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\lline{\hl At Rehearsal}
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{\small\it(A chapter from the upcoming novel ``DREAMING OF�
JAIMIE'' by Adrienne Lauby. \copyright\ Adrienne Lauby 1989)}

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The DYKES practiced in Anna's basement twice a week. By�
arrangement with her folks, they played without amps except for�
an hour when they turned on the juice and let it rip. Teresa�
arrived during the quiet part, crossed her legs and sat on the�
floor near the door.

Anna was in the middle of one of her I-know-how-it-is-and-you�
don't speeches.

``Look,'' she said, ``No guy is going to sit in with a group�
called `DYKES'. Face it. Jackson is scorching on drums and we�
could use him regular. He's a decent person too.''

``He doesn't like DYKES? How about THE TOO\-THY VAGINA instead?�
Isn't that what guys are really afraid of? That they'll get their�
precious pecker chopped?'' Kris pretended to wave a knife in�
front of an imaginary Jackson.

Anna audibly sighed.

``You ought to face it, Anna,'' Reneeta said. ``Anyone who�
doesn't like our name probably won't like us either.''

``You're the one who thinks Kris should do more vocals,'' Anna�
pointed out. ``And the only other lesbian drummer in town hates�
my guts.''

Kris spoke so quietly Teresa barely heard her.

``FEMINISTS?'' she asked. ``Isn't that more acceptable?''

``Yeh,'' Shay said mournfully. ``Feminists. Sounds like a three�
piece suit in a cigarette ad. Maybe you're a feminist\dots''

``Not all feminists wear suits,'' Kris interrupted and this time�
everyone heard her. ``Myself, I'm more the obnoxious type, the�
super-critical type, the self-righteous bitch type\dots''

``How about, NATIONAL SECURITY COUNCIL?'' Anna interrupted�
hurriedly.

``What?''

``I heard about it on TV. It's a government gang that does shit�
work for the president. Very high up and not elected. They get�
big salaries and nobody but the Pres can tell 'em what to do.''

``Security. Security.'' Reneeta intoned restlessly. She began�
tooting her toy horn and marching in place.

``I suppose this Jackson is afraid people will the he's a fag.''�
Kris said. ``Why can't we at least try to find a woman?''

Shay underlined Reneeta's chant with tinny notes on her silenced�
bass.

``Security is supposed to be missiles and airplanes. Soldiers and�
bombs, right?'' Anna said. ``We could make fun of that.''

``Se-cur-i-ty,'' Shay sang in four notes.

``Se-cur-i-ty. Toot Toot.'' Reneeta mimicked.

``Security -- a place-to-live,'' Shay sang/chanted.

``Security -- food-clean-wa-ter.'' (Toot Toot) Anna added.

They were all getting into it. Kris picked up a wooden block and�
knocked out the rhythm.

``Security -- heat when it's cold.''

``Security -- doctors, cheap medicine,'' (Toot Toot)

``Time for yourself. Friends who come when you're in trouble.''�
(Toot Toot. Ticky, Ticky, Tock, Tock.)

``Music. Freedom is music.'' (Toot Toot) Security is a chance to�
play.''

Shay bent for a drag from her cigarette. Several burned in�
ashtrays around the crowded room and Teresa's nose tickled.

``Music is different,'' Shay said flatly, cutting through the�
singing. ``Music is what makes me happy and it doesn't have to be�
anything more than that.''

``You can't be happy if you're not secure. If you spend every�
minute trying to make a living, you don't have time to play,''�
Reneeta explained impatiently. ``Music IS security. It's the test�
of how much you have.''

She put down her horn.

``D.C. bigshots get paid a hundred thou' a year to make us�
secure,'' she said. She went into her clown act, making her face�
into an exaggerated frown, and dropping to one knee. ``Now why�
don't I feel secure?'' she asked the ceiling.

Anna went back to the song, changing the rhythm with her wire�
brush on the cymbals.

``Somebody's not doing their job.''

``We oughta fire them.''

``Fire them. Change them. Get rid of the old ones, try out some�
new ones,'' Kris sang under her breath.

``I have some new stuff to show you tonight,'' Shay broke in.�
``How about we let Anna invite Jackson to rehearsal sometime this�
week. If it comes up she could say we've THOUGHT about changing�
our name.''

As the others gradually talked themselves into the idea, Shay's�
face went still and concentrated. She put down her bass and�
picked up the guitar. There was a moment of comparative silence�
and she entered it with he first verse.

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{\parskip=0pt\leftskip=.4in\obeylines
``What can I do,
\quad Mama's drunk on the floor?
What can I do,
\quad Daddy's pounding
at the door?''
}\par

She had their attention as she floated her words over the�
unamplified notes. Her fingers moved carefully among the strings.�
Anna leaned across and turned up the sound on her amp.

{\parskip=0pt\leftskip=.4in\obeylines
``Mama
\quad get sober
Your tears
\quad Come too late.
You give in to anguish
\quad I say -- 
Find your anger, find your hate.
It's not too late.
It's not too late.
Too late.
}\par

{\parskip=0pt\leftskip=.4in\obeylines
``Twice he divorced you.
Three times you took him back.
No alimony. Four children.
Five stomachs to fill from
an empty grocery sack.''
}\par

Shay could reach way down in your insides and find the sad stuff.�
Then her voice carried them outside where the sadness for split�
into pieces. Teresa usually felt sad when she thought about�
Shay's Mom but now she heard the anger and helplessness too, like�
the two feelings were having an argument with each other.

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``You say you love me.
(and) I try to keep myself clean.
But I can't go on living 
In this pitiful scene.
}\par

{\parskip=0pt\leftskip=.4in\obeylines
Blame it on alcohol.
Blame it on drugs.
Blame it on the psych wards.
Poverty's bare spot on the rug.
Blame it on anything
But keep the blame off me.
Past history
Don't put the blame on me.''
}\par

Reneeta picked up a tambourine and came down hard. ``Me --�
Crash.'' She started adding crashes every three or four lines.�
Shay's made a big swing with her arm to hit the next chord and�
Teresa stood up to let the feelings rush through her. Shay's�
mouth was like a sea shell, sharp at the edges and round in the�
middle. She never smiled when she sang because her mouth had to�
make the notes come out exactly the way she wanted. She never�
wore a phony smile. Instead she looked a hundred different ways;�
happy, proud, frustrated, defiant, excited, stubborn\dots

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``It's not that you're unhappy.
It's not that you're mean.
But I can't go on living
In this pitiful scene.''
}
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