“That’s bread?” Chase said, stepping back again.
The beach ball grew and grew covering the floor as it overflowed from the oven.
Gitana teared up. “It was supposed to be baking.”
Chase glanced over at Bud, who was perusing the cookbook. “How much yeast did you put in?”
“Two and a half cups per loaf like the recipe called for. Why?”
The blob surrounded the kitchen stools, smashing up against them and ballooning upward. Bud looked down, alarmed.
“How many loaves are we talking?” Chase asked.
“Five,” Gitana said, biting her lip. “I thought I might take some to work.”
“I think the yeast is the problem,” Bud said, tucking her legs under her as the dough crept higher.
Gitana looked imploringly at Bud.
“I think you mixed up the yeast to flour ratio. It may have been crucial. In terms of the physics…I’m just sayin’.”
Chase noticed the dropping of the “g” and winced but remembered she had told Bud to throw one of those grammatical slurs in once in a while. “She put in too much yeast?”
Gitana’s shoes were disappearing under the blob. She stepped back up against the fridge.
“The recipe calls for one and a half teaspoons of yeast. She put in two and a half cups.”
“Where’d you get that much yeast?” Chase inquired. “I mean, don’t they come in those small packages?”
“I got the economy can at Costco. You know, the kind restaurants use.”
“Oh,” Chase said, wondering if there was any left. If so, it needed to disappear. She stepped back and pulled Gitana with her, worrying that they both might get swallowed up.
“What am I going to do?” Gitana said, looking forlorn.
“Good question,” Chase said, taking another two steps back.
Bud hopped up on the kitchen island as the first kitchen stool was overtaken by the blob.
“Do you have a plan? What the hell are we going to do with this stuff?” Chase said. The blob reminded her of a bad horror movie where mutant yeast threatened to overtake the town.
“I’m still thinking,” Bud said, studying the mess. She gently poked a finger into the blob. It moved like an alien spore about to give birth.
Chase stared as the blob threatened to take over the kitchen. She was the household safety master, but industrial-size blobs were outside her ken.
“We have to contain it first,” Bud said.
“But how?” Chase said.
“I know,” Gitana said. She rummaged in the cutlery drawer and pulled out an ice pick. She dashed at the blob like a knight jousting an opponent. She stabbed viciously.
“I don’t think you should do that,” Bud said.
“Why not?” Gitana said, pulling a French chef knife from the kitchen island. She fenced the blob and then the blob exploded.
Instantly, like a water balloon bursting, dough covered them. Chase flipped into safety mode. “Clear your airways,” she shouted. She dug dough out of her eyes and went for Bud, trying to find her mouth. Bud was covered head to toe and Chase couldn’t see her mouth. She thrust a finger into the doughy mess.
Bud screeched, “Ouch. I can breathe. Get your finger out of my ear.”
“I was just trying to help.”
“What?” Bud said. “I can’t hear you. There’s too much dough in my ear.”
“That’s not dough. It’s my finger.”
“What?”
“Never mind,” Chase said.
Chase dashed for Gitana, who lay back against the wall, having taken the full force of the explosion. She’d managed to clear her face, but she looked like she was lying beneath an ecru-colored, overstuffed feather comforter. Chase helped her to her
feet.
“Holy mother of fucking Christ,” Gitana said.
“I don’t think even the Virgin Mary could have stopped this,” Chase said.
“I say we stick to unleavened bread,” Bud said.
“How are we going to clean this up?” Chase said.
“Can you pass me the phone book if it’s still available?” Bud said.
“Why?”
“We need a specialist.”
Within thirty minutes the You Make Them—We Clean Them van pulled up in the driveway. The dogs, who thankfully had been out in the yard when the blob disaster occurred, barked in full guard mode as two burly men dressed in yellow biohazard suits approached the house.
“This is so embarrassing,” Gitana said, as the two men examined the kitchen.
“We’ve seen worse, ma’am,” one of them said.
“Really, what?” Bud asked. She pulled a piece of dough out of her hair.
“Well…” said Bill. His name was on his pocket.
“I’m sure there’s been one, it just doesn’t come to mind,” the man named Dusty replied.
After a brief consultation between themselves they got their equipment—a snow shovel and a large wet-dry vac. They lubed the dough with a solvent. Bill shoveled the blob toward the vacuum hose while Dusty held the hose in place. The whole process took an hour and a half and they even cleaned the oven.
“Good as new,” Bill said, wiping his hands on a rag.
“Thank you so much,” Chase said, adding a forty-dollar tip to the bill.
Dusty handed her a card. “Just in case,” he said.
Bud walked them out. Chase suspected she wanted a peek in their truck. Knowledge was power.
After the disaster cleanup and three long showers, they sat down to dinner. “At least the alfredo turned out,” Gitana said, looking down at her plate. “Well, sort of.”
“It’s a very earthy color. It makes me think of Vermeer,” Bud said.
“I didn’t realize the portabello mushrooms would do that,” Gitana said.
“It tastes fabulous,” Chase said, and it did. In the kitchen, Chase’s phone rang again.
“Four hundred and thirteen,” Gitana said.
“She must be out of her meeting,” Chase said, taking a second helping, which made Gitana smile.
“Would anyone like some garlic bread?” Bud said.
“NO!” they all bellowed.
“Just askin’.”
Chase lay in bed, her arms above her head, feeling smug. Lacey still hadn’t shown her face; Chase was inclined to think that perhaps Lacey was feeling remorse. If not that stiff an emotion, Chase would settle for shame. Gitana snuggled up next to her.
“What are you thinking about?” Gitana asked, as she ran her hand under Chase’s T-shirt and around her nipple.
“I am willing remorse and shame on Lacey so that she will come to see the error of her ways.”
“Is this your manifesting thing?”
“Yes.” Chase had read
The Secret
and had been profoundly, at least for her, influenced by it. She liked the idea of manifesting the direction of one’s life through the act of willing.
“Is it going to work?” Gitana said in between kisses to Chase’s stomach.
“I trust in the Universe,” Chase said, experiencing a sharp intake of breath as Gitana ran her tongue under the waistband of her boxers. “Did we have this penciled in and I missed the memo?”
“I’m manifesting us being more organic and spontaneous,” Gitana said, pulling off Chase’s boxers.
“The Universe knows what it’s doing.”
Gitana flicked her tongue along the insides of Chase’s thighs and ran her fingers along the sides of her breasts. She took Chase in her mouth. Chase was really liking the Universe at this particular moment, and then Gitana got up and left right when Chase was about to forget her own name in the land of milk and honey. “Where are you going?” she panicked.
“Just stay put. I’ll be back in a minute.”
Chase remained in the position favored by gynecologists and thought about the trip she’d like to take to Tasmania. Coming up with travel guide ideas was her latest way of dealing with stress, and she considered being about to get laid and then getting unlaid a stressful moment.
Gitana returned as Chase was conjuring up mental images of Mount Wellington and the tessalite formations, two of her must-see items. “Did you have to pee?”
“No.”
Chase was about to make further inquiries when Gitana entered
her slowly. Chase didn’t exactly know what she was experiencing, only that her insides felt uncommonly full. Gitana was expertly thrusting into her, and she thought some heretofore uncharted area was being explored—maybe her Grafenberg spot, which, as she recalled, was three inches to the front of her vagina and near her urethra. She tried to re-create the chart on her physician’s wall of the interior regions of her vagina.
She reached for Gitana’s buttocks and pulled her in further. Gitana was moaning and whispering, “Oh yes, oh yes.”
Chase’s hands felt the harness thing. Startled, she said, “Is this a…”
“Yes,” Gitana said, still moving against her. “I found it in the studio and thought you were too shy to propose it.”
“So you took matters into your own hands,” Chase said, moving against her.
“Could we talk about this later?”
“Oh, yes. Does this do something for you?”
“Uh-huh.”
They finished, satiated and sweaty. Gitana collapsed on top of her. “My God, that was fabulous.” She slowly pulled out and then disengaged herself from the now, in both their opinions, marvelous device. She nestled in the crook of Chase’s arm.
“When did you get that?” Gitana asked.
“It’s not mine. It’s Bud’s.”
Gitana leaned up on one elbow so she could look at Chase. “Bud’s?”
“Donna gave it to her because she doesn’t know what a penis looks like, and she needs it for her life drawing studies.”
Gitana laughed. “I just found it when I was looking for a Sharpie. There wasn’t one in the house, and I know you two have every office supply known to man, or rather woman, out there. When I found the...thingy I thought maybe you were getting more sexually explorative—we are being exposed to a lot more lesbians now.”
“It was a rather nice mistake,” Chase said.
“Do you want to try it?”
Thank God it was dark, because Chase blushed profusely.
“If you’re embarrassed or uncomfortable, that’s all right too.”
Chase grew bold or rather convinced herself she was bold. Wasn’t Bud always telling her to experience some of life’s unplanned moments without examining the minutia? “I might be persuaded to take her for a test drive.”
“Her?”
“I thought since we’re all so intimate we’d call her Phyllis.”
“As in Phyllis Dildo?” Gitana giggled.
“Yes, now show me how it works,” Chase said, before she lost her nerve.
“Oh, I will,” Gitana said, drawing her near.
After Gitana made animal noises and begged her to stop, Chase figured she’d done all right. It felt a lot like learning to ride your first bike without the aid of training wheels.
****
In the kitchen the next morning as Chase was making breakfast, Bud said, “Have you seen my penis? I can’t find it in the studio—its last known location.”
Chase and Gitana exchanged embarrassed glances. Chase hoped Bud hadn’t noticed. “I’m sure it’s around here somewhere.” It wasn’t exactly a lie, she told her conscience.
“As in your bedroom,” Bud replied, whipping the eggs in preparation for making the French toast.
“Why would you think that?” Chase asked, as she dunked the first piece of bread in the egg mixture.
Gitana did not look at Bud. “I think the French toast needs cinnamon.” She dug around in the spice cupboard.
Good job,
Chase thought. When in a tight spot—divert your opponent’s attention.
“It’s right here,” Bud said, pointing to the container on the counter right next to the egg mixture.