Chapter 1.25: Complete Confusion, or In Which More Characters
are Introduced than One Will have Cause to RememberContinued from the
previous issue . . .
While Sam was occupied with fuming about the degenerate state of the
world in general, and people named Leslie in particular, the object of
his specific wrath was having as bad a time of it as even he could wish.
Lunchtime: twelve unfamiliar eyes, six of them more or less as angry
as Sam's would have been, all alternately focused on her and the cold
curried chickpeas on the unmatched plates in front of them.
"Um, so . . ." she said intelligently, banging her fork against the
edge of her water glass, "How did you all decide to-"
The tall, calm-looking woman across from her leaned over and tapped
her wrist, interrupting her without seeming to. "I hope you don't mind
them not being hot."
Leslie shook her head quickly, taken aback. "What?"
"The beans. Lunch. That's how we do it." Her expression gained an edge
of sly mirth beneath its politeness that Leslie could picture either adoring
or disliking very strongly. "What did you think I meant?"
Before she could figure out a potentially safe response, not to say
a clever one, the skinny redhead next to her laughed. He actually chuckled,
to be more accurate, and answered, "Our buns, Ruth. She thinks our buns,
collectively, aren't as hot as she expected."
Ruth. So that was her name. Right-- this time she would remember. Leslie,
considerably relieved at being able to attach a name to one face, didn't
even try to reply. She wished her liaison*, Tiff, with the spiky hair
and the sparkly eyes, was in the eating co-op she had been paired with.
* liaison: an individual who orients a visitor to the community
Skinny Redhead and Ruth were still in the middle of a now-deadpan banter
about whether the relative merits of posteriors could, in fact, be gauged
collectively at all, when the third woman at the table spoke. Her eyes
were one of the angrier sets. "It isn't how we always do lunch. Some people
reheat the leftovers." She locked her sights on Leslie.
"Oh?" When in doubt, strive to be innocuous.
The wide blue eyes rolled; the whole face took on an air of calculated
patience. "Lunch is usually leftovers, from the previous night's dinner.
It's nice when they're reheated."
"Oh."
A brief silence followed, in which everyone except Leslie and the Angry
Woman exchanged meaningful glances.
Leslie downed half of her water, which didn't break the tension at all.
Squirming slightly, she tried to ask her question again, this time addressing
it to the other skinny redhead, who only rarely looked up from his food.
"So why did you decide to-"
"Hey, Leslie, you're going to do humey with Sam after lunch, right?"
She turned her head in the opposite direction to face one of the men
who had looked angry, but currently looked amused. In an unkind way, she
thought. She decided he might be one of the homeliest individuals she
had ever seen, and that goatees should be forbidden to people with jowls.
"Yeah." She shrugged. "I guess."
More knowing glances were exchanged. "I'm sure he's as thrilled as you
are." She didn't bother noticing who had spoken.
"Wouldn't you be?" someone else added.
"Who isn't thrilled about humey?" "Has she heard the humey song yet?"
"How could she? She's barely been here a day." "She's barely been here
a day and you've already got her doing humey?" "Blame Tiff." "Why blame
Tiff when you're so much more convenient?" "Conveniently blamed, or conveniently
located to blame?" "Whichever."
As quickly as the rapid-fire exchange had generated, it ended, and everyone
went back to the meal as if its origin, demise, and all-around speed were
perfectly normal. Well, maybe they were, but she had certainly felt like
a five-year-old trying to keep up with a Neil Simon play. Something was
obviously beholden to her ears at this point.
Hoping no one would cut her off, she cleared her throat. "Which one
is Sam?"
They snickered, and the buns-obsessed skinny redhead sneezed and dropped
his spoon.
Ruth leaned toward her again, her smile thoroughly sympathetic this
time. Leslie thought she would probably be a good candidate for motherhood.
Either that, or a really awful one. It was hard to decide. "Sorry. It
sounds similar to what everyone-- the locals, I mean, who aren't Weasels--
asks. You'll understand if you go into town. Someone is apt to wonder
'which one you are.'"
"And who's in charge. They want to know that, too. Mostly they think
it's Ruth."
"Not mostly." Ruth frowned slightly at the Man with Jowls. "Sometimes
they think it's you, Richard. Often enough."
"Long live the Rs." He raised his glass.
The Angry Woman rolled her eyes again.
"Do you remember our names? The quiet skinny redhead looked up at Leslie
for a beat, then down at his empty plate. His voice was gentle, but he
did not seem vitally interested in what her answer would be.
She bit her lips and shook her head. When in doubt, play naïve and innocent.
They went around the circle quickly. "Ruth." "Mel." "I'm Jennifer."
"Charlie." "Richard." "Toby, of course."
She was sure she would forget most of them again, and far from sure
she actually wanted to remember. Why were they all acting so odd? Why
"of course"? And she still didn't know how she was supposed to identify
Sam.
At that moment Tiff poked her head in the doorway. "I've come to steal
you away," she said in a Dracula-like accent, beckoning Leslie. For some
reason, that didn't seem weird at all-- or, rather it was a comprehensible,
cute weirdness. At least she seemed glad to have a visitor.
"I'll wash your dishes for you," the Angry Woman-- Jennifer?-- put in
unexpectedly. Then she smiled, a beautiful genuine smile.
"Thanks." Leslie returned the smile before slipping out the door after
Tiff.
"How was it?" she asked, squinting into the sun as she looked up at
Leslie.
"Um, well… They didn't exactly seem-- conversation didn't seem . . ."
"Normal?" Tiff nodded. "It's the usual springtime thing-- getting used
to having other people around, paying more attention to how you say what
you say. You know how families kind of have their own weird shorthand
communication? It's like that."
"I can see that." Maybe. She retained the right to remain suspicious.
Tiff lowered her voice. "And it might be a little extra-tense because
of Richard and Ruth. They were involved-"
"Really?" Don't be nosy, she scolded herself, and swallowed what she
wanted to say.
"Plus we've been having a really hard time consensing on a pet policy,
and Mel's feeling some stress about that. Usually he goes out of his way
to make a viz feel welcome."
Leslie stayed quiet. It all made perfect sense, but she wasn't quite
ready to give up feeling a little wounded. "Jennifer, she has a nice smile."
"Jen's great. I don't think she has the capacity to be dishonest about
anything."
"I can imagine."
"You'll like her, trust me. She and Ruth were saying last night how
happy they were about you being here." Tiff bumped hips with her, and
widened her eyes goofily, pitching her voice into a falsetto. "Please
like us."
Leslie giggled, and bumped back. "Ok, ok, I feel better. But I still
don't see how I'm going to manage to keep all the skinny redheads straight.
And by the way, how do I find Sam?"
Tiff grinned. "You can't miss him. He's the skinny one. Sort of reddish
hair."
To be continued . . .
Intentional Community Bookstore
