More Than a Kiss

Aunt Jemima

“You look like a sexy Aunt Jemima,” Chad said, standing in Amy’s office doorway.

Amy had been hoping her do-rag would turn him off. Instead, here he was remarking on it. Not only remarking on it but flirting with it. “It’s the new me,” she said.

This morning, Amy had chosen a black do-rag bandana with a yellow day-glow Ms. Pac-Man on it. She felt it embraced her burgeoning sense of feminism.

“I heard rumors about your new wardrobe.” Chad came around the desk and peeked under it. “They are Dr. Who shoes.”

Amy whacked him in the head as she opened the desk drawer.

“Ouch!” He rubbed his forehead that now had the imprint of a tiny keyhole. “Is this still about the cheese?”

“Cheese?” Amy said. She had no idea what he was talking about.

“You know the other night when you were throwing cheese and crackers around.”

“Oh that. No, I just don’t like you looking under my desk uninvited.”

Amy got up abruptly and he quickly stepped back. She almost laughed. He actually looked intimidated by her. This was new. Maybe a brand new pair of shoes did improve one’s self esteem. She might need a few more pairs. “I have rounds to do,” she said, “I assume you have the same.”

“I’ve been off for an hour.”

“Then why are you still here?”

“I was hoping to see you.”

She crinkled her brow. Hadn’t she made it abundantly clear that she didn’t want to have anything to do with him? “Why?”

Chad unrolled The Oregonian newspaper and held it up. It was folded over to the Art section. “Can I have your autograph?”

Amy zoomed in on the paper. There was a photo of Amy’s car with the bike duct taped to the top. The caption underneath read: Emerging Artist, Amy Stewart, Exhibits One of the Many Uses of Duct Tape.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Chad said.

“It was a joke,” Amy said. “It got a little out of hand.”

“I’ll say,” he said. “You have to make them retract this. You’re a doctor. You can’t have things like this tainting your reputation.”

Amy wrinkled her nose at him. “Are you being serious?”

“You can blame it on that woman. She made you do it,” Chad went on.

Amy was set to spew bile and hate all over his perfect cleft when her pager went off. She said huffily, “I gotta go.” She snatched the newspaper out of his hands and strode out the door with her new tennis shoes squeaking on the linoleum. As she walked down the hallway, she opened the paper. She squeaked to a sudden stop. “Oh my God.” Below the photo of her car was another photo. This one was of Jordan and Amy kissing.

She had just come out to the entire world. “What’s my mother going to say?” she said aloud.