Amy pushed open the curtain to Jordan’s cubicle, saying, “Good to know.”
The Sex Eye
Jordan had spent her interlude away from Amy giving some serious thought to the dilemma of asking Amy out. Using all her superhuman lesbian powers, she had deduced that Amy was straight, but interested. Jordan knew that she would have to tread carefully. She would have to entice Amy without being overbearing. She would have to be coy without being stand-offish. The next few minutes would have to play out like a delicate surgery.
Jordan's thoughts were interrupted when Amy led Edison inside the cubicle. "What the hell are you doing here?" she asked.
"I'm your doctor," Amy said. “Don’t you remember me?”
"Not you. Her," Jordan said, pointing with her good hand.
"I'm your distraction," Edison said, peering down at the cut hand. "Now that it's not bleeding it looks good in an awful kind of way."
"Has the medicine taken effect?" Amy asked.
"Well, I can't feel my hand anymore. It's like it's not even a part of me," Jordan said.
Amy sat in the rolling chair in front of her. "That means it's working."
Edison hovered over Amy's shoulder, fascinated with the procedure. Jordan whispered to
Amy, "I can't believe you let her come in here."
Edison leaned over even further, sticking her nose between the injured hand and Amy. "The doc asked me to distract you," Edison said.
"Actually, right now, you're distracting me," Amy said.
"Oh, sorry. I'll wait over here. Tell me when you want me to distract." Edison moved to the far side of the room and leaned against the wall.
Jordan realized that Edison being in the room with them had changed the energy. What had been there before, if indeed it had been and wasn't just a figment of her imagination, was completely different now. The room felt deflated, flat and… solid. That was it. Before it was fluid and liquid and moving, now it was solid and heavy.
"You never answered my question," Jordan said to Amy.
"What question?"
"Why you became a doctor?"
"The usual reasons, I guess," Amy said. She put Jordan's hand on a small table. She moved the instrument tray closer and brought over a lamp. She studied her task under the bright light.
"What? You're not sure of her abilities? She looks pretty competent to me," Edison said.
"I have the utmost confidence in… what's your first name?" Jordan asked.
"Amy."
"Can I call you that?"
"Yes." Amy looked up at her. "You may not want to watch this part."
"I want to watch," Edison said.
"No," Jordan and Amy said at the same time. They looked at each other and laughed.
"I promise I won't move and I won't throw up or anything," Edison whined.
"Okay," Amy relented, "but don't hover. And stand behind her, not me."
Edison gleefully took up position behind Jordan and watched over her shoulder.
"Story time, Amy," Jordan said. "Distract me with the tale of why you became a doctor."
As Amy stitched she gave her stock answer, "I became a doctor because the human body has always fascinated me."
"It fascinates me, too," Edison said.
"You're only interested in certain parts," Jordan said.
Edison giggled.
“So, Jordan, what do you do?” Amy asked.
“She’s a writer. She writes childrens’ books. And illustrates them, too,” Edison answered for her. Edison leaned in closer. "Is that stringy white looking thing the tendon? Amazing. You can sew it together like that? Wow."
"I can't listen to a play by play with color commentary," Jordan said.
"Will that string be in her hand forever?"
Amy shook her head. "It'll dissolve over time."
"Amazing."
"You can help her with changing the dressing, I hope?" Amy asked Edison.
"I'd love to!" Edison said a bit too enthusiastically.
"You're putting her in charge of the nursing? It was all her fault this happened in the first place," Jordan said.
"Well, in that case," Amy said, "she has to work off that karmic debt. Or in her next life she'll have to do it all over again."
"Hmmm… I'm not sure I want a doctor who believes in reincarnation. Somehow it seems to go against the entire reason for making this life last," Jordan reasoned.
"I want to be your nurse! You know how much I love looking at wounds and stuff," Edison said. "Maybe I can get one of those sexy nurse outfits. With the little apron and feather duster."
"You're thinking of a French maid costume," Jordan said.
"Oh," Edison said. "You're right. What do nurse's wear?"
"Scrubs," Amy said. "They're not very sexy either." Turning her attention back to Jordan, she said, "I'll write you a script for Vicoden. Enough to get you through a week."
"Don't bother. She won't take them," Edison said.
"You know," Jordan said sarcastically to Edison, "it's truly amazing that I could conduct my life before you came along."
Amy had trouble keeping up with these two. They were like Ab Fab but without the accents. "You two sound like an old married couple.”
"We're not married," Jordan said. "In fact, after this, we may not even be friends."
Edison laughed. "She doesn't really mean that."
Amy was still not sure what their relationship was, so she cast her fishing line out even further by asking, "So, you two aren't a couple?"
Edison answered, "Nope. We tried the girlfriend thing, but she said I was too bossy which is true, so now I’m her roommate. It really was for the best. We wouldn't have lasted. I would've punched every girl who gave her the sex eye and would probably be serving time right now."
"The sex eye?" Amy asked.
"You know," Edison explained, "when a girl looks at you like I-Really-Want-to-Get-Nasty-With-You without the preliminaries."
"Preliminaries?"
"Yeah," Edison said. "The part where you do dinner or drinks and show each other pictures of your fur kids and tell cute stories about your cat where you personify him with dialogue. You speak in a high voice like you imagine a cat would.” Edison demonstrated in a squeaky voice, “My name is Mittens and my owners torture me. They dine on fresh kill whilst they make me eat dried tasteless cereal. They dangle things in front of me and yank it away.” She continues in her own voice, “Then you make sure that you each have a frequent mover card for U-Haul." Edison paused dramatically. "Then you get nasty."
Jordan chuckled. "Not necessarily in that order."
"Oh," Amy said. "What if you don't have a cat?"
Edison's eyes widened. She put her hands on the sides of her face like that kid in the Home Alone posters. "Surely, you jest!"
Jordan said, "Every lesbian has a cat."
"Really?" Amy asked. "Is that like an unwritten rule?"
"No, it's written down," Edison said. "It's in the rule book."
Amy laughed as she dressed Jordan's hand. "Okay, now about the Vicoden. Sure you won't change your mind? It's going to hurt plenty when the shots wear off."
Jordan said, "No drugs for me. I prefer a nice glass of Pinot Gris and a couple of Aleve."
"She's got a wine cellar in her house," Edison explained. "The place is enormous. An old four-story Victorian or three-story with an attic, which makes it a four-story. We’re restoring it to its original grandeur only better."
"Tell me you didn't fall out of the fourth story window," Amy said.
"I didn't fall out of the fourth story window," Jordan said with a straight face.
"She did, too," Edison said.
Amy shook her head. "Unbelievable. It's a miracle you don't have any broken bones."
Jordan said, "I know how to fall. You ever hear of those stories about babies falling from ten story buildings and not getting anything but a couple of bruises? It's because they go limp. That's the secret. Just go limp and bounce.”
Amy smiled.
Jordan smiled.
Edison frowned.
Amy turned her back to the two and scooped extra gauze and tape into a baggie. Jordan quickly motioned for Edison to leave. Edison opened the door, but before she could walk away, Amy stopped her by saying, "Edison?"
Edison turned. Amy handed her the bandage supplies. "That's enough for a couple of days. You should go by a drugstore and stock up on more."
Edison nodded. "Thanks, Doc." Edison looked at Jordan and said stiffly like a really bad soap opera actor, "I'll just go get the car and bring it around to the entrance, Jordan. You shouldn't be walking on that hand." She left.
"So," Jordan said, standing. "I guess that's it then."
Amy said, "I'd like to see you again."
"I'd like to see you again, too," Jordan said.
"What I meant was I'd like to see your hand. In two weeks. I can take the stitches out then."
"Oh." Jordan blushed. "Of course that's what you meant. But, you know, wherever my hand goes, so do I. So you'll probably see me again, too."
Amy smiled. "That would be expected. Here's my card. You can call during work hours to make an appointment, okay? Or call anytime. It doesn't have to be during work hours. For the appointment."
"Okay then, it's a date. I mean it's not really a date. I know that. But it is a date. Of sorts."
Amy laughed. "I know what you meant."
"Okay. I'll call then. I mean tomorrow. Whenever. I'll call." She headed for the door before she embarrassed herself further. She was halfway out the door before she turned back around. "So, you never said… Do you have a cat?"
Amy smiled. "Not yet," she answered, then quickly added, "But I'm thinking about getting one."
Jordan smiled and turned to go, but at that moment, Jeremy rounded the corner and they smacked into each other.
He took his time looking Jordan up and down before muttering, "Excuse me."
Jordan smiled awkwardly at him, waved goodbye to Amy with her bandaged hand – which looked more like she was erasing a chalkboard than waving – and headed down the hallway.
Jeremy turned to Amy, waggled his eyebrows a la Groucho Marx and said, "I think she likes me, don't you?"
"What're you still doing here? I thought you were leaving."
He pooched out his lower lip in a bad imitation of a pouty child. "If I didn't know better I'd think you didn't want me around."
Amy felt the electrical charge that Jordan had infused her with draining away. "Sorry," she said. "I'm tired. How was Mrs. Markus's mole?"
"You were right about the diagnosis. I intentionally made her angry and it turned red."
Amy laughed.
Jeremy continued, "And then I intentionally stopped by hoping to help you out with the hottie."
"Hottie. That's so derogatory. I don't understand why women like you."
"Touchy touchy. You're the only woman I know who doesn’t throw herself at my feet."
Amy looked at him smugly. "Yeah, well, I didn't see Miss Hottie throwing herself anywhere in your direction."
He feigned hurt by clasping his hand over his chest as if he'd been shot in the heart. Then he laughed. "She's probably a lesbian."
"As a matter of fact she is," Amy said. "And she was flirting with me."
Jeremy eyes widened. "Really?" He clasped his hands in front of his chest, begging, "If you two go on a date can I come too? I promise to be real quiet and just watch."
Amy rolled her eyes and stalked out the door. She was halfway down the hallway when Jeremy poked his head out the doorway and called after her, "Just kidding!" He added under his breath, "But not really."
Conversion Version
"You like her," Edison said as she opened the door of her ancient Volkswagen bug.
"Maybe," Jordan said, climbing into the passenger seat.
"But we don't even know if she's family," Edison said. She started the car, ground the gears until she found reverse and backed out of the parking space without looking behind her. A car slammed on its brakes and honked angrily at her. Edison ignored it.
"Does it matter?" Jordan asked.
"Only if you want to date her." Edison steered the car out of the hospital parking lot and toward the exit.
"Maybe I can finally get that toaster oven I've always wanted," Jordan said.
"She's a little on the short side for you."
"You're going out a one-way," Jordan said.
"So?"
"The wrong way."
Another car honked at them and the driver shook her fist. Edison waved brightly at the angry woman.
Jordan said, "I don't think she's waving."
"What makes you say that?"
"The pinched red face and the spittle spraying out of her mouth."
"Some people are so excitable," Edison said. She screeched tires onto the street and the angry driver laid on her horn and sped past. Edison shook her head and sighed. "You'd think one-way signs are written in stone or something."
"Well, they are kind of the law and all that."
They drove the next five minutes in silence. Jordan closed her eyes and held her breath each time Edison cornered the car without braking.
"How old do you think she is?" Edison asked.
"Who?"
"You know who."
Jordan shrugged. "Thirty."
"How do you know that?"
"I don't know that. You asked me how old I thought she was and I think she's thirty."
Edison frowned. "Kind of young for you."
"I'm thirty-two. It wouldn't be like I was robbing the cradle."
"Your last one was much older." Edison punched the gas to make it through a yellow light.
Jordan braced herself by pushing her undamaged hand against the dash. "Age is relative."
"I'm pretty sure she had a straight vibe," Edison said.
"Everyone's straight until proven guilty."
Edison took her eyes off the road and looked at Jordan for a long moment. "So, what's the verdict? Are you going to ask her out?"
"No. Please watch the road."
"No?"
"No. I don't do conversions." Jordan pointed out the windshield. "The road, please."
Edison looked out the window, saying, "You converted me."
"That’s your version. My version is that it was an accident."
"You make it sound like you tripped and fell on top of me until I came," Edison said.
Jordan sighed. "Ed, I don't want to talk about us again. We're best friends. We're better off that way. And as for the doctor… I'm not going to try to convert her, that's all, end of story."
Edison looked doubtful. She said in an off-handed way that meant it wasn't really off-handed, "Some conversions do themselves."
It was true that Jordan had met Edison when she was straight. No, erase that. Jordan met Edison when she wasn't a practicing lesbian. She had hired Edison to hang some new cabinets in the kitchen. Only half the cabinets were hung before Jordan had introduced Edison to the world of practicing lesbianism and it had been kind of an accident.
Jordan didn't blame herself. She blamed her overactive vagination. If Edison didn't want to be seduced and taken on the kitchen floor she shouldn't have bent over like that with her butt crack showing.
Jordan sighed. She loved Ed. But she loved her like a best friend. The problem was that Ed loved her like a lover. Jordan wasn't sure how it had happened, but Edison had moved into her house kind of-sort of uninvited. Something about her apartment being flooded and being broke and she worked all day at Jordan's house anyway and she had more than enough room and her portion of the rent could be taken out of what Jordan was paying her to remodel. The problem was that the remodeling was going on forever. Jordan wondered if that was intentional.
Edison pulled her Bug into the driveway of their home. They looked at the old house and sighed. Once upon a time it was a beautiful old Victorian but now the paint was peeling, the yard was overgrown and the windows l
ooked like the cloudy cataracts of a senile old lady. If the house were a person it would be Mrs. Haversham from Great Expectations.
"I wish this conversion would do itself," Jordan said, pointing at the house and referring to the ongoing house renovations.
"Where would the fun be in that?" Edison said. "Isn’t putting in elbow grease and sweat and hours upon hours of work worth having something of your very own, something special and worthwhile, something to give your life meaning?"
Jordan got out of the car. "Are we talking about the house or the doctor?"
"You tell me." Edison shut her car door and headed for the porch.
Blue Amy
Jordan sat cross-legged on the floor in her drawing studio, in the middle of plastic tarps, paint buckets and half-painted walls, drinking a glass of Pinot Gris out of a coffee mug and contemplating her own conversion. There were three distinct stages of her conversion.
Before she fell out the window: Jordan did not believe in true love. She did not believe in romance and happily ever afters. She thought all that malarkey about love was brainwashing doled out by men to keep women barefoot and pregnant. It was so ingrained in the female mind that even lesbians had contracted it like it was a pandemic flu.
During the fall: The moment she slipped, the exact moment she reached for something to grab hold of and there was nothing there and she realized she was hurtling toward earth and imminent death, Jordan thought of how she was dying too young. She thought of all the things she hadn't done yet. She hadn't travelled to New Zealand. She hadn't been to the top of the Empire State building. She hadn't written the novel that would be her seminal masterpiece. She hadn't experienced true love. That was her last thought and it was the clinker. True love. She was going to die a virgin, metaphorically speaking, of the heart.
After the fall: Jordan saw Amy in the emergency room. Maybe it was too many endorphins caused by the fear coursing through her veins, maybe it was the loss of blood, maybe it was the full moon, maybe it was the chili peppers she ate for dinner last night, but whatever it was, Jordan was now pretty damn sure she was in love.
She shook her head, gulped her wine, and reminded herself sternly that she did not believe in true love. She did, however, believe in a second glass of wine. She lifted the bottle from between her legs and sloshed more into her cup.
More Than a Kiss Page 3