More Than a Kiss

Nobel SurPrize

Back at The Original Dinerant, Jordan nibbled on a blue-corn tortilla chip. She had never seen anything so sensual, so intoxicating, so downright sexy as when Amy took a huge bite of her taco.

So far Jordan had refrained from asking anything further about that man in the hospital cafeteria. For one thing, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know. On the other hand, it was going to bother her until she did. “So what was with that guy?” Jordan asked. She tried to make her voice sound light and carefree, however it came out sounding more like Alvin Chipmunk, “Somebody escaped from the psych ward?”

Amy reacted like Jordan had thrown a bucket of ice on her. “What guy? Oh, that guy. He… he… he… We went out for drinks one night. He can’t take no for an answer,” Amy said and shoved a blue chip in her mouth, signaling the end of the conversation.

Jordan dropped the subject. “How’s your taco?”

Amy froze with her taco halfway to her mouth. “Uh oh.”

Jordan froze with her tea glass halfway to her mouth. “Uh oh what?”

“Petronella is in the building,” Amy whispered. “And she’s coming this way.”

Jordan’s first instinct was to hide. It was too late to crawl under the table, so she did the next best thing. She draped her napkin over her head.

Two seconds later, she heard an icy voice say, “Hello, Jordan.”

“Petronella,” Jordan said back. Sighing, she took the napkin off her head.

Petronella looked down her nose at Amy and said, “I am sorry, but I do not know your name.”

“We met once,” Amy stammered. “Here, in fact. I mean in this restaurant. Not at this table. You were leaving. You probably don’t remember me.”

Recognition flashed across Petronella’s face. “Oh yes, the girl with toilet paper stuck to her shoe.”

“Yep. That was me.” Amy chuckled nervously. “I don’t have toilet paper on my shoe today.”

Petronella leaned to see. “Indeed you do not. Good for you.” Petronella’s skinny neck swiveled back to Jordan. “I saw you at my poetry reading and…”

Jordan cut her off, “We came to see the show. You just happened to be there.”

“Be that as it may. You observed what happened, am I correct?”

“Yes, I saw,” Jordan said. “It was quite colorful.”

Petronella ignored the obvious pun. “Did you see the reviews?” she inquired.

“If you mean those little ezine-online thingies, not really,” Jordan said.

“And the City Pages and the Arts and Entertainment section,” Petronella added.

“Yeah, whatever,” Jordan said.

Petronella pulled out a chair and sat. “I need your help.”

“First, what could you possibly want from me?” Jordan asked. “And secondly, why should I do anything for you?”

Petronella ignored the questions. Which was not unusual. If she didn’t want to know about something, she ignored its existence. Just like she was ignoring Amy right at the moment. Petronella scooted her chair several inches closer to Jordan. “I need your little inventor friend… what is her name, Einstein?”

“Edison,” Jordan corrected.

“Yes, of course. I need Edison to build me a machine.”

“What kind of machine?” Jordan asked. She wondered if it was too much to hope for Petronella wanting a time machine to blast her back into the past. Or the future. Or anywhere but here.

“A machine like the one that attacked me last night.”

Jordan paled. “Why?” She squirmed in her chair. Did Petronella know she was responsible for the paint-spraying incident? Was she playing some type of game, hoping to trap Jordan into admitting her culpability? Jordan looked to Amy for help. But Amy was nervously stuffing blue-corn tortilla chips in her mouth.

Petronella continued, “I tried to find the machine after the show. I was going to gather up the parts and see if Einstein could put them back together. But, unfortunately, the terrorists made off with it before I could.”

“Terrorists?” Amy said through a mouth full of blue goo.

“Yes,” Petronella said. She had the gleam of a zealot in her eyes.

“Terrorists for what?” Jordan said.

“There are certain people, Jordan, who wish to see me harmed.”

“Really?” Jordan said, trying hard to appear appalled at such a thing. “Who would want that?” Besides me, she added inside her own head.

“People who dislike poetry,” Petronella said like it was obvious. “Republican people, no doubt. But their little plan backfired.”

“It did?” Amy chirped up.

Petronella did not look at her. “The audience loved the paint splattering. They thought it was part of the show. My reviews were fantastic. There is talk of short-listing me for the Nobel.”

Amy choked on a chip. Petronella glared at her. Amy smiled weakly and thumped herself on the chest. “Sorry. Wrong pipe.”

Jordan smirked.

“So,” Petronella continued, “I would like your little friend to build me another paint machine. I will go on tour with it. I will call it my Rainbow Tour.”

“What a fantastic idea!” Jordan said. The thought of Petronella being on tour and out of her life was too good to be true. Wait, Jordan thought, what if it really is too good to be true? “For realsies?” she asked.

“Yes,” Petronella said. “For realsies.”

“When would you be leaving on this tour?”

“As soon as I get the paint machine.”

“I’ll call Einstein, I mean, Edison, today.”

Petronella smiled and stood. “Contact me after you have talked to her. You know my number.”

Jordan and Amy watched Petronella as she left. No sooner had the door closed behind her than Edison entered through the back door. She saw Jordan and hurried over to the table. Skipping hellos entirely, Edison panted, “Was she here?”

“Petronella?” Jordan asked.

Edison nodded, trying to catch her breath. “Who else? I’ve been following her, but I lost her about a mile back. I invented a motorized bicycle, you know, for the lazy cyclist so they wouldn’t have to pedal up hills, but I think I ran out of gas. Do you know how heavy one of those bikes are when you have to pedal?” She wheezed a couple of times and sucked in a giant lungful of oxygen before continuing, “I lost her, but figured she was headed here.”

“You just missed her,” Jordan said.

“Motorized bicycles have already been invented,” Amy said.

Edison sat in Petronella’s vacant chair. “They have? Are you sure?”

“Yeah, pretty sure,” Amy said.

Edison looked downcast. “Damn. All the good inventions are already taken.”

Jordan leaned across the table until her nose was six inches from Edison’s nose. “Guess what? Petronella wants you to invent a paint car just like the one that sprayed her.”

Edison looked confused. “I invented the one that did spray her.”

“She doesn’t know that,” Jordan said. “She wants to take it on tour. Build another one and Petronella will be out of my hair forever. Can you do it?”

“Of course,” Edison said.

“If you build it, she will go,” Amy said.