Chase Banter [02] Marching to a Different Accordion by Saxon Bennett Page B

those lasagna rolls with that soy meat stuff,” she said, as Bud looked up.
    “That’s with cheap bobbleheads.”
    “Bud and I have a larger responsibility,” Gitana said, digging around in the freezer for the faux meat.
    “And what’s that?”
    “Keeping a bestselling author on track,” Gitana said.

Chapter Six—Confessions
    May confession be a medicine to the erring.—Cicero
     
    “I can’t do this,” Chase said, as she stood in the auditorium of the Musical Arts Building at the university, a circle of chairs with a small round table full of coffee mugs and carafes at its center. She hadn’t wanted to be early, but neither did she want to be late. This felt like she imagined going to an AA meeting would, having never been there herself but having seen enough “group” things in movies to get the gist.
    “And why not?” a voice said, coming out of the blackness of the bleachers. It was an older woman with short, black, spiky hair and dressed in a pink sari. Chase stared at the red dot in the middle of her forehead. “What, you’ve never seen an Indian woman before?”
    Chase fumbled. “Of course I have.”
    “Yeah, right, in a movie, I suppose.” The woman handed Chase a tray of sugar cookies and pointed to the table. “In my country they call these digestives. What an appetizing name. ‘Would you like a digestive?’ It makes it sound like you need a laxative. No wonder you people call them cookies.”
    Chase just stood and stared. She smacked Chase on the back. “It is more than evident why you’re here—your gift for speech seems impaired. Here, let me get a pair of vise grips and we’ll see about your tongue. Or did you leave it at home? And back to the original question, if you can’t do this—with your limited skills I suggest you learn.”
    “Are you the instructor or coach or whatever?” Chase blurted, her tonguetied-ness worsening.
    “Oh my, you will truly be an inspiration if we cure you. I am Lily Hirack and I’m going to offer you the opportunity to become just as fake at social conventions as the rest of the fuckers on the planet. This is the Hindu way of earning points so I won’t have to come around again and again.”
    Lily Hirack had the singsong lilt of the Indian and said the word “fuck” in such a way as to make it perfectly acceptable. That only compounded Chase’s inability to speak.
    “Now, while we wait for the others we should get a head start. What do you do for a living and why is it imperative that you learn to lie?”
    “I thought I was going to learn to be more socially acceptable or at least learn to filter my inappropriate thoughts and rephrase them so as to appear normal.”
    “Wouldn’t that be nice,” Lily said, pointing at a chair and indicating that they should sit. She poured them both coffee and waved her hand over the milk and sugar.
    Chase took her coffee and hoped the others would show up soon. She looked around, avoiding Lily’s intense gaze.
    “I would guess you’re an intellectual of some sort—someone outside the mundane which is why banality eludes you.”
    “Shouldn’t we wait until the others get here?” Chase suggested, not wanting to repeat her confession.
    “You won’t get to talk when they get here.”
    “But I thought these were people who don’t talk well and need coaching,” Chase said, befuddled. If she had thought therapy and the writers’ group were difficult this was like running a psychological marathon.
    “Ah, but there you are wrong. People can talk endlessly about their problems: They just find it difficult to cure them. So, chop-chop—what do you do?”
    “I’m a writer and I recently failed at a book signing so they sent me here.”
    “Now, see that was a good answer. An improvement already,” Lily said, tapping the table with her forefinger like she was gently ringing the bell at the front desk of a hotel to alert the clerk of her arrival.
    “How do you figure?” Chase added a copious amount