More Than a Kiss

Operation Meltdown, Phase Three

The lesbian on stilts was not funny. Her wandering around the stage telling jokes and stories was 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 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 deathbed. 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 you 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.”

Jordan had no idea what the fuck Irma just said.

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 beaten 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.