More Than a Kiss

Welcome to Las Vegas

Jordan was jumping up and down on the hotel room bed and chanting, “She loves me! She loves me!” The very expensive pillow top mattress of the MGM Grand had quite the bounce factor. And the louder Jordan yelled, the higher she soared.

Irma had spirited Jordan away from Portland and Amy. Jordan went willingly. What better place to get over a broken heart than the land of showgirls, glittery lights, and cheap buffets? Irma also brought Petronella. It was their honeymoon. They had, after all, been together for one whole week.

Irma and Petronella heard the commotion and ran into Jordan’s room from their adjoining room. They got there just in time to see Jordan wave a letter at them and bounce so high that the top of her head came in contact with the spinning blades of the ceiling fan and…

This part has been censored due to its graphic and bloody nature.

Five minutes later:

“Did you learn nothing from the story of Victor Morrow and the helicopter during the filming of Twilight Zone: The Movie?” Petronella said. She was sitting on the bed, holding Jordan in her lap while Irma pressed an expensive hotel bath sheet to Jordan’s head in an effort to staunch the bleeding.

“Victor who?” Jordan asked.

“It was a cautionary tale of the eighties,” Petronella said.

“Is my head still attached?” Jordan asked.

“Mostly,” Petronalla said.

“Will I live? Be truthful.”

“Probably,” Petronella said. “Do you mind telling us why you were jumping up and down on your bed?”

“I got a letter from Edison. She sent it FedEx,” Jordan said, pointing to a bloody, crumpled piece of paper lying on the floor. Irma retrieved the paper and examined it.

“Edison says Amy loves me. And the whole Chad thing was a mistake. He’s stalking her. She says there is definitive proof of both things.” Jordan sat up, but the movement made her so dizzy that she plopped back down. “We need to go back. I need to go back to Amy,” Jordan said in a tangled rush of words. Then she fainted.

Irma pushed Petronella aside. She grabbed Jordan by the neck of her shirt, pulled her into an upright position then slapped her on both cheeks.

Jordan’s eyes fluttered open. “Ouch. Why’d you slap me?”

“Do not sleep,” Irma said. “Or Irma will slap you again.”

Jordan rubbed first one cheek, then the other. “Did you have to hit me so hard?”

“Yes, Irma did it for your own good,” Irma said. She turned to Petronella, saying, “Call the room service. Ask them to bring up something that is good for stopping the flow of blood. We must wrap her head and get her to hospital.”

“My head hurts,” Jordan said. She was seeing two of everything and her speech was slurred. “Did I drink? Am I drunk? Do I have a hangover?”

Petronella picked up the phone and dialed one.

Irma said, “Jordan, you sit here. Irma has to make arrangements. Irma will be right back.” She ran into her room.

Unseen by Petronella, Jordan slipped off the bed and to the floor. She crawled over to the mini-fridge. She opened the door and took out all the bottles of booze. “Such bittle lottles,” she said. “I need a little dair of the hog,” she slurred to herself. She opened one bottle and downed its contents. When she realized she still had a headache, she downed another. And another.

Meanwhile, Petronella spoke into the phone, “Room service? This is room 629. We need something to staunch blood flow.” There was a long pause. “Um… do you have a box of sanitary napkins? You do?! That would be great. Um… Do you have the nighttime ones? Okay, make sure they have wings. And hurry, okay? Goodbye.” She hung up and turned around.

Jordan was sitting before the fridge with a dozen empty little liquor bottles in her lap.

“What are you doing?” Petronella screamed.

Jordan looked at her, tried to focus her eyes and grinned. “My hangover is going away.” She squinted at Petronella. “Cheers to the both of you!” She held the last bottle before her eyes and said, “Upsy daisy.” She downed it.

“Irma!” Petronella yelled. “We have problem in here!”