Read Online In the Unlikely Event... by Saxon Bennett - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Saxon Bennett
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Gloria said.
“How come you let Gloria call you ‘kid’ and no one else?” Chase inquired as they lifted her chair.
“Because when Gloria says it, I view it as a term of endearment. When others say it, I find it derogatory,” Bud said.
“Oh,” Chase said. Perhaps it was like when straight people used the word “dyke,” a word which was acceptable for a lesbian to use but was derogatory when used by others.
“Where is Isabel?” Gitana asked.
“She’s on a book-buying trip in Denver—Lord knows you can’t get shit here,” Chase said, as they carried her along like some Indian—the red-dot-on-the-forehead kind—in a litter. At least she felt no guilt for her portage, not thinking it an entitlement as it had been in times of old. How could one class of human being do that to another?
They set her down among the carrels. Gloria and Bud surveyed the library chair. Bud tapped at a chair rail with the saw blade. It didn’t sound hollow.
“What do you think?” Gloria asked Bud.
Chase wasn’t certain whether Gloria really needed Bud’s input or was just being polite. But why would she feel the need to be polite? Bud was proficient at discerning patronization. However, Chase ruminated, no one here, barring Donna who’d been unsuccessful, had ever attempted the removal of handcuffs.
“I think we’re going to have to make two cuts, above and below the cuff and release it that way with her hand still cuffed and then deal with getting it off her wrist later,” Bud said.
“But what if you slip and cut her hand off?” Gitana said.
“We’ll be careful,” Gloria said.
“Are you partial to that hand?” Chase said, wiggling her fingers suggestively.
Gitana smiled. “Well, yes.”
“I mean, I could probably live without it,” Chase teased.
“This is not the time to get flirty, you two,” Donna said, giving them disapproving looks. “We need to get her free before the Pink Mafia arrives and we all end up being handcuffed to library chairs. This is the Republik of Lesbekistan.”
“Don’t remind me—the country where anything goes,” Chase said.
“But how are we going to get her hand out of the cuff?” Gitana said.
“Once we remove it from the chair, Chase can go on a hunger strike until her hand shrinks enough to slip out,” Gloria said.
Chase looked alarmed.
“I’m kidding,” Gloria said. “We’ll figure something out.” She handed Bud a pair of safety glasses and put on her own. “I’ll need you to supervise and tap my forearm as the signal that I am getting too close to her hand. I’d hate to be responsible for adversely affecting her career.” She glanced over at Gitana.
“She’s right-handed and that’s her left,” Bud pointed out.
“I meant as a lesbian,” Gloria said.
“Oh.”
Chase wondered if Bud used “oh” in the sense she did—a monosyllabic way of acknowledging that something had been said, but that one was unable to come up with an acceptable response to an awkward situation.
Gloria turned the reciprocating saw on, and Chase watched as Gitana winced and Donna bit her lip. John Irving’s book The Fourth Hand came to mind. In the novel, the loss of the hand served as a metaphor as well as a prop. What would the metaphor in her case be? Don’t cross a crazy lesbian dictator or you’ll lose a hand and ruin a perfectly good library chair. The chair vibrated with the motion of the saw, and Chase hoped it wouldn’t take long, but when Gloria turned off the saw and she was not released, Chase became concerned. “It’s not working?” she said in a panic.
“Yes, it’s working. The saw got hot and we need to let it cool down,” Gloria said.
Bud put her hand on Chase’s shoulder and said, “We will get you out of this.”
Chase made a gallant effort not to be overwhelmed as well as claustrophobic. “Maybe we could take me home and unweld me or something.”
“We’d more than likely light you on fire in the process,” Gloria said.
Bud
“How come you let Gloria call you ‘kid’ and no one else?” Chase inquired as they lifted her chair.
“Because when Gloria says it, I view it as a term of endearment. When others say it, I find it derogatory,” Bud said.
“Oh,” Chase said. Perhaps it was like when straight people used the word “dyke,” a word which was acceptable for a lesbian to use but was derogatory when used by others.
“Where is Isabel?” Gitana asked.
“She’s on a book-buying trip in Denver—Lord knows you can’t get shit here,” Chase said, as they carried her along like some Indian—the red-dot-on-the-forehead kind—in a litter. At least she felt no guilt for her portage, not thinking it an entitlement as it had been in times of old. How could one class of human being do that to another?
They set her down among the carrels. Gloria and Bud surveyed the library chair. Bud tapped at a chair rail with the saw blade. It didn’t sound hollow.
“What do you think?” Gloria asked Bud.
Chase wasn’t certain whether Gloria really needed Bud’s input or was just being polite. But why would she feel the need to be polite? Bud was proficient at discerning patronization. However, Chase ruminated, no one here, barring Donna who’d been unsuccessful, had ever attempted the removal of handcuffs.
“I think we’re going to have to make two cuts, above and below the cuff and release it that way with her hand still cuffed and then deal with getting it off her wrist later,” Bud said.
“But what if you slip and cut her hand off?” Gitana said.
“We’ll be careful,” Gloria said.
“Are you partial to that hand?” Chase said, wiggling her fingers suggestively.
Gitana smiled. “Well, yes.”
“I mean, I could probably live without it,” Chase teased.
“This is not the time to get flirty, you two,” Donna said, giving them disapproving looks. “We need to get her free before the Pink Mafia arrives and we all end up being handcuffed to library chairs. This is the Republik of Lesbekistan.”
“Don’t remind me—the country where anything goes,” Chase said.
“But how are we going to get her hand out of the cuff?” Gitana said.
“Once we remove it from the chair, Chase can go on a hunger strike until her hand shrinks enough to slip out,” Gloria said.
Chase looked alarmed.
“I’m kidding,” Gloria said. “We’ll figure something out.” She handed Bud a pair of safety glasses and put on her own. “I’ll need you to supervise and tap my forearm as the signal that I am getting too close to her hand. I’d hate to be responsible for adversely affecting her career.” She glanced over at Gitana.
“She’s right-handed and that’s her left,” Bud pointed out.
“I meant as a lesbian,” Gloria said.
“Oh.”
Chase wondered if Bud used “oh” in the sense she did—a monosyllabic way of acknowledging that something had been said, but that one was unable to come up with an acceptable response to an awkward situation.
Gloria turned the reciprocating saw on, and Chase watched as Gitana winced and Donna bit her lip. John Irving’s book The Fourth Hand came to mind. In the novel, the loss of the hand served as a metaphor as well as a prop. What would the metaphor in her case be? Don’t cross a crazy lesbian dictator or you’ll lose a hand and ruin a perfectly good library chair. The chair vibrated with the motion of the saw, and Chase hoped it wouldn’t take long, but when Gloria turned off the saw and she was not released, Chase became concerned. “It’s not working?” she said in a panic.
“Yes, it’s working. The saw got hot and we need to let it cool down,” Gloria said.
Bud put her hand on Chase’s shoulder and said, “We will get you out of this.”
Chase made a gallant effort not to be overwhelmed as well as claustrophobic. “Maybe we could take me home and unweld me or something.”
“We’d more than likely light you on fire in the process,” Gloria said.
Bud
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