More Than a Kiss (12 page)

Dry Run

Jordan,
Edison and Irma were in their backyard making last minute preparations for
their attack on Petronella at her vagina’s poetry reading.  They had dubbed
their revenge attack “Operation Meltdown.”

“Three
hours, ladies,” Jordan said.  “We have only have three hours to get this
right.”

“Don’t
sweat it,” Edison said.  “We’ll be ready.  Then her angry vagina will be a
sorry vagina.”

Irma
chimed in, “Petronella does not own corner market on angry vagina.  My vagina
can beat up her vagina any day.”

“That
would make a great bumper sticker,” Jordan said.  Her vagina was pretty angry,
too.  It was angry with Petronella for leading her astray, making her believe
she was the only vagina in the world that mattered, and then cheating on her
with a younger vagina.  Jordan, owner of said vagina, was pretty steamed also. 
All the throwing things, all the stalking, all the destruction of property, not
to mention the graffiti on the porch which took a whole can of paint thinner to
remove, had made Jordan mad enough to extract a fitting revenge.

And
what was more fitting than giving the Ice Queen a taste of her own medicine?

Edison
made a last-minute final adjustment to her remote control car.  “Ready?” she
asked.

Jordan
nodded.  Irma licked her lips in anticipation.

They
were surrounded by cardboard cutouts of Petronella that Irma had created.  Irma
had Photoshopped pictures of Petronella’s head and enlarged them so they would
fit the cardboard cutouts.  They’d placed these around the yard.

“You
better be sure about this, Jordan.  You could be starting a Hatfield and McCoy
kind of thing,” Edison said, flipping the power switch on the car.

“You
have icy shoes?” Irma taunted.

It
took Edison a moment before she realized Irma meant ‘cold feet.’  “No, I’m not
scared.”

“You
lie.  You are turkey.  Gobble gobble gobble.  You are big turkey,” Irma said. 
She pranced around the yard, gobbling and doing a weird turkey strut.

Jordan
and Edison exchanged an amused look.

“You
mean chicken.  Cluck cluck cluck.  And I am not chicken,” Edison said.  “I’m
just concerned that this will start World War Lesbo. I want to make sure we all
know that.”

“This
was your idea,” Jordan said.  “You’re backing out now?”

“I’m
not backing out,” Edison said.

“Edison
is big plump chicken,” Irma said.  She walked around the yard poking
her neck out, flapping her arms up and down, and
making clucking sounds.

“Stop
that!” Edison said.  “I’m not a plump chicken!  I’m just making sure is all.”

Irma
stopped the chicken dance and squinted one eye.  “Edison is right.  In Mother
Russia we give person one chance to fess clean.”

Jordan
rolled her eyes.  “Do you think Petronella is really going to admit to
everything?”

“Irma
is master interrogator.  Irma can make her talk. Here is best technique Irma
learn from… never mind who, is not important.  Irma hold rat by tail.  Make it
big, ugly, scary rat with pointy teeth.  Rat is dead or alive, make no matter. 
Irma hold rat by tail and put in Petronella’s face.  Petronella is tied to
chair.  She sees rat and is scared like little girl.  Irma shake rat in face,
like so.”  She demonstrated with an imaginary rat in Edison’s face.  “Irma then
say, ‘Rat will eat your face if you do not confess.’  You shake rat more.  Make
rat seem angry and hungry, see?  This work many times for Irma in past.”

After
a long pause, Jordan said, “I like our idea better.”

“Me,
too,” Edison said. “Though I will keep that in mind as a back-up plan.”

“Fine
with me,” Irma said.  “Irma have no rat anyway.”

“Good
to know,” Edison said.  “Okay, you guys ready for the dry run?”

“Rock
and roll time,” Jordan said.

“Who
let the dogs out,” Irma said, looking like a stern P.E. teacher.

“That
makes absolutely no sense,” Jordan said.

“To
you, maybe.  To Irma it is eye of the tiger,” Irma said.

Edison
donned her special glasses and grabbed the remote.  Jordan and Irma took five
steps back.

“It’s
show time, folks!” Edison said.

Operation Meltdown, Phase One

What
with all the hoopla about Operation Meltdown, Jordan had almost forgotten she
had a date with Amy.  That is until she saw Amy walk in the door of the
theatre.  Jordan inhaled sharply.  Amy absolutely took her breath away. 
Normally, not being able to breathe was a bad thing.  This time, however, it
felt great.

Jordan
rushed up to Amy’s side and took her hand.  She said in an avalanche of words,
“You look great.  I’m so glad you could make it.  It’s going to be exciting. 
You smell good.”

Amy
blushed.  “Thanks. You’re not so bad yourself.”

Jordan
glanced at two older women that were standing behind Amy.  She escorted Amy
away from the women, whispering in her ear, “Don’t look now, but there are two
dykes behind you.  I think they’re checking you out.”

Amy
turned to look, but Jordan whispered harshly, “Don’t look!  They’ll know we’re
talking about them.”

Amy
snapped back to attention.  Jordan oh-so-discreetly led Amy even further away. 
The two women followed close behind.  Way too close.  Jordan decided she had
had enough.  She couldn’t tolerate stalking any more.  She turned to the two
women and with her hands on her hips, summoned her most authoritative voice. 
“Listen, you two.  Back off.  This is
my
date.  She doesn’t want
anything to do with you,
Capice
?  So you can take your little stalker
eyes and your little stalker ears and go stalk someone else. 
Capice
?” 
Jordan threw the Italian lingo in there twice.  She wanted to make sure they
knew she meant business.  And maybe they would think she had some Mafia
connections.

“Ooooh,
I like you,” one of the women said.

The
other woman agreed, “So tough and strong.  Like an Amazon warrior.”

Jordan
took a threatening step in closer to the women, intending to throw them out the
front door, but Amy stopped her.  “Jordan, I would like you to meet my mother,
Claire, and her friend, Lillian.”

Jordan
blinked, then looked sheepishly at the ground.  “Sorry.  I just thought…”

“Oh,
don’t worry about it,” Claire said.

“It
was very chivalrous,” Lillian agreed.  “So, are you a lesbian, too?”

“Of
course she’s a lesbian.  She’s dating my daughter, isn’t she?” Claire said.

Lillian
shrugged.  “You never know.  I dated a lesbian once and didn’t know it.”

“How
could you not know it?”

“It
was dark and she had a mustache.”

Claire
nodded.  “Did you ever see
Yentl
?”

“Oh,
I would date Barbra in a heart beat,” Lillian said.

Claire
shook her head.  “I don’t know.  Those fingernails are scary.”

Jordan
looked at Amy.  She was still flabbergasted and didn’t know what to say.

Amy
apologized, “Sorry about this.  I don’t always take my mother on my dates.  I
just didn’t know how to tell her no.  I hope you don’t mind.”

“The
more the merrier,” Jordan said.  “Anyway, I have my roommates with me.  I hope
that’s cool.”

The
four of them walked through the double doors and into the small ninety-nine-seat
auditorium.  Claire and Lillian gasped at the same time.  “Oh my!” Claire
said.  “Just look at all the lesbians!”

Lillian
said, “When did lesbianism become so popular?”

“Where
have all the lesbians been hiding?”

Amy
butted in, “Um, Mom?  Lillian?  Do you all mind keep your voices down?  Maybe
not embarrassing me?”

Claire
whispered, “Good idea.  I don’t want to get you kicked out of the lesbo club,
dear.”  She then said to Lillian, “This is the first time she’s shown an
interest in any club.  Even in high school she was a loner.”

Jordan
guided them to the last row of seats.  Amy and Jordan sat.  Claire and Lillian
sat in the row directly in front of them.

Claire
said, “Let’s pretend to be lesbians together, Lillian.  It will make us fit
in.”

“When
in Rome,” Lillian said.  She then turned to Amy and Jordan and asked, “What do
lesbians do at the theatre?”

“Hold
hands,” Jordan said.

Claire
and Lillian held hands and turned back to the front.

“Sorry,”
Amy mouthed.

The
lights began to lower and everybody crowded into the chairs.

Operation Meltdown, Phase Two

Edison
stumbled into the dark theatre and slid into the seat next to Jordan.  Her
sunglasses were on top of her head.  She leaned over Jordan and said to Amy,
“What’s up, Doc?”

Jordan
rolled her eyes.  “How original, Ed.”

“I
know right?  I always wanted to say that and now I can.”

Amy
laughed. “Okay, I’ll let you say it, but only you.”

“I
feel special,” Edison said.

“Soooo,”
Jordan said, putting as much meaning as possible into one little bitty word. 
“How’s things?”

Edison
nodded slowly and whispered, “Operation Meltdown is a-okay and ready to rock ‘n
roll.  Irma is baby-sitting the… uh, baby.”

Amy
leaned across Jordan and said to Edison, “What’s going on?”

“What
makes you say that?” Edison asked much too innocently to be innocent.

“Code
words and subterfuge,” Amy said.

“You
have highly developed observational skills,” Edison said.

“I’m
a doctor.  I’m supposed to,” Amy said.  “Now, spill.”

“She
might have to be our new mastermind,” Edison said.

“I
concur,” Jordan replied.  She looked over at Amy dressed in loose organic hemp
pants, a tie-dyed blouse with a plunging
neckline,
and her blue high-top sneakers.  She was cute and loveable and sexy all wrapped
up into one package.

“Do
you really want to know what we have planned or wait for the surprise?  I think
you’ll like it as a surprise best, but we’ll tell you if you want.  I’ll even
give you a hint.  It involves the Ice Queen and tires and paint,” Edison said
with an evil chuckle.

Claire
and Lillian whipped their necks around and stared at Jordan.  “Are you plotting
revenge on your ex-girlfriend?” Claire asked.

Jordan
was shocked into silence.  Edison was not.  “Hey, nobody likes eavesdroppers. 
So, turn your faces back around.  And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll
forget you ever heard that.”

“That’s
Amy’s mom and her lesbian, Lillian,” Jordan explained.

“Oh,”
Edison said.  “Sorry.”  She leaned over and said to Amy, “I didn’t know your
mom was a lesbian.”

“Oh,
goody,” Claire said, “It’s working.  We’re officially undercover, Lillian.”

Amy
shrugged.  “I don’t know what’s going on anymore.”

The
house lights went out and the stage lights came up.  Jordan took Amy’s hand. 
Edison noticed and sighed.  Irma slinked through the doors and sat in the chair
beside Edison.

“All
set?” Edison whispered.

“Of
course is set,” Irma said.

Edison
nodded and looked at her watch.  She punched a few elaborate buttons.

“Look
it’s a lesbian on stilts,” Claire said, pointing to the stage.  All six women
sat up straighter in their seats and watched intently.

Operation Meltdown, Phase Three

The
lesbian on stilts was not funny.  Her wandering around the stage telling jokes
and stories was not funny.  The stilts did involve some skill.  Jordan knew
this because she and Edison had used stilts to finish putting up the dry wall
in the dining room.  “It’s not easy to walk on stilts,” she whispered to Amy as
if apologizing for the not-funny comedienne.  The comic ended her performance
with a joke about two vulvas, one Catholic and one Jewish, walking into a bar. 
Irma
hurrumphed
with disgust.  Jordan was inclined to agree.

“Oh,
she wasn’t that bad,” Amy said as the stilted lesbian exited the stage.

“I
remember being like you - everything lesbian was bright and shiny,” Edison
said, “But you’ll get over it.  Believe me.”

The
next act was a short play called
Sweet Sufferings
and it was good, and
not just because the previous act was so bad either.  It was a clever little
play about a lesbian on her deathbed.  Not to be confused with lesbian bed
death.

There
wasn’t a dry eye in house at the end of it.  Jordan swore she heard Irma, the
tough as nails Russian, sniffle back tears.

“Now,
that was good,” Lillian said.

“The
Ice Queen is up next,” Jordan whispered to Edison.  “Start the timer.”

“I
know, I know,” Edison said, furiously punching numbers into her watch.

The
lights onstage changed from warm and inviting to bright and cold.  A woman
dressed in all black put a three-legged stool center stage.  A spotlight popped
on and pinpointed the stool.  It grew quiet and expectant.  Jordan knew from
past experience that Petronella always had to make a grand entrance.  She even
did it when they were going to bed.  Jordan would be about half asleep and no
longer in the mood and Petronella would come into the room in a white negligee
and lean against the door like some 1930’s movie star.  It was so overblown and
fake that Jordan found it a major turn off.

After
an interminable length of time with nothing happening onstage, Petronella made
her entrance.  She glided on from stage right, wearing an all white tuxedo with
long tails.  There was a collective inhalation of breath from the audience as
Petronella took her place in the spotlight.

When
is she going to start?” Edison hissed.

“What
do you mean?  This is her favorite part,” Jordan replied.

Irma
glanced at her watch.  “Irma thinks she better step on her poetry before she is
never late than better.”

Jordan
had no idea what the fuck Irma just said.

Petronella
addressed the audience, “Tonight I’m going to read from my latest collection of
award-winning poems,
La Furie Vagin
.” 

Lillian
whispered to Claire, “Did she just say ‘the furry vagina’?”

“Sshhh,”
Amy said.

Petronella
continued, “The poems I have chosen for this evening center around a theme of
the persecution, subjugation, instillation, fabrication, illumination and
excommunication of the Great Female Spirit.  They are poems of destruction and
triumph, of creation and defeat, of sensuality and sadism.”

“How
uplifting,” Jordan said, under her breath.

“This
first poem is titled
Vagina Dentata. 
Or
My Vagina Has Teeth
,”
Petronella said, solemnly.

Irma
whispered, “Irma like this poem already.”

Petronella
stoically recited:

Vagina
Dentata

My
vagina is angry

Since
the dawn of time

Men
have raped her

Men
have beaten her

Men
have bruised her soul

Then

My
vagina grew pointy teeth

And
this scared the men

Now
men try to

Bind
my vagina so she cannot walk

Make
her wear high heels so she cannot run

Shave
her so she will be shamed

Pierce
her so she can be chained

Pay
her only seventy percent of every dollar earned so she will be poor

Ah,
but my angry vagina

Will
not take it lying down

She
gnashes her teeth like Hannibal Lector

Waiting
to eat the penis with fava beans

…And
a nice chianti

Petronella
dramatically bowed her head.  The audience sat stunned and silent.  Then Irma
stood.  She brought her hands together in one loud clap.  Then another clap. 
And another.  She shouted, “Brava! Brava!”

The
rest of the audience surged to their feet and joined in the standing ovation,
clapping and whistling.

“What
are you doing?” Edison whispered while tugging on Irma’s arm to make her sit
back down.

“Irma
is mesmerized.”  Irma looked at Jordan.  “You did not tell Irma that she was so
gifted.”

Jordan
said in her best imitation Russian accent, “Jordan did not know Irma would
like.”

Claire
looked over her shoulder and smiled.  “Makes me proud to have a vagina.”

Edison
lowered her sunglasses and discreetly pulled a remote control out of her jacket
pocket.