More Than a Kiss (18 page)

Petronella
giggled.

“Since
when did you become a giggler?” Jordan said.

Chad
lurched up to their table.  He was wearing only his hospital gown, which was
flapping open in the back.  His hand was bandaged and tubes were sticking out
of both arms.  His hair was standing on end and he had a glazed, feral look in
his eyes.

“Where
is she?  Where have you taken her?”  Chad pointed a finger at Jeremy.  Then he
realized his bandage didn’t allow for pointing.  He lifted his other hand and
pointed that finger.
  
“Tell me what
you’ve done with my Amy,” he threatened.

“Dude,
I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jeremy said.  “You shouldn’t be here. 
Your finger can’t take the stress.”

Chad
leaned over the table and waved his bandaged hand around.  “You know where she
is!”  Jordan, Petronella and Jeremy had to bob and weave to keep from getting
bitch-slapped.  Chad leaned closer, pushing his nose into Jordan’s face.  He
slurred, “She’s mine.  Where have you taken her, you, you, Lezebel?  I’ve
warned you.  Stay away from her.  She’s mine.”  He straightened up and thumped
his chest like Tarzan, yelling, “Mine, mine, mine!”

“Who
is this madman?” Petronella said, patting Amy’s head to reassure her.

The
waitress in the crinkly dress flew over with a man dressed in an Astroturf three-piece
suit.

“Sir,
you can’t be in here,” Astroturf said.  He pulled Chad by the arm, trying to
guide him toward the door.

Chad
stumbled and jerked his arm away.  “And why the hell not?” Chad spit.  “I’m a
customer.  Customers are always right.”

“You
don’t have any pants on and we have very firm rules about that,” Astroturf
said.

“She
isn’t wearing pants,” Chad said, pointing at the waitress.

“Yes,
sir, but her dress is covering her butt.  Your dress, sir, does not,” Astroturf
said.

Chad
looked over his left shoulder in an attempt to see his own butt.  He spun in
circles like a dog chasing his own tail.  The spinning made him dizzy and he
was flung out of his own orbit and onto the next table.  Dishes and silverware
and chairs clattered and crashed to the floor.  Chad toppled on top of two
diners and they all fell to the floor in one giant heap.

Jeremy
said, “I think we should leave.  Now.”

“I
agree,” Petronella said.

“But
how are we going to get Amy out of here without her being seen by him?” Jordan
whispered conspiratorially.

“Yeah. 
How?” came Amy’s muffled response.

“Under
my skirt,” Petronella said.  “Amy, stay as low as you can, hold on to my thighs
and walk with me. You two,” she nodded to Jeremy and Jordan, “walk with me
also.  And act natural.”

They
began a slow, plodding march to the door.  Petronella walked with her back
arched, her legs splayed far apart and her skirt billowing out in front of her
where Amy’s head bobbed up and down with each step.  Jordan and Jeremy held on
to Petronella’s elbows steadying her.

“Make
way,” Jeremy said.  “She’s having her baby.”

“Good
cover,” Jordan whispered.  She said louder, “Watch out.  Pregnant lady coming
through.”

More
crashing sounded behind them as Chad got up and pinged off tables and diners
like a pinball.

The
waitress opened the front door for them.  “Oh, I am so sorry about this. 
Please do come back when we don’t have a Zombie on the premises,” she said.

Amy
laughed from under the skirt.  Petronella thunked Amy on the head.

The
waitress looked at Petronella’s baby bump.  “Did your baby just laugh?”

Petronella
smiled and said, “My baby is very advanced.”

At
that moment, Petronella’s white Mercedes skidded to a stop right in front of
them.  Irma smiled from behind the wheel.  Jeremy opened the back door and Amy
and Petronella jumped inside.  No sooner had Petronella pulled her door shut
than Irma mashed her foot to the gas and the car squealed out of the parking
lot.

Jordan
and Jeremy were left staring after the disappearing car.

After
a heart-thudding turn onto the main road, Amy poked her head out from under Petronella’s
skirt.  She crawled into the seat and peered out the back window.  “But what
about the others?” she said.

“No
worries.”  Irma drove with one hand and dialed a cell phone with the other. 
After a moment, Irma said, “Agent Jordan, this is Black Bishop and Ice Queen. 
We have your package.”

After
a brief pause, Irma said, “Black Bishop will take care of package.  Your
mission, should you choose to accept it, is to lead Madman in Dress on wild
chase of goose.”

Another
pause then, “Black Bishop signing off.  Over and out.”

Amy
stared wide-eyed at Irma.  “Who are you?”

Irma
winked at Amy in the rearview mirror.  “Irma is Black Bishop, a sleeper agent
for Mother Russia.  Do not worry.  You are in good hands.”

Petronella
stared adoringly at Irma.  She whispered to Amy out the side of her mouth,
“Isn’t she thrilling?”

Martini Time

Amy
sat in a chaise lounge with a wet towel draped over her forehead.  She felt
damaged, seriously damaged – like she might need some therapy time damaged.

“I
am so sorry that happened to you,” Jordan said as Amy’s head screamed in pain. 
“No one should ever be subjected to that.  The CIA should be informed of that
torture method.  It could crack any terrorist inside of thirty minutes.”

They
were out in the backyard of Jordan’s house.  Jordan had made Amy sit in the
lawn furniture outside rather than risk letting her see the inside of the
unfinished house.

After
being rescued from P.C.’s, Petronella had taken Amy to her house and locked her
in the study.  She then proceeded to read aloud every poem she had ever
written.  Irma was overjoyed.  Amy, not so much.  Three hours later, Irma
delivered Amy back to Jordan’s house.

Amy, her
thirst for poetry forever
sated, vowed to
never go near another poem.  Dr. Seuss included.

“Why
didn’t you just grab the key and run?” Edison said, bringing Amy a lemon-lime
martini.  Amy had never had a martini.  She’d never had the need for a stiff
drink until now.  Of course, she’d never been locked in a room with an
egomaniacal poet either.

Amy
pulled the cold compress from her forehead, sipped her martini, and put the
cold compress back on her head.  “Because Petronella had put the key in her
underpants for safekeeping.  You also might be interested to know, her panties
have kittens and puppies on them.  I spent some time under her skirt,
remember,” Amy said.

“When
did Petronella start wearing skirts?” Edison said.

“A
better question is:  when did she start wearing underwear,” Jordan said.

“Let
me explain because I know all about it,” Amy said, sitting up and taking
another sip of the martini.  It was starting to help.  “She said skirts address
her more feminine nature and she is practicing wearing them so she can whip
them off during the performance to reveal her vinyl pant suit.”

Edison
and Jordan let that soak in.

“And,”
Amy continued, “The puppies and kittens remind her that it’s okay to be
weak and vulnerable.  It’s all a part of the cycle of
life.  Or something like that.”

“Were
her teeth still blue?” Edison asked.

“They
did have a bluish tinge to them, now that you mention it,” Amy said with an
involuntary shiver.

Jordan
took a sip of Amy’s martini.  She didn’t normally drink martinis, but it was
dawning on her that Amy was at her house, well, sitting in the backyard, and
this wasn’t how she’d imagined Amy seeing her house for the first time.  She’d
wanted the house to be finished and ready to showcase, not in this state of
disrepair.  She was afraid that Amy would equate the chaos of the house with
the inside of Jordan.  She wouldn’t be far off either, Jordan mused as she
drained the martini.

“Edison,
maybe you should make Amy another martini,” Jordan said handing over the empty
glass.

“I’ll
make you one, too.”

“I
don’t drink martinis,” Jordan said.

“Okaaaaay,”
Edison said, tromping back up to the house.

Jordan’s
stomach rumbled.  She was starving and had to eat soon.  Maybe she could fix
Amy dinner and light some candles and Amy wouldn’t be able to see what the
house looked like in the candlelight.  It might even be romantic.

Edison
returned with two martinis.  She handed them both to Amy.  “Just in case you
need another one.”  She cocked her head in Jordan’s direction.

“Thank
you.  I’m feeling a little better.  I think the vodka is making the buzzing
noise in my head go away,” Amy said.

Edison
sat in a nearby lawn chair.  Jordan looked at Edison and tried to communicate
something with her eyes.  Edison shook her head like she didn’t understand. 
Jordan used her head to gesture toward the house.  Edison raised her eyebrows
in a questioning expression.  Amy watched the entire exchange.

“What
are you two doing?” Amy asked.

Jordan
stuttered, “Uh… Oh, Edison, aren’t you going to be late?”

“Late?” 
Edison said.  “For what?”

“You
know… that thing.”

“Thing?”

“Yes,
that
thing
,” Jordan said forcefully.  “That thing you do every week at
this exact same time.”

Finally,
it dawned on Edison that Jordan wanted her to leave. “Oh! 
That
thing.” 
Edison rose to her feet.  “I better hurry.  Bye, Amy.”

“Are
you sure you have to rush off?” Amy said.

“Well,”
Edison wavered, starting to sit back down.  “I could maybe stay for…”

Jordan
quickly interrupted, “No, you can’t stay, you have to go.  You know how they
get when you’re late.”

Edison
hopped back up.  “Right.  They get really…”

“Mad,”
Jordan filled in.

“Sad,”
Edison said at the same time.

“I
mean sad,” Jordan said.

“Mad,”
Edison said at the same time.  “Sad
and
mad.”  As an afterthought, she
threw in, “And glad.”

“Please
don’t rhyme anymore.  I’ve had all the rhyming I can take for one day,” Amy
said while massaging her temples.

Edison
laughed nervously and took several steps backwards.  “So, goodbye!”  She turned
and trotted off toward the house, leaving Jordan and Amy alone.

Jordan
chuckled and said, “Edison is brilliant, but sometimes a little dense.”

“You
really care for her, though,” Amy said.  “And she cares for you.”

“Yeah,”
Jordan said.  “I’m pretty lucky to have her for a friend.”

“Jeremy
and Isabel are the closest friends I’ve ever had.  Med school was so
competitive that it was dangerous to get too close to anybody.”  She sipped her
martini.

“How
about at work?” Jordan said.  She sipped Amy’s other martini.

“We’re
all friendly, but not friends, you know?  There’s still some climbing to do if
you want to be head of a department or position yourself to get into a cushy
clinic.  So people don’t let each
other get too
close.”

“Are
you still climbing?”  Jordan wasn’t sure how Amy felt about her career.  What
if having a girlfriend jeopardized her plans?

Amy
responded, “The only other place I would consider working is Urgent Care.  I
like hands-on.  I’m not interested in becoming the next director of Human
Services and Surgery.  I leave that to people like Chad.  Even Jeremy just
wants to help people.  That’s why we can be friends.  He wants to eventually go
overseas and do that Third World thing.  I couldn’t take the food.”

Jordan’s
smile widened.  She leaned in and kissed Amy lightly on the lips.  “So having a
girlfriend isn’t going to mess up your life plan?”

“No,
silly.”

Jordan
made her monumental decision.  If Amy was willing to share her life with Jordan
then a remodeled house that was stuck in the nightmare stage shouldn’t stop
her.  “Would you like to come inside?  If you promise to ignore the shambles of
remodeling, I promise to not blindfold you.  I can make us something to eat.”

At
the mention of eating, Amy’s stomach growled loudly.  She giggled.  “I think
that was a definite yes.”

“Okay,”
Jordan said, draining the last of the martini.  “Just remember the house is a
work in progress.”

“Aren’t
we all,” Amy said.

Pizza Sauce

Once
inside the house Amy was truly awed.  The grand central staircase, albeit, in
need of refinishing, spoke of women in long, flowing dresses descending to be
embraced in their lovers’ arms only to be carried back up the stairs in a fit
of unbridled passion.  The stained glass windows on the first landing were
still intact and the light that filtered through made the front hall look
enchanting.

“This
is the most beautiful home I’ve ever seen,” Amy said reverently.

“That’s
the living room,” Jordan said and pointed in its general direction.  “Dining
room is over there,” she pointed again.  “The second floor has four bedrooms. 
One is Irma’s unless she’s moved into Petronella’s already.  And the other is
Edison’s.  Two unoccupied.  The third floor is Edison’s laboratory and we won’t
talk about that and the attic is my studio with a bed.  Someday, I’ll have a
master suite.”

“I’m
only going to let you get away with cutting the tour short because I’m
starving,” Amy said.

“The
kitchen is this way,” Jordan said.

The
once grand kitchen looked like a post-earthquake scene from a 1970’s disaster
movie.  Amy half-expected Charlton Heston to jump out of the pantry, with a
torn and blood splattered shirt, and yell, “Ladies first!” while tossing them
out of the burning building.

Amy
looked at the bright side.  “It’s like starting out with a clean slate.  This
kitchen can become anything you desire.”

Jordan
liked Amy’s optimism.  “The stove still functions.  We just have to keep to
simple fare.  I thought we’d have pizza.  Of course, pizza isn't the only thing
I can cook, you know," Jordan said, opening a box and taking out a frozen
pepperoni pizza.

 Amy
was amazed that Jordan could find her way to the stove much less use it.  The
cabinets were on the floor, the counters were nothing but makeshift plywood on
sawhorses and the stove was shoehorned half inside the pantry, making fully
opening its door an impossibility.  No wonder she was only cooking a pizza, it
was the only thing she could slide in the oven.  And even to accomplish that
she had to hold the pizza vertically and insert it like a coin into a vending
machine.

"Oh?"
Amy said. "Are you a good cook?  Because I have to be honest, I’m horrible. 
I even burn Ramen noodles."

"Frozen
pizza is my specialty," Jordan said, wiping her hands on a dishrag. 
"But hot dogs are my culinary masterpiece."

Amy
laughed.

Jordan
said with an ultra-solemn expression, "I'm serious, why are you laughing? 
I can make hot dogs dozens of ways.  Boiled, baked, fried, charred, sliced, diced,
on a stick, deep-fried, battered…”

"Okay,
okay, I get the picture."

"I'm
like the Forrest Gump of hot dogs."

Amy
said, "I wasn't laughing at your culinary skills.  I’m laughing at your
nose."

"My
nose?"

Amy
hooked one finger into the collar of Jordan's shirt and tugged her closer. 
"Uh huh.  You have a tiny bit of pizza sauce on the end of your
nose."

"Are
you flirting with me?" Jordan said, tugging Amy’s hips closer to her own.

"No,"
Amy said.  "This is flirting with you."  She stood on her toes and lightly
kissed Jordan.  The kiss heated up and Jordan pressed into Amy, backing her
into the fridge, which was sitting in the middle of the floor.

"Oomph,"
Amy said, conking her head against the fridge.

Jordan
laughed.

Amy
rubbed the back of her head.  "Oh, you think it's funny?" she asked.

"I'm
not laughing at that," Jordan said.  "I'm laughing because now
you
have pizza sauce on the tip of your nose."

Amy
chuckled and reached up to wipe it off, but Jordan caught her hand.  "Let
me get it."  She kissed the end of Amy's nose, stepped back and licked her
lips.  "Hmm, I think it needs more garlic."

Amy
stepped in to kiss Jordan again, but tripped over a stack of pots and pans on
the floor.  The pans crashed against the wall and Amy stumbled backwards into
the far wall.  She laughed, brushed herself off and took one step toward
Jordan.  She slipped on a cooking sheet, which acted like a skateboard, and
sent her hurtling into Jordan’s arms.

Jordan
laughed.  "Maybe we ought to sit down.  It's safer that way."

"Ya
think?" Amy said.  She looked around the floor for any banana peels.  She
didn't think she could live down another trip to the emergency room.  “Who
keeps their cookware on the floor?”

“People
without functioning cabinets,” Jordan said.

Jordan
found two chairs stacked behind the cabinets and placed them in the middle of
the room facing each other.  Amy sat as Jordan peeked into the stove and
pronounced, "Won't be long now.  It's almost done."

Jordan
sat in the other chair and pulled her little rubber ball out of her pocket and
squeezed it.

Amy
said, "You've been practicing?"

Jordan
nodded.  "I can almost squeeze it the whole way now.  And it's a good
stress reliever, too."

Amy
looked closer at the ball.  She pointed at a blob of paint on the side of it. 
"What's that?"

Jordan
smiled and held the ball up for Amy to see.  "Edison painted a nipple on
it.  She thought it might inspire me to squeeze it."

Amy
laughed.  "She's very creative."

"To
say the least.  Now if she'd just learn to finish a project."  Mr. Pip
came by and rubbed on Jordan’s leg.  She scratched his butt and he purred
loudly.

“Can
I ask you a question?” Amy said.

“Sure.”

"How
can you tell the difference between a friend and a girlfriend?”

"Well,"
Jordan replied, "If I squeeze their boob and it feels like squeezing this
rubber ball, then I know they're just a friend."

Amy
laughed.

"I
call it the titty test."

"I
suppose this is the part where I'm supposed to let you squeeze mine?"

"Well,
if you insist," Jordan said.  She leaned forward in her chair and kissed
Amy.  As the kiss deepened, Jordan slipped to her knees between Amy's legs. 
Amy wrapped her arms around Jordan and placed her hands under the back of her
shirt.

Jordan
let go of the rubber ball and it bounced across the floor.  Neither one noticed.

Jordan
moved her lips to Amy's neck, nibbling down her shoulder.

Amy
shivered.

"You
okay?" Jordan whispered in her ear.

“Better
than okay,” Amy said.

Amy
wrapped her fingers around Jordan's neck and pulled her lips to hers.  She
sucked on Jordan's bottom lip and felt her body responding to Jordan in a way
she had never experienced before.  It was like her body had a mind of its own.

Jordan
nibbled Amy’s neck.  “You have a little sauce on your neck,” she said, nibbling
down further and further.

Amy
shivered.

“Whoops,
there’s some on your collarbone, too.”

Amy
moaned as Jordan licked and bit her collarbone.

Jordan
breathed, “Wait.  There’s more sauce.  Let me get it.”  She lifted Amy’s shirt
and nipped and licked, opening her bra clasp, and letting her mouth and tongue
roam over the softness of her breasts.  She teased a nipple with her tongue and
when Amy moaned, she sucked the hard nipple into her mouth.

Amy
wrapped her legs around Jordan's waist and arched her back.  She felt as if
every nerve, every fiber of her being was on fire.

"There’s
a fire," somebody said.

“There
sure is,” Amy mumbled.

"Fire!"
the voice screamed.

Amy's
eyes popped open.  Fire?  Where?

Edison
stood in the doorway with the yellow titty ball in her hand.  She was staring
at the cloud of black smoke rolling out of the stove.  “The oven is on fire!”

Jordan
jumped to her feet just as tiny blue and orange flames shot out of the burners
on top of the stove.  Mr. Pip howled, arched his back, hissed and leapt up on
the top of the cabinets.  Jordan danced from foot to foot and flapped her arms,
saying “Fire, fire, fire, fire.”  At first Amy thought she was trying to shoo
away the smoke, but then she realized Jordan was over-excited and hopping
around because she didn't know what to do.

At
that moment, the smoke alarm went off.  The shrill sound made talking an
impossibility.  Edison ran toward the stove, grabbed a hot pad off the top of
the fridge, put it on and tried to open the oven door.  She could only open the
door a couple of inches.  Thick black smoke billowed out.  Edison coughed and
waved the hot pad in front of her face.

Amy
pulled her shirt down, ran to the stove and turned it off.

Jordan
hopped to the sink and turned the cold water on full blast.  She pulled the
spray nozzle out and aimed it across the room at the burning stove.  The water
arced high in the air and came down directly on top of Edison’s head.

Edison
yelped, dropped the oven mitt and dove away from the stream of water, still
hacking from the smoke.

Jordan
threw down the nozzle and kneeled before one of the cabinets.  She opened one
of the doors and looked inside.  She was yelling, but Amy couldn't hear what
she was saying over the alarm.  Jordan threw open another cabinet door and
tossed boxes and cans out into the middle of the room.  She opened the third
cabinet, rummaged around inside and pulled out a fire extinguisher.

Jordan
ran toward the stove, aimed the fire extinguisher nozzle in front of her.  She slipped
on the hot pad Edison had dropped on the floor.  Her feet went up in the air
and her butt slammed down on the linoleum.  The spray of the fire extinguisher
shot straight up like a fountain.

Amy
ran to help Jordan.  She slipped on the white gunk shooting out of the fire
extinguisher and crashed to the floor next to Jordan.  Edison rolled to her
feet, crossed to Jordan and yanked the fire extinguisher out of her hands.  She
aimed the nozzle at the stove.

Unfortunately,
the smoke was so thick she couldn't see where the stove was so she played it
safe and sprayed the entire kitchen.  The flames disappeared, but black smoke
still oozed out of every possible crack of the oven.

Amy
got to her feet slowly, slipping and sliding.  She turned around in time to see
Jordan with a chair raised above her head.  She was aiming it at the smoke
alarm that was hanging on the wall over the doorway.  She whacked at the smoke
alarm with the chair’s legs.  She succeeded in putting three holes in the wall
without touching the smoke alarm once.

Amy
grabbed the chair out of Jordan's hands.  She put the chair on the floor,
climbed on the seat and yanked the alarm off the wall.  Jordan grabbed the alarm
out of her hands and tossed it into the sink.

Edison
aimed the sprayer at it and doused it with water.  The alarm squealed, squeaked,
bleated, belched, then died.

Silence.

Amy
coughed.

Jordan
threw open the window above the sink.

Edison
turned off the water and marched out of the kitchen without saying a word.

“I
don’t think she’s happy,” Jordan said.

Amy
and Jordan faced each other.  They were both smeared with white goop and
smelled like burnt pizza.

“Well,”
Amy said, “That was fun.”

“What
now?”

“Maybe
we should go to my house.”

“Do
you have any hot dogs?”

Amy
smiled.  “Better.  I have a bathtub.”