“I am here celebrating with Irma,” Petronella said.  She gestured to the other side of the room.  Irma, sitting at a table, had a big smile on her face.  She waved.  Jordan limply waved back.

“What are you celebrating?” Amy asked cheerfully.

“Our anniversary,” Petronella said.

Jordan said, “Your what?”

Petronella smiled.  “We have been together for nineteen hours.  We are deliciously happy.  We are in love.”

Jeremy piped in, “Sex is a mood enhancer.  It raises your serotonin levels and causes you to think you’re in love.”

Petronella glared at him.  “Men,” she scoffed.  “They know nothing of the heart.  Only the penis.”

“I beg your pardon.  My penis is quite romantic,” Jeremy said.

“As I was saying,” Petronella said to Jordan, throwing Jeremy one last scalding look, “I want to thank you for introducing me to Irma.  She is amazing.  She has helped me realize my potential as a woman, a feminist, a poet, a teacher and now as a performance artist.  She has made me realize how extraordinary I am.”

“I had no idea that you didn’t realize you were extraordinary,” Jordan said.

“I didn’t know my full potential until I was drowning in paint, on the edge of a nervous breakdown.  Then along came Irma,” Petronella said.  She actually had glistening eyes.

Jordan handed her a napkin.  Petronella dabbed at her happy tears.

“All this in only nineteen hours?” Amy said.

Jordan explained, “Nineteen hours in lesbian time is like three years in normal time.  They’ve probably already moved in together.”

Petronella nodded.  “We adopted a kitten this morning.”

“Holy shit,” Amy said.

“You don’t like kittens?” Petronella said, aghast.

“It’s not that.  It’s him.” Amy pointed to the entrance just as Chad stumbled through the front door.  “I have to hide before he sees me.”  Amy slipped under the table and hid in the first place she could find – under Petronella’s skirt.

“Oh!” Petronella said.

“Sorry,” Amy said, burrowing further between Petronella’s thighs.  “Pretend I’m not here.”

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.