More Than a Kiss

Painted Whore

“Irma!” Jordan yelled. “What the hell?”

Edison laughed. Irma had sloshed her can of green paint and most of it splattered across Jordan’s face. Jordan looked like a sad clown at the circus, crying green tears.

“I thought you Slavic people were more methodical than messy,” Jordan said, looking up at Irma who was standing above her on a ladder. Irma was painting the second story while Jordan and Edison painted the first story.

“We are methodical in techniques of torture and interrogation. Messy elsewhere,” Irma said. She was still dressed all in black and her hair was as lacquered and shellacked as an eight ball. She painted like Jackson Pollack, more dripping and splattering than brushing.

“Well, be careful, would you?” Jordan said grumpily. “You’re getting more paint on me than on the house.”

Irma held out her can to Jordan. “Retrieve more paint for Irma. Irma cannot paint if Irma have no paint. You see dilemma? Irma have no time for idle chat-chit.”

“You mean chit-chat,” Edison corrected.

“That is what Irma said,” Irma retorted.

Jordan wiped her face, her hands, then her arms and shoulders on a rag. She handed Irma another gallon of paint and took the empty can from her. “Maybe you could aim it for the house this time.”

“Irma work for free. You pay Irma, you get to be boss of Irma.”

“She has a point,” Edison said. “Oh my God, here comes the mail.” Edison put down her brush and hurried around to the front yard, intercepting the mail carrier. Jordan watched in amazement as Edison smiled and chat-chitted with her. “Does she have a thing for the mail lady?” Jordan asked Irma.

Irma clucked her tongue. “Is absurd. Everyone knows civil servants have no heart. Edison makes fool of herself every day. Ask nonsense questions, talk about weather, price of stamps. Utter foolishness.”

Jordan studied the mail lady. She was cute and she did have nice legs. Besides who was Irma to be talking about heart? The Tin Man had more heart than Irma.

Edison hopped from foot to foot and the mail lady didn’t seem to find it odd. In fact, she seemed to be flirting back.

Jordan watched Irma watch Edison. If she didn’t know better she would think Irma was actually jealous.

Several minutes later, Edison came flying back up the path to the house waving a rather elaborate piece of mail.

“What’s that?” Jordan said, setting her brush down.

“It’s addressed to you. I signed for it,” Edison said. “Open it up.”

Jordan took the envelope and studied the front and back.

“You think she’s cute?” Edison said, gushing but trying to hide it. “She has great legs, huh?”

“If you like civil servants,” Irma said, her voice dripping with something that sounded a lot like jealousy.

Jordan opened the envelope and peered inside. “It looks like an invitation.”

Edison snatched it out of Jordan’s hands and looked it over. “It is an invitation. From that new theater down on Hawthorne. There’s going to be a short play, a comedy act and a poetry reading.”

“They send invitation? What is so special they send invitation?” Irma said. She swung her arm in emphasis and nailed Mr. Pip with a glob of paint. He hissed at her before scurrying away.

“Oh, looky here,” Edison spit. “Guess who’s doing the poetry reading?”

“Oh, no,” Jordan said. She only knew one lesbian poet.

“Irma despises rhetorical questions. They serve no purpose,” Irma said.

Edison glared at her. “Petronella, that’s who.” She looked back to Jordan. “We can’t miss this. We have to go.”

“Why would we want to do that?” Jordan said.

“We could extract revenge for the violation of your bike,” Edison said. “A dish best served cold and all that. And I know just how to do it.”

Irma sighed heavily. “Irma can imagine your plan. One brain, two lesbians.” She slapped more paint around. Jordan and Edison moved back out of splatter range.

“Listen, Jordan. We take my remote control car and create havoc during the poetry reading.”

“And how are we going to create this havoc?” Jordan said, pouring more paint in a tray.

“I haven’t gotten that far, but you have to agree that my car is on the breaking edge. We have to test drive it. Keeping it hush-hush, of course. If the government finds out about my advanced technology…”

Irma interrupted, “Advanced piece of crap.”

“You missed a spot,” Edison snapped.

Jordan took her tray and brush around to the back of the house. She was hoping for some quiet time away from the others. Unfortunately, Edison followed her.

“What I’m saying is that my car led you to Amy, right? And I think it can rid you of Petronella. Just think of my newest invention as a good luck talisman.”

Jordan rolled her eyes. “I think Petronella will get tired of her little game as soon as she finds a new girlfriend. That’s how she works.”

“Rubbish,” Irma said, joining them in the back of the house. She wagged her brush at Jordan. Jordan dodged the flying paint spatters as Irma said, “Petronella is gorgeous, sexy, smart woman. She could have any person she choose. She choose to not have girlfriend because she is not done with you.”

Edison spoke up, “You sound like you have a crush on Petronella.”

Irma said, “Irma recognize beauty and brains when she see it.”

Edison made a barfing sound.

“Maybe I should hook you two up,” Jordan said to Irma. “You could divert Petronella’s attention away from me.”

“Yeah, right,” Edison muttered. “That would never work.”

“You are only jealous,” Irma said to Edison. “You do not want to share your Irma.”

“Your Irma?” Jordan couldn’t believe her ears. “What are you talking about?”

Her question was met with silence. Irma and Edison painted furiously, both concentrating on their brush strokes.

“You two have slept together!” Jordan accused.

“It was an accident,” Edison sputtered. “Completely unplanned.”

“Yes, a most unfortunate accident,” Irma said, slapping more paint than the brush could handle on the side of the house, splattering green globs everywhere.

“Unfortunate? You didn’t seem to think it was unfortunate at the time,” Edison snapped.

“Irma was drunk on juice of potato,” Irma said.

“Where was I?” Jordan said. “Why didn’t I know about this?”

“You were on your museum date with Amy,” Edison said.

“Edison was depressed. Irma cheered her up,” Irma said.

“How sweet of you,” Jordan said.

Irma didn’t hear the sarcasm in Jordan’s voice. “Irma has hardened shell of a Soviet, yes, but under the armor Irma has beating heart of black wolf howling for mate.”

“So you mated with Edison?” Jordan was still trying to process this. She had always operated under the assumption that they barely tolerated each other – and now she finds out they slept together. It was a lot to swallow.

“It was one time bedding,” Irma said, dismissively.

“Were you all right…afterwards?” Jordan asked Edison who was avoiding her gaze.

“Well…” Edison muttered. She averted her eyes. “My you-know-where was a little you-know-what.”

“Huh?”

“Please don’t make me say it again.”

Irma answered for her, “Edison had smagina. Irma cured her.”

“She had what?” Jordan asked.

“Smagina,” Irma said again. “Is word I create. Means small vagina. Two words smoosh together into one word. Small vagina. Smagina. Is funny, no?”

Nobody laughed. They all resumed painting. In silence. For a long time. Finally, Irma broke the silence. “Is like cold war.”

Irma put down her brush and marched over to Edison. Edison froze. “You have nice vagina, Edison. Irma apologizes for remark. Is small and cozy vagina.”

“Thanks, I guess,” Edison muttered.

Irma continued, “The lining of vagina is stretchable. It is written that one vagina can stretch so far as to completely envelope the planet.”

Edison shuddered. “Well, if I ever want to hug the world with my vagina, I’ll let you know.”

“Well, as touching as this scene is, I need more paint. I’ll be right back.” Jordan walked around the house to the front porch where the rest of the paint was stored. She walked up the steps and stopped.

She screamed.

Painted on the porch was one giant word: WHORE.

Someone had opened one of the many cans of paint stacked on the porch and painted the word in huge block letters centered directly in front of the door.

Irma and Edison came running. They skidded to a stop when they saw the painted word.

“Well, I wonder who did this?” Jordan said, pacing back and forth in front of the word. She considered herself a pacifist but right now she wanted to strangle Petronella.

“Perhaps is joke,” Irma suggested. “Funny, no?”

“No!” Jordan and Edison yelled.

“Irma did not think so,” Irma said.

“Nah, there’s only one person who despises Jordan enough to do this,” Edison said.

“I’m going to finish painting,” Jordan said. She stomped up on the porch and grabbed the open paint can. She stalked down the steps and across the front yard.

“Do you think she’s having a delayed reaction?” Edison asked Irma.

“It would seem so,” Irma said.

They both eyed Jordan who was trudging back to the painting site. Suddenly, Jordan spun back around and said, “Remember what I said about the poetry reading and your revenge plan? Cancel that. I want to go.”

Edison gave a little leap. “With my remote control car?”

“Definitely with the car,” Jordan said.

“Will you help, too, Irma?” Edison said.

Irma smiled and rubbed her hands together. “Of course. Irma loves lesbian poetry.”