The Worst Romance Novel Ever Written

by H. M. Mann

  Emily/Cat fell asleep.

  Gunn slapped her repeatedly and then sort of, by accident, mind you, and not meaning to do it at all, kissed her as casually as he could just below the left paw of the pudgy pit bull puppy tattooed on Emily/Cat’s forehead.

  Naturally, Thais came in at the exact moment of lip contact, scanned Emily/Cat’s forehead one more time, heard the glorious beep, saw her man casually kissing the tattoo of a pudgy pit bull puppy, and had a remarkable dream sequence where she was the dog whisperer to Lassie, yes, the Lassie, only Lassie wasn’t a girl at all and had issues with her co-stars because they kept calling her “girl” when she was obviously not a girl dog at all, thank you very much, and it conflicted her so much that she contemplated running as a vice presidential candidate from Alaska. Shaken from her nightmare, Thais felt much better when she unloaded three clips of cop-killer bullets into Emily/Cat’s suspiciously familiar head.

  Hey, Thais thought midway through the second clip, my kid sister used to have a pineapple-shaped scar on her chin where I once kicked her with steel-toed boots because she wouldn’t let me pet the goat first at the Al-á-Mode annual family reunion (complete with blank T-shirts) and where I accidentally shot off a mortar that killed Osama bin Something. He needed a new kidney anyway, and where are you going to find a good kidney or a working dialysis machine in the mountains of western Pakistan?

  “Stop!” Gunn cried resignedly. “You’ve just killed your sister … again!”

  “That explains the scar,” Thais said scarily. “I just know I wouldn’t have been able to sleep tonight without knowing that. It would have gnawed and gnawed on me like a beaver trying to eat its way out of Sherwood Forest, like a Republican wondering and wondering what went wrong in the last election, like Paris Hilton trying to figure out why the world gives a crap about her at all. Thank you, Gunn, for once again calming my mind.”

  Gunn crumpled to the floor like a man who had, indeed, been shot with three clips of cop-killer bullets that had previously shattered the sexy skull of one Cat Mann/Emily Benderdondat. Dark red blood gurgled, sloshed, and babbled crazy blues tunes from every hole in his body, and though the bullets had shredded his lungs like a huge pile of Republican yard signs, he was able to say his final lines without a single rasp, cough, or sputter.

  “No matter what you’ve done,” Gunn said clear as a bell and in 5.1 Dolby surround sound, “I will always be a part of your life, Thais Knotts. I will also always be a part of your sister’s brains and sinus mucus since I doubt any forensic pathologist could separate all that mess from my body, I mean, they work for the state, right? Why work too hard when they’re only going to freeze your salary or make you work without pay anyway? One day, Thais, you’ll look back on this moment and smile. One day you’ll look back on this moment and either shed a happy tear or tear a happy shed. One day you’ll look back on this moment and feel a hot flash, and it won’t be an atomic explosion in Iran or North Korea. Whenever you look at dental floss, you’ll remember me and your sister in this tangled heap of clotting blood, scalp fragments, and some clear liquid I haven’t yet identified. Whenever you look at a Scotsman, you’ll remember me and the night we used hydrogen peroxide to bleach your eyebrows so you could make your forehead appear bigger, you’ll remember the day we ate all that expired bologna in the fridge and didn’t die, you’ll remember the morning we—”

  Thais emptied a fourth clip into Gunn’s face.

  “You’ll remember me,” Gunn said clear as the sky over Neptune even though he had no teeth or a tongue or much of a palate. “Do me a favor.”

  Thais rolled her eyes. “Okay. What?”

  “When you bury us—”

  “I’m going to set the place on fire to hide my criminal crime,” Thais interrupted, “so the authorities may just decide to have you two cremated.”

  “Even better,” Gunn said clear as the Texas sky after a really cool rain like on those old black and white shows like Death Valley Days. “Leave a typewritten note that says—”

  “A note will burn up in the fire,” Thais said hotly.

  “Oh yeah,” Gunn said, propping up his jawless face with the stump of the hand he had used in a vain attempt to stop all the bullets. “I just want my bone shards and fragments to hang out with Cat’s guts for eternity. Is that going to be a problem?”

  Thais put her foot down hard and gave herself shin splints. “Yes.” Thais smiled then felt a piece of nastiness stuck between her teeth. She looked at Emily/Cat’s body and frowned. I don’t use used and bloody dental floss, she thought. She looked and saw something pointy in Emily/Cat’s hand. She pried it loose with a vicious cracking sound and picked the nastiness out of her teeth.

  “Ha ha ha,” Thais said laughingly. “A thorn for Emily.”

  After turning on all the gas outlets in the house, and not knowing that the gas company installs all sorts of safety features so that kind of thing can’t possibly happen—at least in America—Thais lit the little thorn and tossed it behind her as she left Gunn’s mansion forever.

  Much later, Thais Knotts woke up in a barn in Flagstaff, Arizona, thirty-four months later with a baby girl on her chest.

  Thais named her Rafe but would later nickname her Sparky.

  How Thais got from the potpourri of brains in Podunk, Virginia, how she survived the blast that destroyed Gunn’s mansion, and how she crawled 3,000 miles to this decrepit barn are the subjects of the next umpteen books in the thrilling series: Thais Knotts Ties The ‘Not’s’ of Love.

  THE END

  Johnny smiled. “It’s even crappier than I thought it would be! Gloria will love it!”

  But, Johnny thought, will she love the ring?

  28

  “This is horribly, wickedly good,” Gloria crooned from her perch on the loveseat. “And I mean it. It’s ridiculous, absurd, and stupid funny all at the same time.”

  “It’s too short,” Johnny said, his fingers slimy with sweat, the ring growing heavier and heavier in his pocket. “It’s nowhere near novel-length.”

  “It’s a little thin, but it’s ludicrous, illogical, and gross,” Gloria said. “It will probably be a box-office hit.”

  “I doubt that.”

  “Or,” Gloria continued, “it can be a regular skit on Saturday Night Live or a show like that.”

  Johnny sighed. “You’re only saying that because you love me.”

  He used the L-word again. Maybe he’s just saying it as an expression, like “a face only a mother could love.” I hope he is. “It’s funny, Johnny. Really, really, really, really funny.”

  Johnny pouted. “So you’re not saying that because you love me.”

  Twice in one sitting! “You know I care a lot about you, but—”

  “You love me,” Johnny interrupted. “Admit it.”

  Three times!

  “Admit it, Gloria,” Johnny said. “You’re in love with the pizza guy who writes bad novellas.”

  Four times is my absolute limit for one night! “Funny bad novellas, but I didn’t say—”

  “Who has nothing really to offer you,” Johnny interrupted. “No money, a wasted college degree, no real job, a crappy apartment, a crappier car, nightmares. Yet you love him.”

  Well, Gloria thought, when you put it all into a nutshell like that … “Johnny, do you really love me?” And now I’m saying the word.

  “Yes.”

  And he didn’t hesitate a bit. “Since when?”

  She just winced. No, it was more of a grimace, as if she’s just eaten something vile. “Since you kissed me at the bus stop that day in front of the bus driver. It was romantic. It was unexpected. I love the smell of bus exhaust now. I even open my window whenever I’m following a bus. I don’t mind McDonald’s wrappers littering the roads. I minded before. You changed me.”

  Okay, maybe he’s joking. “Be serious.”

  “I am. I have loved you since breakfast at the Roanoker.”

  He has to be joking. “Johnny, we have alrea
dy established—”

  “That this sort of thing doesn’t happen?” Johnny interrupted. “It did, Gloria. At least it did for me.”

  Why am I suddenly scared out of my mind? “But how can you be so sure?” Tell me, Johnny. I have to know so I can be sure, too!

  “I just know, Gloria. I feel it in my bones.”

  And I’m feeling something in my heart right now. I wish I could call this feeling love, but I can’t! “But we’ve only known each other for—”

  “Long enough,” Johnny interrupted. “We’re not kids anymore, Gloria. We’ve known each other long enough. I’ve known you long enough to know that I love you.”

  “But Johnny …” Gloria sighed. “I don’t … know if I love you yet.”

  She loves me. She has to. “You do, Gloria. You just don’t have a name for what you’re feeling. I know what it’s called. It’s called love, and that’s what you feel for me.”

  “But I don’t,” Gloria said.

  “You do,” Johnny said.

  Gloria stood. “But I don’t!”

  Johnny stood. “I know you love me.”

  Gloria looked at her feet. Why am I standing? Is this where I’m supposed to put my foot down hard? She sat. “Johnny, I’m just not sure. This is a huge step for me.” Is this where I tell him that I’ve never loved anyone before? I can’t do that! He won’t believe me. He’ll say it isn’t possible for someone to live twenty-five years and not love someone. “You know I thought about having you move in with us, right?”

  Johnny nodded.

  “Well, why don’t we start cleaning out the basement?” Gloria asked. “And then maybe—”

  “You’ll love me?” Johnny interrupted. “You’ll want to marry me if I move in first?” Johnny began pacing in front of her.

  And now he’s using the M-word? What a night!

  “That makes no sense, Gloria,” Johnny said.

  Excuse me? “It makes sense to me,” Gloria said evenly.

  “Well, it makes no sense to me,” Johnny said. “I mean, either you love me or you don’t love me. Period. Whether I move in and become your ‘tenant’ or not shouldn’t matter.”

  “It matters to me,” Gloria said. “I know I can learn to—”

  “No,” Johnny interrupted. “No. There’s nothing to learn. It’s just something you accept. I believe we have a love that is as sensible as a paper clip. I believe we have a love as simple and sweet as a cherry Dum-Dum.”

  “But in my mind,” Gloria said, “I believe it’s just as sensible for you to move in first. We can, um, we can be neighbors for a while. We hardly see each other, Johnny, and if you move in, I’ll see you more and I’ll get to know you more.”

  Why isn’t this working out? Marion seemed so sure. I was sure! “I guess I’m just too old-fashioned, Gloria. There’s an order to things, you know? Love first, ring second, house third, kids fourth, dog fifth, mini-van seventh.”

  “You skipped sixth,” Gloria said.

  “I might decide to squeeze in a cat or a goldfish,” Johnny said.

  What a time to crack a joke! “What about Marla?” Gloria asked. Yeah. Answer that one. “Did you love her, too?”

  Johnny shook his head rapidly. “What does Marla have to do with what’s happening here right now?”

  “Did you love her, too, Johnny?”

  “No,” Johnny said. “Marla was a mistake. Grief and pain brought us together, not love. She said she loved me, but I didn’t believe her.”

  “I could say it, too, but it wouldn’t be the truth.”

  I’m glad this is a small house. I won’t have such a long exit. He sighed. “You’re still not sure of me, are you?”

  Right. “I’m not sure of anything right now.”

  “After all this time.” Johnny turned away. “What can I do to make you surer of me?”

  How did we even start talking about this mess? I was going to read the story, and then we were going to cuddle, and now this … “I don’t know, Johnny. I just don’t know.”

  Johnny touched the ring in his pocket. “Let me know when you find out, okay?” He left the living room, where he had been dying, for the hall closet, opening the door and grabbing his coat.

  “You’re leaving?” Gloria asked.

  “Yeah.” He put on his coat.

  “But you just got here.”

  I don’t know if I was ever truly here. “I, um, I’d rather be a-low-un, if you don’t mind.” And I’ll try not to leave too many pieces of my broken heart behind for you to step on.

  Gloria stood in front of the door. “Johnny.”

  Johnny looked at her feet. “I’ll see you.”

  Gloria ducked down to catch his eyes. “Johnny.”

  Johnny looked at her right elbow. “Gotta go, Gloria.”

  Gloria stepped aside.

  Johnny opened the door, stepped onto the porch, and closed the door behind him.

  He drove home, turned off all the lights, got a sheet, disconnected his apartment phone, sat in their corner, and tried not to sleep for fear of dreaming.

  He listened to his cell phone ring, vibrate, and beep until the battery died.

  He decided not to recharge it.

  29

  On a windy, cold Thursday in late January, a tall, light-skinned Frenchman with long wavy dark hair stopped his Toyota Prius Hybrid in front of a small white house with black shutters, hopeful that he had at last found the right address. Today, Paul planned to reintroduce himself to the American woman named Gloria, whom he had met at a Richmond bar then left in a rush to find fame.

  Paul Leffel had spent the last five fabulous years in various archaeological hotspots around the globe. He had helped solve the maritime hypothesis in Caral, Peru, the oldest city in the Americas. He had helped prove that Caral’s inhabitants had eaten sardines, anchovies, and clams some fifteen miles inland from the Pacific. He had been one of the few non-Egyptians to help excavate Queen Sesheset’s tomb, the last Egyptian queen ever discovered, in Saqqara, Egypt. He had even spent twelve days wiping ancient dust from a four-foot-high wooden statue of Anubus, god of the dead and guardian of tombs, with a tiny 00 paintbrush.

  His feet felt light as he skipped up the stairs and knocked on the door, his rapping causing a festive wreath to bounce against the door.

  An old woman opened the door and peered up at him. “Who’re you?”

  “I am Paul Leffel,” he said. “Is this the residence of Gloria Minnick?”

  So this is Paul, Marion thought. Where’d he get all that hair? It’s longer than mine! Rez-ee-dense? Min-eek? He didn’t even get her name right. “It might be. What you want?”

  “Is Gloria at home?”

  Yeah. She’s upstairs right now hopefully sleeping but probably still blubbering about the man she let walk out of here a couple weeks ago. Marion looked Paul over more closely. Handsome devil. Only medium-sized hands, though. Are those real shoes? They have to be part of some costume.

  “Is Gloria at home?” Paul repeated.

  Angel will be thrilled, but will Gloria? Who knows? I thought I knew that child better than anyone on earth. I’m getting tired of buying Kleenex, so …

  “I’m Gloria’s mama. What you want?”

  Paul smiled.

  That’s a lot of teeth, Marion thought. No wonder Angel is going to need braces. She couldn’t possibly fit all those teeth in her little mouth.

  “I have been in South America and Egypt for some time, and now I teach at Virginia Tech. I am living in Christiansburg. Gloria has not married?”

  Mare-eed? Pushy Frenchman, asking that! I could tell him she used to wear this little black rubber band, but I found it on the bathroom floor the morning after she lost her mind and lost Johnny. Heifer could have been engaged a month ago, but Johnny never got around to popping the question. I was about to go on down the stairs and ask her for him. That would have been something. Johnny and I could have tag-teamed Gloria into the only right answer, and then we could have started packing boxes
—

  “Um, Gloria has not married?” Paul asked again.

  I can see why she slept with this man. He’s right handsome, even sexy. “She’s out.”

  Paul blinked. “But this is her house?”

  “It’s my house.”

  Paul blinked several times. “Oh. But Gloria lives here in this house?”

  “She might.”

  Paul smiled again.

  Marion shielded her eyes from the radiance.

  “I am so happy to know this,” Paul said. “When would be a better time to call?”

  Never? Angel has to meet her daddy eventually. I could tell heem the wrong time and keep heem coming over for weeks. But then I’d have to talk to heem and all his hair and teeth again. “You got a phone number?”

  Paul handed Marion a card. “It has all my phone numbers on it.”

  Marion read the card, an official Virginia Tech seal embossed upon it. “Associate Professor of Geography. That a real job?”

  Paul nodded. “Oh yes.”

  “A real job. With benefits and everything?”

  “Yes.”

  With benefits and everything. Shoot. His home address has an apartment number. Doesn’t anyone own a house anymore?

  “Gloria and I,” Paul said, “have, as they say, a lot of catching up to do.”

  Marion nodded. You and Angel, as they say, have five years of catching up to do. And if I let Gloria know you’re back, there will be some catching hell to do, too. Marion smiled. “I’ll have her call you.”

  “Okay.” Paul didn’t move.

  Marion started to close the door. “Wait for her call, okay?”

  “Okay.” Paul still didn’t move.

  “You can go now,” Marion said.

  “Oh yes,” Paul said. “I go.”

  Marion watched Paul leave, happy that his little car made barely a whisper. I’m surprised Gloria didn’t hear heem or see the blinding flash of his teeth. Bet he gets them professionally whitened. She stared at the card. Now what? I could forget to give this card to Gloria. I could just toss it, and she’ll never be the wiser. Paul would eventually get the message.