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 at Petronella for leading her astray, making her believe she was the only vagina in the world who mattered, 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 cut-outs of Petronella that Irma had created. Irma had photoshopped pictures of Petronella’s head and enlarged them so they would fit the cardboard cut-outs. 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 with her neck poking 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 a 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. “I 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 PE 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. My mother just kind of horned in. I 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 show an interest in any club. Even in high school she was 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
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sp; 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 some neckline, and her blue high top sneakers. She was so 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 a 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 were 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, brightly 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 death bed. 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 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.”
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 beat 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.
Operation Meltdown Final Phase
As the audience quieted and took their seats, the theme song from Jaws blared from off stage right. Petronella looked offstage and made slashing motions across her neck. The music continued. Petronella looked out at the audience and put her finger up as if to say “Wait, I, the Ice Que
en, Mistress of the Universe, will take care of this.” She strode toward the offending music.
Petronella stopped.
She froze with eyes wide open, horror-struck.
She took a step backward.
Edison’s remote control tanker car wheeled onstage. Edison had built another car like the prototype that had caused the Mr. Pip-falling-out-the-window accident. Only this car had a tanker on its back. A tank filled with blue, red, green and yellow paint. The paint nozzle was attached to a retractable arm that could be raised or lowered from the remote control that Edison was now pointing at the stage.
Petronella took another step backward.
The audience clapped, mistakenly thinking this was a part of the show.
The car braked. The paint nozzle raised and pointed at Petronella who was too confused to move.
Edison punched a button on the remote. Irma shrieked. She threw her body at Edison, shouting, “Do not shoot!”
But Irma was too late. The tiny car shot a stream of paint out of its nozzle. The red paint arced high in the air and splatted Petronella right in her angry vagina.
Jordan threw her body on top of Irma’s body who was on top of Edison’s body and they all three rolled around the floor. Edison’s glasses flew off and her remote control skidded down the aisle and out of sight.
Chaos erupted. Petronella shrieked. The audience screamed. Claire and Lillian stood on their chairs so they could see all the action. Amy covered her face.
The house lights flickered on and off like a strobe light.
Jordan climbed to her feet and chased after the remote. She ran from person to person as it was kicked around the audience like Charlie Chaplin’s hat.
The car obeyed each command from the remote as it was kicked. The car shot paint left and right, up and down; red and blue and orange and yellow paint spewed from its nozzle, splattering Petronella and the audience. The car whizzed back and forth across the stage, in elaborate figure eights, gushing paint like a rabid, demon possessed lawn sprinkler.
Petronella, now wearing a rainbow colored tux and tails, picked up her stool and chased the car, shouting Dutch obscenities.
More Than a Kiss Page 11
