Chapter 26: Shopping

Three went shopping for the longest table and the biggest bed they could find, paid for by Margie's card given to her by her father.

"How is the old goat?" asked Marta when Margie explained its source.

"Surprisingly unsettled. I believe our sisters might have rung his bell too loudly and he hasn't recovered enough to hear himself rationalize his relationship with the clawing kitty."

"Did he ask about Mary or Marianne?"

"Yes, both. I gave him little. I could tell he wanted more, but didn't pursue it."

"So you don't know if he tried calling or coaxed his fiancé to try a threesome?"

"Nope. I doubt he'd discuss it with me. But generally he seemed a bit muddled and disconcerted."

"I'll ask Mary if he tried calling."

"You know," said Joe, "if Harold and his young lady friend come to Thanksgiving and the wedding, which I'm sure they will..."

"He could come alone," suggested Margie hopefully.

"Perhaps, but I doubt it."

"They'll expect to sleep in the master bedroom," Marta realized.

"Don't invite him," said a pouting Margie.

Marta shook her head. "Of course he's invited. It's his house and I think you want him there. It's family."

"Fuck. You're my family."

Joe's hand squeezed hers reassuringly. "Of course Little One."

"I hope we can have everyone sleep at the house," said Marta.

"We should put Dad's old bed in one of the other rooms. We could sleep four comfortably."

"Whose?" asked Joe.

"Mary's. It's destined for foursomes with you two and L," decided Margie. "Besides she's second concubine."

While conversing, they strolled through the mall. They didn't notice nor cared if anyone heard their weird words. Stopping to stand in line for coffee, people could pick up the sense of what they said. Margie's feisty lack of self-consciousness made people around them unsettled. Joe and Marta noticed.

"Maybe we should curtail the conversation for a more private place," suggested Joe quietly.

"Why?" asked Margie loudly.

Joe gestured subtly at the people surrounding them. A forty year old lady accompanied by her daughter not much younger than Margie had a priceless expression of disapproval.

"What?" Margie sneered at the proper woman. "You wish you had as much fun and adventure and sex when you were my age." She winked at the daughter who looked away shyly, a whisper of a smile attached to her pretty face. "Or even my guardian's."

The lady glanced at Joe and Marta with an expression easily translated: "Shame on you." Joe shrugged. Marta giggled. They felt no shame, only joy being with their feisty companion.

"Are you studying dance?" Margie asked the girl wearing tights under her dress and coat.

"I ... uhm ... have ballet this afternoon."

"Really? Cool. You have the body for it: lean and long legs. Do you like it?"

"I do. I want to study other things."

"Like what?" asked Marta.

"Jazz and tap."

"Ballet is good for discipline. It gives you a structure you can deviate from with other dance forms."

"Are you a dancer?"

"She's not only that, but a choreographer!" announced Margie proudly. "She's going to start a class soon. Do you know modern dance?"

"No. What's that?"

"It's hard to explain," said Marta. "You've been to the Chicago Art Institute?" The cute teenager nodded, her face slightly soured. "Not your favorite place."

"It's okay. It tires me out."

"Sensory overload like shopping," suggested Joe.

"I never get tired shopping!"

"Sammy dear, we need to move to the pick up window," said the mother earnestly, her jaw clenched.

"Just a couple minutes Mom."

"We're not monsters really," said Joe.

"At least not until the moon comes out," joked Margie. Everyone but the mother chuckled.

"I'll find a table," muttered the mother and strode off a few feet.

"So what about the museum?"

"You know the old paintings, realistic portraits and landscapes? And then there's the modern wing with crazy images, abstract and some without any subject at all. That's kind of what modern dance is like. It's still a painting. It's still canvas. It's still paint. But it goes off into altogether different directions."

"Mother says a monkey could paint some of those paintings."

"What do you think?" asked Margie.

"There's this one painting. We had a tour and the guide had us stare at it for a couple minutes. It was just big dark clouds. But they began moving. It was the coolest thing there. After that I kind of got it."

"Rothko I bet," said Margie.

"That's right. And then there's that big Jackson Pollock. It moved all which ways. Mom thought I was crazy staring at the monkey art."

"That's what modern dance is compared to ballet," Marta completed. "It's personal and often abstract but it moves you in unexpected ways."

They'd stepped from the line, Joe standing in the pick up line with Sam's uncomfortable mother. She happily received her two cups and darted away.

"Sounds kind of cool," remarked Sam.

"Come sit with us a second. I haven't started advertising and haven't got any cards, but Joe has his and he can give you my number if you want to discuss this more."

"Okay."

They waited for Joe at the table, the mom glancing at them.

"So what got Mom so ruffled?"

"We have a unique relationship," explained Margie. "Do you know what a concubine is?"

"Like a slave girl."

"Exactly."

"You're not..."

Marta and Margie laughed. Joe joined the table. "What's so funny?" he asked, setting down the box tray containing three coffee drinks and a couple scones.

"We're trying to explain our relationships," Margie informed her fiancé.

"Uhm..."

"Joe, could I have a couple of your business cards?" asked Marta.

"Of course." He extracted his slim wallet from his coat's breast pocket and slid out a couple cards.

"Joseph Solomon, Esquire. Sounds pretentious."

"It's a lawyer thing," explained Joe, smiling.

"It is pretentious, but he's not," said Margie.

"I'll write my e-mail address with my cell phone number," said Sam. "I don't think Mom wants me chatting with you."

Joe shook his head. "Probably not."

"So ... Concubine?"

"Joe and Marta have a way of saving women from ... bad situations. The women tend to fall in love with them and they fall in love with us."

"How many?"

"Somewhere in the neighborhood of a half dozen."

"No shit! How does he... ?"

"He does okay," giggled Margie. "But it's both of them."

"No shit! You're like bi or something."

"Or something," said Marta, holding Joe's hand.

"Too bad I don't need saving," said the teenager.

Margie laughed. "Believe me, it's better not having to be saved."

"I suppose. How about from boredom?"

Everyone laughed. "Life with Joe and Marta certainly isn't boring," stated Margie.

"I imagine not."

"You better get back to your mother before she has us arrested for kidnapping," Joe suggested.

"Alright."

"Here's my number," said Marta sliding the card across the table. "I hope she lets you keep it."

"Me too."

"I'll e-mail Marta's website when it gets uploaded just in case," added Margie.

"Thanks. Nice meeting you."

"You too Sammy," Marta replied for the rest of her friends.

Sam stepped away and came back. "What school are you going to?" she asked Margie.

"I'm ... between schools right now."

"Cool! See you." They exchanged smiles.

"What were we talking about when we blew her mom's mind?" asked Margie.

"Samantha Hodgkin!" Sam's mother declaimed.

"They're cool, Mom. Besides, I bet you wouldn't mind being a concubine to Joe."

"He's cute, isn't he?" They laughed. "But..."

"I like boys more my age, Mom," Sam stated, a diversion. Boys her age hadn't caught her eye except a tall lanky boy in her ballet class too shy to communicate with. Joe had something, several things, intelligence, interesting women interested in him. Being tall and handsome only added to his attractiveness. She tried not to stare back at the nearby table.

"That girl's not much older than you," stated the mom, squelching the image of her precious daughter with a boy.

"She acts ... a lot older. She's happy with them, okay?" She sensed her mom on the verge of interrogation. "Okay?"

The mother took a deep breath. "Okay Sam."

"The whole ranking thing, I think," Joe remembered.

"I don't mind being the lowest ranking," said Margie. "I'll be the scullery maid of the harem. What else do I have to do?"

"I'm between jobs too," Marta pointed out.