her mystery novel's detective, had taught her that you had to force the issue. She had sufficiently distracted her subject—now it was time get the doctor to do her bidding.

"Because, the phrase 'excuse me' should be used as a way to get past someone, say on a busy train or bus, or trying to get a frozen pizza out of the cooler at the grocery store when some dumb fuck is standing in the way oblivious to your needs." She was now standing beside Dr. Robicheck's rolling office chair. "Up, Up."

The doctor appeared so frazzled by Chase's diatribe that she actually did it. Chase continued. 'Excuse me' is a prelude to asking a stranger a question or if you're slightly deaf and didn't hear what the other person said. It is not to be used as a tactic for avoiding a question by pretending you don't understand what the other person was saying." She whirled around in the black leather chair with its ergonomic side panels and finished, "When you did understand what the other person said."

Dr. Robicheck glanced at Chase with the look people gave her when she'd completely bamboozled them. "Are you taking your medication?" she asked.

"Yes. Now, let's talk about this love affair. Were you married before?"

"I don't think I like this."

Chase noted that the doctor's calm calculating demeanor had rapidly dissipated.

"I hope he's not looking for a sugar-momma. You've got to watch people like that. First your pants, then your wallet."

Dr. Robicheck stared at Chase like she was speaking a foreign language.

Chase rephrased. "Meaning that he is interested in seducing you and then spending your capital instead of his own if he has any."

"It's not like that, I assure you."

"I'm just watching out for you." Chase pushed up and down on the chair lever adjusting the height for the hell of it.

"I appreciate your concern." Dr. Robicheck squirmed on the couch like she was trying to get comfortable.

Chase looked up at the clock "Oops, time's up." She got up. "One more question, are you divorced?"

"Yes. Why do you ask?"

"Because this relationship scares you. Just remember good love is redemptive. Until next time then."

Later that evening Chase was making a spinach and feta quesadilla in her new bright red quesadilla maker from Bed Bath and Beyond that she'd purchased after her appointment with Dr. Robicheck. She'd taken a sudden interest in kitchen gadgets as if the clutches of domesticity had caught her haunches and she'd rolled over and was letting her belly be stroked. She relayed the details of her exchange with Dr. Robicheck to Gitana who was setting the table.

"You'll probably find yourself in a case study in one of those shrink journals," Gitana commented.

"Yeah, with a tide like Role Reversal teaches Empathy—a Theory of Sharing."

Gitana laughed. "I think it was brilliant. It makes people grow. You've grown a lot."

Chase looked up from chopping olives with a new stainless steel meat cleaver. "Really?"

"Really. Dinner smells fabulous. Your cooking skills have improved as well."

Chase slipped Annie a piece of feta which the dog adored. Annie must have been a Greek sheep herder in a previous life. "I hope so."

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