Brownie Points by Jennifer Coburn Page A

babies?
    Val said, “I don’t think that security guard is going to do a blessed thing to keep those people out. Whose side do you think he’s on? Do you think he lives in Utopia, or out there with them?”
    “They bring their whole families,” Olivia said with disgust. “It’s like an invasion.”
    Deadpan, Marni offered, “You should come to the door with pepper spray. If they’re not from Utopia —” She gestured shooting them, then stood as she mimicked little kids holding their hands up to their faces and squealing. As Marni lifted her hands to her face and started squirming about, her sweater lifted, revealing an inch of her skin. I peeked at her back to see if I could make out the words beneath the little yellow chick. “Chick Posse,” it read. Chick Posse, like the lesbian bar back home?
    Marni was a closet lesbian, a suburban femme with the attitude of a big city dyke. If I liked her before, I loved her now that I knew her secret. It would be so much easier for Logan to live here with the beautiful and cool Marni sitting on the Utopian float at the Gay Pride Parade. Okay, maybe someday there might be a parade. A mom can dream.
    Val shifted in her seat and gave us an expression that said she was not amused by Marni’s suggestion that we assault the local kids with pepper spray. “I don’t think we need to take it that far, but I for one plan to stay home and answer the door personally. I’m not leaving out another basket this year. When we came home last time, every piece of candy was gone. They’re just greedy.” She scrunched her face as if she was discussing a vermin infestation. Why did she assume it was kids from outside the gates who stole her candy? Utopia has a much higher per-capita ratio of spoiled, entitled little candy-grabbers than greater Los Corderos.
    Val changed the subject altogether. “Blake tells me that you had some sort of sorority function at your house last week. Is Jaime in for the weekend?”
    “Jaime’s in Paris this semester,” Marni replied, not addressing the sorority event. That sly devil. Marni was probably hosting a victory party for her softball team or the lesbian rights task force meeting.
    Continuing with her inquisition, Val pressed. “So, who were the girls? More production assistants?”
    Olivia turned to me and filled me in. “Marni’s very hush-hush about her films, but I don’t suppose I need to tell you about the ways of artists, right?” It appeared that Olivia had gotten past any hard feelings she had over my complaint about her shit-throwing hellion.
    “Bunco!” shouted Barb Fields at Table Three.
    Marni stood up, which was my cue that we needed to switch tables. “Ladies, as always, it’s a pleasure leaving.” God, she was so butch.
    Marni smoothed her skirt and pushed her blond bob behind her ears. Her French manicured hands lifted her margarita glass to take to the next table. God, she was so femme too.
    Women really could have it all these days.
    As we arrived at our new table, Michelle was brimming with excitement to introduce me to Cara, who looked at me reverently. “Your son is incredible,” Cara said, her eyes slightly glazed. “Michelle told me that at Girl Scouts last week, Spencer was in tears because she couldn’t figure out how to use the loom to make a hat for my mother who had a stroke. Logan took her aside and told her that the gift was her effort, not the final product. What kind of boy talks this way?!” A gay one. “Then, Logan did the hat with her — stitch by stitch — and showed Taylor how to add black spots onto the red cap so it looks like a strawberry. He even made a little green tuft for the top. It is the most darling thing. When my mother saw it, she smiled for the first time in a month. I’m telling you, that boy of yours is special.” She removed her phone from her purse and started clicking buttons. Proudly, she held out the screen to me to show the image of a woman in a wheelchair who wore a