Idaho Code Page 17

  “Coming right up.”

  The eyelids lowered a fraction of an inch further. “So, Bil, what have you been up to? Just moved back here, when was it?”

  “End of May, and I’ve been up to nothing in particular, just going to school. How about you?”

  “I’m bored,” she said, taking a sip of her Scotch.

  “I’m sure. I think maybe my grandmother should write a new play.”

  Agnes laughed, a low, fruity sound. “She should, but my boredom is a bit more global in scope.” She leaned close and whispered into my ear, “You, on the other hand, seem to have lots of excitement on your hands.”

  I stepped back involuntarily. “I can handle it.”

  She laid her hand on my arm. “There now, it’s all right. I’m sympathetic to your cause.”

  Was I going to have to discuss my sexual orientation with the entire cast? “Thanks,” I said quickly. “I’ve got to go.”

  She laughed. “Of course. Don’t keep Sylvie waiting.”

  It was clear from her tone that while Kate might not know about Sylvie, Agnes certainly did. The resemblance between the sisters, between Sylvie and Helen, and all of them to one another was beginning to disturb me. There were distinct differences—Agnes was smooth and sleek, while Kate was more rough and ready—and yet having them all in the same room together was like watching a cloning experiment gone awry. I realized with a shock that I just wasn’t used to families that looked alike. In an adoptive family, the resemblances are all nurtured.

  I made my way back to Tipper and Sylvie.

  “I need to drop these off before I can get your food,” I said, handing them their drinks.

  Sylvie grimaced. “I’m sorry, Bil. You don’t have to wait on me. I can get my own food.”

  “Nonsense,” I replied. “It’s no trouble at all.”

  Tipper smiled approvingly, and I felt the blush rising in my cheeks. “Here,” I thrust my orange juice at him, “hold this for me.”

  I beat a hasty retreat and collected Sylvie’s food. When I got back, Kate and Fairfax had joined our party.

  “Yes,” Fairfax said, “definitely a good crowd. I’m certainly pleased to see the mayor in attendance.”

  “I’m sure you are,” Kate replied, nodding towards the mayor. “I’m surprised you’re not over there talking to her. You don’t usually pass up that kind of chance.”

  “Here’s your food,” I whispered to Sylvie. “Have I missed anything?”

  “Listen and learn,” she whispered back.

  “She seems to be busy with Millicent,” Fairfax observed. “She certainly knows how to work a room. Good politician.”

  “You used to be,” Kate replied. “I’m surprised you’re not mayor yourself. Politics used to interest you quite a bit, as I recall.”

  “That was a long time ago. Longer than I care to remember.”

  Kate laughed harshly. “Funny, I thought your memory stretched back to infinity.”

  I tugged at Sylvie’s sleeve, and she whispered, “They hate each other. I don’t know why.”

  “Your uncle’s an ass?” I suggested.

  “It’s more than that. It’s . . .”

  “Really,” Fairfax was saying, “I don’t think this is the place.”

  Kate sighed and looked down at the cup in her hand, idly swirling the contents around. I took a deep sip of my orange juice. “So,” she said, looking up at him suddenly, “have the police questioned you yet?”

  I choked on my juice. Fairfax looked startled, though he didn’t seem nearly as surprised as Sylvie looked and I felt. The orange juice made its way up my nose and into my sinuses. I sputtered, and Tipper began slapping me on the back. I recovered sufficiently to stand up. Sylvie was watching Fairfax intently.

  “Have they questioned you?” Sylvie asked.

  Fairfax looked at her. Kate was no longer paying attention. She was staring at something over his shoulder, as if she were uninterested in his answer. He stammered a bit before he said, “Why should they?”

  Kate turned back to him. “Why not? You were saying just this afternoon how well you knew my late husband. I thought maybe he visited you before his arrest.”

  I glanced over at Tipper to see if he was following all of this. He had his back to us and was whispering excitedly to one of the Lesbian Avengers, whom I hadn’t noticed before. Now, as I looked around the room, I saw Lesbian Avengers stationed against all four walls. A. J. was in the corner next to my mother, who was talking to Granny and gesturing wildly.

  I tried to get Emma’s attention. She was so intent on my grandmother that she didn’t see me. A. J., however, winked and mouthed, “Meet me outside.” I shook my head no.

  I tugged at Sylvie’s sleeve. “Something’s up,” I whispered. “I don’t like this.”

  She nodded absentmindedly. Her attention was still fixed on Fairfax and her mother.

  Fairfax put his fist to his lips and cleared his throat. “No,” he said, “no, they haven’t. That was all such a long time ago . . .”

  “It seems like only yesterday,” Kate said flatly. “I have a long memory.”

  Sylvie grasped my hand, lacing her fingers with mine. We all waited in silence for Fairfax to respond, the conversations around us fading to background noise as we concentrated our attention. As he opened his mouth to speak, a horribly familiar shriek came winging through the air.

  “For God’s sake, of course I know she’s a lesbian. She’s my daughter!”

  As if on cue, the Lesbian Avengers pulled long torches from behind their backs and set them alight.

  “The Lesbian Avengers eat fire!” they cried, shoving the torches down their throats.

  Next to the drinks table, Granny, Helen, and my mother were posed like three monkeys. Granny was in the middle, leaning backwards with her hands over her eyes. Helen had clapped her hands over her ears, her mouth frozen open in mid-gasp, and my mother stood to one side, gazing in wonder at the Lesbian Avengers. She was shaking from head to toe with laughter.

  Tipper was the first to break the silence.

  “Now that’s what I call theater,” he cried, clapping enthusiastically.

  Chapter 16

  Granny mouthed something that looked suspiciously like “I could just die” and fled the room. Helen made eye contact with her father, and he took his cue to bounce over to her side. He was soon patting her on the back and plying her with drink.

  Their torches extinguished, the Lesbian Avengers gathered in the far corner and marched out of the room. I ignored A. J.’s wave, and she left with the others. Kate and Sylvie looked down at their shoes. I prayed for a natural disaster.

  Instead, I was swept up by Captain Schwartz.

  “Come on, Bil,” she said, firmly wrapping her arm around my shoulders. She nodded crisply to Kate and Sylvie. “Excuse us, ladies, we need some fresh air.” Before I knew it, we were outside, and Captain Schwartz was lighting up a thin, brown cigar.

  She leaned against the back wall of the stage, one booted foot resting against the top of a bicycle rail. When she finished her cigar, she ground it out beneath her heel. She seemed to be waiting for me to speak first, so I said, “Thanks, Captain.”

  She brushed this off. “It was nothing. Tipper should have helped you, but I’m afraid he was preoccupied by the floor show.”

  “You don’t approve of the Lesbian Avengers?”

  “I don’t,” she replied, shaking her head, “but what do I know? I’m an old Southern lady. Where I come from, you don’t crash parties, not even to make political statements. By my reckoning, that will have lost us more friends than it gained.”

  “Conservative streak a mile wide,” said a voice behind her. Tipper stepped out of the shadows, followed closely by Sylvie. “Pay no attention to Rush Limbaugh there, pretending to be a lesbian.”

  She laughed. “I’m not that bad.”

  “Near enough as makes no difference.” He paused next to the Captain, sniffing the air suspiciously. “Though
I hope you haven’t been out here puffing on a cheap cheroot, I’ll do myself a favor and not ask. You promised you’d give them up.”

  The Captain shrugged, and Tipper shook his head in disgust. Sylvie came and stood close to me, and I smiled to let her know that I was fine.

  “Heard any good jokes lately?” I asked.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “If it’s any consolation, I don’t think you’re the Pee Wee Herman of Cowslip.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Tipper cut in, “but I do think that three outings in less than twenty-four hours is some sort of record. Do you want to come home with us? You could stay for a few days, give things time to settle down.”

  “You mean give myself time to settle down.”

  “That too,” he agreed. “Matricide is a crime, whatever the circumstances. Isn’t that right, Mama?”

  The Captain said very seriously, “You’re always welcome at our house, Bil. You’re family.”

  Sylvie had moved close enough almost to touch. The cast party was beginning to break up, and a few people were staggering out of the back door. Helen was one of them. She gave us a brief glance and walked on.

  “Thank you,” I said, “but I believe I’ll go home. I’m sure Emma is sorry.” In fact, I was sure she wasn’t. I planned to go to work with a sledgehammer until she was. “Besides, I actually have some studying to do. I have classes tomorrow, and considering my track record over the last couple of weeks, I think I should not only attend but try paying attention.”

  The Captain and Tipper excused themselves discreetly. When they were gone, Sylvie put her hands on my shoulders.

  “You’ll be all right, won’t you?”

  “It’s not the end of the world. I’ll be fine.”

  She gave me a long, measuring look. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll be up late tonight studying for a botany test tomorrow. You can call me if you want to.”

  “Botany,” I said musingly.

  “Yes, botany.”

  “And drama.”

  “Yes, botany and drama. They go together like fish and bicycles.”

  “I suppose you wanted to keep your options open?”

  She laughed. “Why not? I always liked acting and set design, but I never kidded myself about making a living as an actor. I’m naturally pragmatic. I chose botany and graduate school in Cowslip over waiting tables in Los Angeles, waiting for my big break. What about you? What do you do with English and psychology?”

  “Analyze your family,” I replied, “and then write a book about them. Consider the case of B, small-town lesbian . . .”

  “Make it a screenplay,” she laughed, “and I’ll play you.”

  “Typical Hollywood casting. Up on the big screen, I suddenly become a beautiful blond.”

  Her hands had been moving over my shoulders. Now they stopped and grasped my upper arms. I waited for a moment, daring to hope. Then I realized that she was gripping me like a coach grips a player.

  “You’re beautiful,” she said simply.

  I wanted to curl up and die. She was so earnest, as if I looked like someone who needed to be bucked up on this point. I remembered Tipper’s plan to clean me up and take me out shopping, and I felt queasy. Then she smiled and took that one, critical step closer. People were continuing to come out of the theater. I didn’t care. She wrapped her arms around my neck and closed her eyes. I leaned towards her.

  “Bil!”

  My mother’s voice rang out like the shot heard round the world, and Sylvie and I sprang apart as if an electric fence had dropped down between us. “Bil! Can you give me a jump-start? I left my headlights on, and the car’s deader than a doornail.”

  I watched Sylvie walk off into the darkness and turned to face my mother. She was staring at me as if we were the last two passengers on the Marie Celeste.

  “Well?” I said at last.

  “Well what?”

  “Even you cannot possibly be that dense.”

  “Bil,” Emma purred, “I know you’re mad, but I was provoked. You know how your grandmother is—she’s more than flesh and blood can stand.”

  “Is that the best you can do?”

  “I am sorry,” she said, with almost convincing sincerity. Then, as I felt my resolve slipping, she made a fatal mistake. “I can’t believe you’re holding a grudge.”

  She could rage like a hurricane now, I’d gotten the furniture up off the floor and my windows were taped shut. “You’re not sorry, Emma, you just want off the hook. Well, I’m not going to let you off. And you can wipe that ridiculous pout off your face because I’m not fooled.”

  This made her pout all the more.

  “Where did you park your car?” I sighed.

  “Out past Traveler’s Rest, hell and gone from here.”

  The battery was a lost cause. I spent half an hour trying to jump-start it, but the car just made a sick, grinding sound and then conked out.

  “She’s given up the ghost,” I said. “You’ll have to ride home with me.”

  “But . . .”

  “But nothing,” I interrupted. “No one is going to steal that hunk of shit. You can come back tomorrow with Hugh. He may be able to figure something out.”

  She hemmed and hawed until I pointed out that I would be more than happy to abandon her at Traveler’s Rest. We said very little on the drive home. I didn’t particularly feel like talking, and Emma was maintaining an injured silence. One of my mother’s worst characteristics is that she’s incapable of keeping a feeling all to herself. Through some bizarre reverse empathy, she makes me feel it too. By the time I pulled into the driveway, I almost felt guilty for being annoyed with her.

  “Just once,” I said, switching off the ignition, “I’d like to have feelings of my own.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’d like to get good and pissed at you and not feel bad about it. You deserve my anger. You deserve to have me hold a grudge.”

  “And I deserve to be told the truth firsthand,” she replied. “Not by your father and certainly not by your grandmother. You could have confided in me at any time, Bil. Have I ever given you any cause to think I wouldn’t be happy that you’re a lesbian?”

  She was out the door before I could answer. I considered arguing with her, trying to explain how I felt. I also considered chasing her down and telling her that she wasn’t the fucking pivot point of creation. She stopped about ten feet in front of me to shake a rock out of her shoe, and I had a vision, brief but satisfying, of running her down in the driveway. Too bad I’d switched off the engine.

  My sisters’ cars were all parked in the driveway. It was an old pattern—they had bagged out of going to the play, and they wanted to stay in Emma’s good graces. They were here to bow and scrape until she forgave them. I felt sick.

  They were all seated in their accustomed places. Ruth and Sarah were on the sofa, Hugh was in Archie, and Naomi was in Edith. The only surprise was Sam, who came walking in from the kitchen with a glass of milk in his hand.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I live here,” he replied, puzzled.

  “Since when? You’ve spent the entire week with . . .”

  “That slut,” Emma interrupted.

  Sam glared at her. My sisters were shifting about nervously, and I wondered if Hugh had told them. It didn’t seem likely. They were probably just antsy waiting for the Sam and Emma fight to begin. If that happened, my moment would be lost. My mother folded her arms across her chest and opened her mouth.

  “Hugh,” I said quickly, “would you please turn off the TV? I’ve got something to say, and I’d like everyone to hear it all at once.”

  “But I’m watching that!” Sam objected.

  “You can watch Bugs Bunny some other time, you selfish little fucker. For now, you can just sit down and shut up.”

  He sat down. As Emma stepped forward to sit down beside him, I grabbed her firmly by the elbow.

  “No, ma’am,” I said. “You si
t between Ruth and Sarah. This is not going to be the Sam and Emma show, not tonight.”

  Emma cast a pitiful glance at Hugh, who ignored her, and did as she was told. Ruth and Sarah sat forward on the sofa with visible interest.

  I cleared my throat and began speaking. I was surprised to hear my own voice. It was clear and confident, not unlike Captain Schwartz’s.

  “I want you to hear this from me, and I want you to know that it’s something I’m happy to tell you. It’s something I’m happy about. I’m a lesbian. I love women. A lot.” I wasn’t sure how to finish, so I just said, “Thank you,” and leaned back against the front door.

  I surveyed their faces. Ruth was blinking slowly and thoughtfully, as if she were having trouble processing the information. Sarah was smiling, and when I looked at her, she winked at me. Naomi’s mouth was hanging open. I wish I’d had a camera to capture that expression for the family Christmas cards. Sam was clearly puzzled. Lesbian wasn’t a part of his daily vocabulary.

  My mother sat quietly, looking down at her lap. Hugh, however, was grinning broadly. He stood up, tapped out his ever-present pipe, and then crossed the room and shook my hand.

  “Well done,” he said warmly, and then in a deeper, quieter voice, “Good for you, Bil.”

  Then he turned to the rest of the room and said, “Who would like a cup of coffee? I feel like making a fresh pot. How about you, honey?”

  I nodded, though the last thing I need was a jolt of caffeine.

  “I’d like coffee,” Ruth said.

  “Me, too,” Sarah chimed in.

  I crossed the room and sat down in Hugh’s chair.

  “Jesus Christ, Naomi. Close your mouth, will you?” She closed her mouth.

  “So,” said Emma, looking up.

  “You just watch yourself,” I snapped, pointing at her. “I’m not through with you.” Really, though, I was through. I wanted to bask in the aftermath of disclosure and savor my new freedom. It felt good.

  “Go ahead,” I said, gesturing to the room at large. “The rest of you have permission to talk.”

  Sarah spoke first. “Well, like Dad, I say good for you, Bil. I just have one question—why doesn’t Emma get to talk?”