More Than a Kiss

by Layce Gardner

  Isabel rooted around in the bag and pulled out several small plastic lobsters, an inflatable lobster, several hard plastic lobster true-to-scale models, light up lobster patio lights, a lobster cooking apron, a ceramic coffee mug with a lobster painted on the side and one peeking up from the bottom, lobster towels, a pair of lobster boxer shorts and even lobster socks.

  “You are terrible,” Isabel said.

  “I know, right?”

  “Jeremy, aren’t you being a little harsh?” Amy said.

  “And the banana thing wasn’t? Look, he got a lot of mileage out of tormenting you. Dude gets what he gives. Picture it: tomorrow he wakes up and his entire room is lobsterfied. You gotta admit, it’s funny.”

  Amy smiled. Maybe Chad did deserve a little retribution. Okay, a lot of retribution.

  Jeremy started the car while Isabel repacked the bag. “He is an asshole,” Isabel said.

  “And it is funny,” Amy added.

  “He uses people, dudes included. All I’m saying is he needs to come down from Chad mountain,” Jeremy said. “Doctor Stumpy is going to wake up tomorrow in lobster world.” He hung a lobster shaped car deodorizer from his rear view mirror.

  Here Lobster, Lobster!

  Amy had barely walked through the front door before she heard Isabel yell, “Oh no!” Amy ran to the kitchen and got there only seconds before Jeremy. “What what what?” Amy said. “What is it?”

  Isabel was standing in front of the stove, staring at it. There was nothing wrong that Amy could see. Even the burner was turned off. Isabel slowly turned to Jeremy and Amy, saying, “The Saag Paneer. It’s gone.”

  “Gone?” Jeremy said. “It fell on the floor.”

  Isabel gestured to the floor. It was mostly clean except for a twin pair of green drag marks leading toward the dining room. She picked up the pot it had been cooking in. There was nothing inside but a crusty green ring where it had once been.

  “Steve ate it,” Amy said, drawing the obvious conclusion.

  “Who’s Steve?” Jeremy asked.

  “The lobster,” Isabel said. “I named him Steve.”

  “You named a man-maiming, Indian-food-eating lobster Steve?” Jeremy asked.

  “Mr. Claw was too obvious,” Isabel said.

  Jeremy nodded like it made absolute and complete sense.

  “We need to find Steve,” Isabel said. “Before the Saag Paneer kicks in and he goes really crazy.”

  “Yeah, no way I’m sleeping in this house with him on the loose,” Amy said.

  “If you find him, don’t hurt him. I still need him for the race tomorrow,” Isabel said.

  “Okay, well, let’s split up and check all the rooms,” Amy said.

  “Can lobsters live outside of water?” Jeremy asked. He was opening kitchen cupboards. “I mean, they keep them in that tank at the store, right?”

  “They need water but as long as they keep moist they can live outside of a pool,” Isabel said.

  “Could he have gotten outside?” Amy opened the back door that led outside from the kitchen. She turned on the light. “Here lobster, lobster, lobster!”

  “I’ll go out and search,” Jeremy said, pulling on oven mitts. He clicked his heels and saluted them. “If I’m not back in three days tell my mother I loved her,” he said, soberly.

  Isabel snickered.

  “I’ll start in my bedroom. You start in yours,” Amy said. She opened the storage closet and grabbed a bucket and a Tupperware tub. She handed Isabel the bucket. “If you see him trap him under that.”

  Amy left Isabel and went to her room. She looked under the bed and had just opened the closet door when she heard Isabel’s blood-curdling scream. She flew out of her room, crashing into Jeremy who was running down the hallway. Isabel screamed again.

  Amy was the first to throw open the bathroom door and step inside. Jeremy skidded to a stop behind her. Isabel was standing on the bathroom counter with her pants bunched around her ankles and her panties up, but twisted. She was bug-eyed and pointing at the toilet.

  Amy tippy-toed over to the toilet and peered inside. Sure enough, Steve was in the bowl. He was trying to crawl out, but kept sliding on the porcelain. “He looks mad.”

  Isabel said, “I peed on him.”

  Jeremy burst out laughing and walked toward the toilet. Isabel flapped her arms, stopping him in his tracks. “Don’t look at my pee!”

  Jeremy jumped back. “I think we need to get him out of there, Isabel,” he said.

  Isabel nodded. “I know. But I don’t want a man to see my pee.”

  “So Amy can see your urine, but I can’t? That’s really weird, Isabel.”

  “It’s just my thing, okay? I don’t want you to see my pee.”

  “I’m a doctor, Isabel, I’ve seen lots of pee.”

  Isabel shook her head. “You’re my friend. We’re roommates. I read in a magazine once that if a man sees you urinate he’ll never look at you the same way again.”

  “What way?” he asked.

  “Just don’t look at my pee!” she shouted on the verge of hysteria.

  “Okay, okay,” Jeremy said, backing up and not looking anywhere near the toilet.

  “I have a plan,” Amy said. “I think I can flush the toilet, the pee will disappear and then we can get Steve out,”

  “Won’t that make him madder?” Isabel said, untwisting her panties and pulling up her pants. “He might get really violent the madder he gets.”

  “It’ll just be like a wave crashing over him,” Amy said. “He can pretend he’s on the beach.” She flushed. Steve bumped about and then settled, his antennae seeming to approve.

  “You can look now,” Isabel said to Jeremy.

  “How about we put him in the tub for now,” Amy said. She stoppered the tub and turned on the faucet, adjusting the temperature to what she believed Steve would find comfortable.

  Jeremy studied Steve, being careful to keep his fingers out of claw range. “We have those BBQ tongs, right?”

  “Yes,” Isabel said. “I’ll get them.” She jumped off the counter and ran out of the room.

  “Do you think she’s all right?” Jeremy whispered after Isabel was gone.

  “I think so. Although she’ll never sit down again without looking,” Amy said.

  “I’ve never sat without looking after I saw that movie where alligators roamed the sewers of New York,” Jeremy said.

  Isabel ran back in with an enormous set of metal tongs. “These should work.”

  Isabel poked around in the toilet with the tongs. Steve thrashed. “Listen, you little shit. We have to get through tomorrow and then I’ll set you free, so just settle down and I’ll get you out of there. I’m sorry I peed on you but if you’re going to hang around in a toilet bowl that’s to be expected.”

  “She does know she’s talking to a bug wearing an exoskeleton, right?” Jeremy said.

  “Well, they did share an intimate moment,” Amy replied.

  “I’ll say. He could’ve bitten off my vagina,” Isabel said. She frowned. “I’d never get a date then.”

  “You’re more than the sum of your parts,” Jeremy said.

  “That’s very nice of you to say, Jeremy, but a girl without a vagina stands no chance against one that does,” Isabel said. She furrowed her brow, opened the tongs and clamped Steve around his midsection. “Ha! I got you.” She dashed toward the tub with the flailing lobster dripping water everywhere and his antennae going wild. She dropped him in the tub with a big plop.

  “Wow, awesome job,” Amy said. They all watched Steve for a moment as he swam to and fro. “He looks happy, don’t you think?”

  “What do we do when we want to bathe?” Amy asked.

  “Use the shower in my room,” Isabel said. “I’ll have him out of here tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Okay,” Amy said.

  “So, let’s order a pizza and forget any of this happened. What’d you say?” Isabel said, her face flushed from her triumph.

  �
�Good idea,” Jeremy and Amy said in unison.

  Isabel was the last one to leave the bathroom. She flipped off the light and whispered in the dark, “Good night, Steve. Sleep tight.”

  “Don’t let the crustaceans bite,” Amy said from down the hallway.

  “Ha ha,” Isabel muttered. “Not funny.”

  The Interrogation

  All hell was breaking loose. Jordan had always thought that expression was nothing more than a silly cliché. Now she was changing her mind. As soon as she walked in the front door and heard the commotion (banging, muffled yelling, strange machine-like whirring noises) from upstairs in Edison’s so-called laboratory, Jordan knew all hell was indeed breaking loose.

  Half of her shifted into rescue mode (her brain) and half of her downshifted into survival mode (her body). She didn’t know whether to run to the noises or run away from the noises. In the end, brain and body compromised and she slowly crept upstairs to Edison’s lab. She felt like the virgin in a horror movie. The virgin was always the last to die. If she heard any creepy music she was running back down the stairs.

  Jordan put a hand on the lab door like she was testing the temperature within the room. She had seen that in a safety video once. If the door felt hot that meant there was a hellish backdraft waiting to jump out and crispy-fry her.

  The door felt lukewarm. Jordan thought that meant she could open the door; that nothing hellacious was contained within the confines of the four walls on the other side of that wooden two inch slab.

  She was wrong.

  What she saw took a bloated moment to register: Petronella, dressed all in white, was sitting in a straight-backed chair in the middle of the room. Her hands were tied behind her back. Her feet were tied at the ankles. And the scariest part? The entire room was covered in plastic wrap. Every. Single. Thing. Covered. In. Plastic.

  Jordan’s brain balked, refusing to admit to itself what her eyes were seeing. Then once it did register, she very nearly upchucked. She had unwittingly entered a murder den. Petronella was being slaughtered and the murderer didn’t want blood to get all over everything.

  Edison jumped out from behind the door with a big smile plastered on her face. “Good! You’re here!”

  Jordan opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again and stuttered, “What the fuckity fuck?”

  Edison said, “You got here just in time for the interrogation.”

  Interrogation? Something clicked into place and Jordan’s mind flashbacked to yesterday. Edison had led her to the garage, saying, “I have to show you something. Petronella has been up to her old tricks.”

  “You’re talking about the slashed tires and the whore on the sidewalk thing?” Jordan asked.

  “Yes, among other things.”

  “Other things?” Jordan said.

  Edison pointed to the corner of the garage. A stack of political signs, the kind politicians stick in front yards during elections, leaned against the wall. Jordan went over to look closer. They weren’t political signs; they were Biblical signs.

  “What the hell?” she said and began reading them. They were Bible verses, indictments against homosexuality of the “man shall not lie with man” variety.

  “I came home the other night and the lawn was plastered with them. And, boy, GLAAD is mad. Their spokeswoman called and warned me that such bigotry will not be tolerated,” Edison said.

  “Wait a minute. They actually thought we were putting these in our yard on purpose?” Jordan asked.

  “Yep.”

  “Did you explain that we’re gay?” Jordan asked.

  “I tried but the woman was ranting so much I couldn’t get a word in edgewise. I took the signs down and stacked them in here.”

  “This is pretty low, even for Petronella.”

  “Duh, think about it. It’s a perfect premise. She’s trying to make us look bad in front of the whole neighborhood. Mrs. Wichersham from across the street flipped me the bird this morning. Even the cute letter carrier snubbed me.”

  Jordan shook her head in disbelief. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I made an executive decision not to tell you because you were so happy with Amy and I didn’t want to ruin it. But that’s not all.”

  “There’s more?”

  Edison pointed at a cardboard box. Jordan reached down to open it, but Edison stopped her, saying, “I wouldn’t open that if I were you.”

  “Why, what is it?”

  “Evidence.”

  Jordan wrinkled her nose. “It smells poopish.”

  “That’s because it is poopish. Burned and charred dog poop to be precise. Someone set it on the porch, lit it on fire and rang the door bell. Irma was not happy when she stomped it out.”

  Jordan’s face darkened. “Petronella tried to light my house on fire.”

  “I think she just wanted you to get shit on your shoes.”

  “But she could’ve burned down the house.”

  “Yes, she could have. That’s why I mean to put a stop to her evil and vandalistic trickery.”

  “If Petronella was doing all this why did she ask me to get you to invent the remote control paint car?” Jordan asked.

  “Duh,” Edison said. “To throw you off her scent.”

  That was yesterday. Today, Jordan was standing at the murder scene and what Edison said made sense. She had had no idea that Edison was meaning to kill Petronella. She had thought Edison meant to give her the remote car and send away her on tour.

  Jordan grabbed Edison by the shoulders and shook her none too gently. “You can’t do this. You can’t kill her. I don’t want her blood on your hands.”

  “Kill?” Petronella gasped. She strained against the ropes tying her to the chair. “Kill!” she yelled. She bounced up and down, managing to make the chair hop. She hopped toward Jordan, begging, “Please, Jordan, do not kill me. I was not perfect. I know that now. But to kill me?”

  “Nobody’s killing anybody,” Jordan said.

  “You’re going to wish you were dead, though,” Edison snarled. With that, Edison put on her sunglasses and whipped a remote control out of her pocket. She aimed it Petronella.

  Petronella blanched. “What are you doing? Is that a taser gun?”

  “I vill ask you again,” Edison said, using a fake German accent that sounded like it came straight out of Hogan’s Heroes. “Did you or did you not put ze signs in da yard?”

  “Not!” Petronella said. “I have no idea what you are talking about!”

  Edison pushed a button. From the corner of the room, buzzed an engine. A remote control tanker rolled on four wheels up to Petronella. It was a duplicate of the one that caused the brouhaha at the poetry reading. A nozzle telescoped out and up. It raised, lowered, moved from right to left until it was in perfect alignment with Petronella.

  Edison laughed and punched another button. Red paint shot out of the nozzle and splattered Petronella in the chest.

  Petronella looked down at the red spot on her white shirt and yelped, “This is Armani, you idiot!”

  Jordan was relieved that Edison was only euphemistically killing Petronella. And the sight of the Ice Queen red-faced and blubbering sent Jordan into hysterics.

  “This is not funny!” Petronella barked.

  “Gimme that,” Jordan said, taking the remote out of Edison’s hands. “Don’t hog all the fun.”

  “NO! Do not shoot!” Petronella pleaded.

  Edison clasped her hands behind her back, paced back and forth and interrogated, “Then tell the truth, Petronella. Did you put the flaming dog poop on the porch?”

  “I have no idea what you are talking about,” Petronella said.

  Jordan pushed a button.

  Petronella gasped as a jetstream of blue paint hit her full in the face. “Damn you!”

  Jordan high-fived Edison. “She looks good in blue don’t you think?”

  “You’re right. Her white hair really makes her blue teeth pop.”

  “Next question,” Jordan said, po
ising her thumb over the yellow button. “Did you paint the word ‘WHORE’ in front of my house?”

  “You are demented and crazy,” Petronella spit. This time the yellow paint splattered her crotch.

  Edison giggled. “It looks like she tinkled her panties.”

  Petronella bounced in her chair toward Jordan. She was so mad she was frothing at the mouth. Or maybe that was just the blue paint bubbling out.

  Jordan backed away from Petronella’s hopping chair, using the remote to keep the tanker car between herself and Petronella. She fired another question, “Did you slash my bike tires?”

  “No. No. No. No. No. No,” Petronella enunciated with each bounce of her chair.

  Jordan splatted her with green paint. Then topped it off with a small splash of red. Petronella kept bouncing, kept advancing.

  Jordan walked backwards. She aimed the remote and said, “Tell the truth Petronella. The paint will not stop until you admit to your crimes.”

  “I. Did. Not. Do. It.” Bouncity bounce bounce.

  Jordan hit the button labeled “rapid fire.” Four streams of pulsating colors hit Petronella. It was like she was standing under a colorful waterfall. Petronella stopped bouncing. Soon, she was a rainbow collage of colors. She began to sob.

  Jordan stopped firing.

  Petronella hung her head, gasping for breath. “I give up,” she said weakly between sobs. “I can take no more. I surrender.”

  Jordan handed the remote to Edison and said, “Admit it, Petronella. You are jealous of Amy.”

  “Yes,” Petronella said. “Yes, I am jealous. Is that what you wanted to hear?” She looked up, her eyes meeting Jordan’s. “Can you blame me? She has captured your attention. You are in love with her. I loved you once. But you never loved me back.”

  Jordan opened her mouth to disagree, but Petronella interrupted. “Oh, do not tell me you loved me, Jordan. I am a lot of things, but I am no fool. I would have given anything to have you look at me the way you look at her. All I ever wanted was your love.” She looked away and sniffled. “To be loved,” she said softly. “Alas, it is not to be. I shall perish, old and alone, wrinkled and shriveled. The Ice Queen will never be warmed by another’s heart.” She snuffled.