More Than a Kiss

by Layce Gardner

  “But you have to die before you can haunt someone, silly,” Jordan said.

  “Your little doctor will kill Irma,” Irma said. “Irma will be dead.”

  “Don’t worry. Amy will just kill you a little bit.”

  Irma shook her head and swore under her breath. Jordan didn’t know exactly what she said, but it sounded like she said something about a mother and a moose and a compromising position.

  The limo pulled into the emergency room entrance at University Hospital. Jordan grabbed Irma’s arm. “I only want Amy. No one else. Please.”

  “Yes, I know. Irma will make sure of that.”

  The Happy Ending

  Amy sat beside Jordan’s bed, holding her hand. Jordan had several tubes in her arms and her head was bandaged so thickly it looked like she was wearing a white turban. After a moment, Jordan’s eyes flickered open. She saw Amy and smiled.

  “I must be in heaven. There’s an angel sitting beside me,” she said.

  Amy laughed. “Did you just now make that up?”

  “Yeah,” Jordan said. “Did you like it or was it too corny?”

  “A little thick on the syrupy side, but I still liked it.”

  There was a long pause as they gazed at each other. Jordan was the first to look away.

  “I’m sorry,” they both said at the same time.

  “What?” they both said again at the same time.

  They laughed.

  “You go first,” Jordan said.

  “Okay,” Amy said. “You have sixteen stitches in your head. You lost quite a bit of blood. I had to shave part of your head, so you’ll have a nice bald spot for awhile. Other than that, you’re in good shape and Chad was a mistake I should have told you about him but I didn’t want to lose you and he was psycho and we don’t have to worry about him anymore.”

  Jordan asked, “My turn?”

  Amy nodded and braced herself. She was expecting the worst. She knew she didn’t deserve the love of this beautiful and talented woman. Still… she hoped.

  Jordan took a deep breath, “I was scared. That’s why I ran. The whole Chad thing was an excuse to run. Deep down I knew you loved me and not him.”

  Amy raised her eyes to Jordan’s. They were glistening with happy tears.

  Jordan continued, “Remember the last time I was here and you sewed me up?”

  “How could I forget?”

  “I told you something about how babies survive falling out windows. Remember that?”

  Amy nodded. “You said the babies weren’t scared. They didn’t know fear. So they bounced. It was the bouncing that saved them.”

  “That’s right,” Jordan said. “So, I figure I’m going to do the same thing. I’m going to fall and relax and…”

  “Bounce,” Amy finished for her.

  “Yeah,” Jordan said. “I’m not going to be scared. I’m going to let myself fall.”

  Amy reached over to Jordan’s nightstand and picked up a book. She held it out to Jordan along with a pen. “Do you mind signing this for me?”

  “This is my book,” Jordan said. “I mean it’s not mine, it’s yours obviously, but I wrote it.”

  “You never finished autographing it,” Amy said. “I was hoping you could do that now.”

  “Gladly.” Jordan took the pen and the book. She opened it to the title page and wrote: Amy, What are you doing the rest of your life? Jordan.

  Amy read it and smiled. “I think I have plans,” she said.

  “You do?”

  “If you’ll have me.”

  Jordan crooked her finger at Amy and motioned for her to draw nearer. Once Amy was close enough, Jordan leaned forward and kissed her.

  The sound of applause broke their kiss. Stunned, they looked toward the door. Crowded in the doorway were a smiling Claire and Lillian.

  Behind them an old woman plodded down the hallway pushing her IV stand. The old woman stopped and looked into the room to see what they were applauding.

  “That’s my daughter,” Claire said proudly. “She’s a lesbian.”

  “And she’s in love,” Lillian added.

  The End

  Don’t stop reading now! Here’s a sneak peek at our next book, Crazy Little Thing!

  Ollie Speaks

  Ollie stared directly into the lens of the video camera and asked, “Ready? Camera’s on?”

  The camera moved up and down in a “yes” movement.

  Ollie ran her fingers through her short blonde hair and took a deep breath. She laced her fingers together, bent them backwards and cracked her knuckles.

  “Okay… My name’s Ollie Hiland. I live in Houston. That’s in Texas. You might say Houston is an acquired taste. Actually, it tastes like smog. It smells like car exhaust. It looks dingy and gray. But to the people that were born and bred here, it’s the best place on earth. People say that California is where you should be. You know, to surf and stuff. But if you ask me, we have way better waves… I’m supposed to be telling you what this movie is all about… excuse me: film. The director told me to call it a film not a movie. That sounds pretentious, but whatever. Here’s what’s happening… I’m getting divorced. My wife called me up last week and said she wants a divorce. She kicked me out of the house almost a year ago. So her wanting a divorce wasn’t a big surprise or anything. That’s the thing, you know, that sucks. Gay people fought so long and so hard for the right to get married and now we’re getting divorced just like everybody else. My wife, my soon-to-be ex-wife, wants to marry another woman. So, what can I do? She loves somebody else.”

  Ollie stared at a place off-camera. She blinked a couple times. “Story of my life,” she whispered.

  The camera shut off.

  Divorce 101

  “If you ask me, there should be some sort of class you have to pass before you can get married,” Ollie said. She turned the wheel and guided her van around a corner. The bright orange Volkswagon van was Ollie’s pride and joy. She had never owned another car and at her age that was saying something. The van not only got her to where she was going, but had served double-duty as her home on more than one occasion. It had a table, a sink, a mini-fridge, a bed and a pop-top. It was a complete house on wheels. Ollie knew that as long as she had her van, she had a place to call home.

  “What, like a Marriage 101 course?” G-Ray asked.

  “More like Divorce 101,” Ollie said.

  “Wait,” G-Ray said. “This is good stuff. I need to capture this on film.” G-Ray was Ollie’s best friend since the first grade when Ollie beat him up for giving his cookie to Karen Johnson. Ollie had a crush on Karen Johnson because she was the fastest reader in the whole class.

  G-Ray was tall, gangly, sported dreadlocks and looked like your typical anti-society surfer bum. His dreadlocks were natural, not done in a beauty shop. He hadn’t brushed his hair since sixth grade when he lost a bet with Ollie about whether Karen Johnson would kiss him. She didn’t. He lost. That was the beginning of his locks.

  G-Ray wasn’t exactly stupid - not in a Forrest Gump way - but he did look the opposite of intelligent. In fact, he was often mistaken for homeless. One time G-Ray had stood outside a coffee shop waiting on Ollie and a man dropped a quarter in his mocha cappuccino. He wasn’t too proud to suck the foam off the quarter and put it in his pocket.

  G-Ray pointed his camera at Ollie. Once the red light came on, he urged, “Okay, Ollie, we’re rolling. Keep talking.”

  “What do you want me to say?”

  “Be organic, man. Like, say whatever pops into your head.”

  “Okay,” Ollie said. There was a long pause. Silence and more silence. Ollie laughed. “My head is empty.”

  “I’ll kick-start you with some questions. Cool?”

  “Cool,” Ollie agreed.

  “Is Ollie your real name?”

  “No way I’m going to divulge my real name on film.” She peered at the camera and explained, “I got the name Ollie because when I was little, like four or five, I was the firs
t kid in our neighborhood that could do an Ollie on my skateboard.” She smiled at G-Ray and the camera. “That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.”

  G-Ray made a rolling motion with his hand indicating he wanted her to continue talking. She rambled on, “Um… I like to surf. But I grew up and had to have a job that made some cash so… I work at a surf shop on the beach. I do artwork on the side. Airbrushing surfboards and skateboards. I also paint the shells of hermit crabs and sell those.”

  G-Ray rolled his hand again.

  “Okay, talking, talking… Um, Janis Joplin is from Houston. Just some F.Y.I.” Ollie looked over at G-Ray. “I was once called the Janis Joplin of the waves.”

  “Who said that?” G-Ray asked.

  “My dad.”

  “So, here you are sitting behind the wheel of your most excellent van. Where are you headed?” G-Ray asked.

  “Well… we are on our way to pick up my wife, Claire. We got married last year in Iowa.”

  “Why Iowa?”

  “You know why,” Ollie said.

  G-Ray lowered the camera and whispered, “Yeah, Ollie, I know why. But the audience doesn’t. This is called exposition. So if I ask you questions that means I’m asking on behalf of the viewing audience. Like, it’s not me talking, okay? I’m playing the part of the unseen narrator, man. I’m like the fourth wall personified.”

  “Aliens fried your brain, G-Ray. I know you said they went up the other end, but they got your brains too, my friend,” Ollie teased.

  “I am choosing to ignore that unjust remark. Tell the audience why you went to Iowa to get married.”

  “What?”

  “Just answer the bleep question,” G-Ray said.

  “Did you just say bleep?”

  “Yeah.” He explained, “I’m going to bleep out any cussing or swearing, you know, so this can maybe get a PG rating. We’ll get into bigger theatres that way.”

  “You can bleep it later, can’t you? You don’t have to actually say the word bleep, do you?”

  “No, but it serves as a bookmark, you know. Every time I hear bleep, I’ll put in a bleep noise.”

  “That’s the stupidest bleeping thing I ever bleep heard,” Ollie said.

  They laughed. G-Ray zoomed the camera in closer on Ollie. “So, spill. You got married to Claire…”

  “Yeah, we had to leave our home state of Texas and drive clear to Iowa because that’s where it was legal for same sex couples to get married. Then we came back home to Houston and set up house. But Texas won’t let us get divorced because in their eyes we aren’t really married in the first place. So we have to drive all the way back to Iowa to get divorced.”

  “Wow,” G-Ray said. “Bummer.”

  “And not only that, but when I contacted the judge he said we have to establish residency in Iowa to get divorced. We have to live there together for three months. And only then can we get divorced.”

  “Double bummer. But you could just stay married, right?”

  “Not really. Because Claire, my wife, wants to marry somebody else. So we’re off to the land of Hawkeyes. We’re driving up there together to save on expenses. Actually, she’s paying for the whole shebang and I’m along for the ride.”

  “And I’m capturing the world’s first lesbian divorce on film,” G-Ray said. “This documentary is going to be my Carrie.”

  “Carrie?”

  G-Ray said, “Yeah, Dood, like Stephen King. Carrie was his first book and jumpstarted his whole illustrious career.”

  “Well, I hope this film has a different ending.”

  “What is a Hawkeye anyway?” G-Ray said, changing the subject.

  Ollie shrugged. “I think it’s some kind of fauna that’s native to the area.”

  “I’m off the grid, man, or I’d goggle it.”

  “It’s pronounced Google, G-Ray, and you’ve never been on the grid so how could you possibly go off it?”

  “I’m old school, so sue me,” he said.

  Ollie looked in the rear view mirror. “So how’s Sleeping Beauty doing back there?” Ollie was referring to Esmerelda. She went by the nickname EZ. EZ had long shaggy hair with bangs that hung low over her eyes. Her skin was ghostly pale from lack of sunlight. EZ was a narcoleptic who fell asleep at the drop of a hat. In fact, she had fallen asleep at a Bananarama concert in the late 1980s and had rarely been awake since then. When she did wake up she always seemed surprised to learn that life had gone on and it was no longer 1987. Which explained why she was wearing parachute pants, moon boots and a Pointer Sisters T-shirt with the neck cut out, Flashdance style.

  G-Ray looked over his shoulder at the lump on the bed in the back of the van. “Hey, EZ! Wake up!”

  EZ suddenly sat straight up, her eyes popped open, and she blurted, “Relax, don’t do it! When you want to, go do it!” Then she fell back over and continued snoring.

  Ollie and G-Ray shouted at the same time: “Frankie Goes to Hollywood!”

  “Jinx, you owe me a coke,” Ollie said.

  “I’m still up by two points,” G-Ray said.

  “Not for long,” Ollie said, “my luck is changing. I can feel it.”

  G-Ray aimed the camera at EZ. “She’s right back to sleep. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to how she can do that.”

  “She told me once it was a defense mechanism. Too much stress and she conks out. Some people drink, some smoke, some take Valium; she falls asleep. Could be worse, I guess,” Ollie said.

  “It’s sad, though, man,” G-Ray said. “She’s missed like three whole decades.” He turned off the camera.

  Oscar the Weenie dog jumped up in Ollie’s lap. “Hey, there Oscar. How ya hanging?”

  Oscar was the epitome of dogs. He was one of those dogs who enjoyed being a dog. He savored every aspect of dogdom. Every smell was to be cherished, every lick was delectable and each and every moment was to be thoroughly humped until it was humped out. He may have been a little Weenie dog, but he had the attitude of a Bull Mastiff.

  Not long after Claire had thrown Ollie out of the house, Ollie had purchased Oscar. He was being sold out of the back of a station wagon in the Walmart parking lot. Ollie lost her wife, but gained a dog. And there were some days she thought she got the better bargain.

  Oscar panted happily and pressed his face against the window. Ollie scratched him behind the ears. “I hope Claire doesn’t forget to pack her allergy pills,” Ollie said. “Or this is going to be one long trip.”

  Claire Speaks

  “How’s my hair? Is my hair okay?” Claire asked, looking right at the camera. She fluffed her bangs and lightly patted the top of her head.

  The camera nodded up and down in a “yes” movement.

  Claire cleared her throat, sat up straighter, and smiled. “Okay… Here goes… Hi! My name is Claire Drummond. I am an investment banker. I work for a large firm, but I can’t say their name on camera without their permission. I am married to Ollie Hiland. We got married on a spur of the moment type of thing. You know the old U-Haul joke which isn’t really a joke? Well, we actually drove the U-Haul, metaphorically speaking, to Des Moines and got married. Then once the honeymoon was over and the infatuation had worn off, I realized it was a mistake. A big mistake. We had nothing in common. Nothing. And so we split up. Then I met Scarlet when she hired me to take a look at her portfolio. She’s a very aggressive investor. Scarlet is the love of my life. We have a lot in common. And I want to marry her. But first I have to divorce Ollie. I guess you could say our whole marriage could be summed up thusly: I bought high and sold low. And now I have to take the losses.”

  Claire looked down at her feet. A flash of sadness crossed her features then was quickly replaced by a tight smile. “Is that all you need?”

  The camera shut off.

  Gluten Free

  Claire stood in her bedroom looking at her suitcase, which was lying open on her bed. She had finished packing. All her clothes were rolled neatly. Dryer sheets were placed between layers of clothing
to give them a fresh smell and Ziploc baggies held her toiletries.

  Claire double-checked her mental checklist. “That’s it,” she said, closing the suitcase. “I think I have everything.” She was wearing her traveling outfit – a pair of black stretchy pants, a scoop-neck black T-shirt, and black Converse low tops. Her outfit was strategically designed to avoid wrinkling, hide stains, and be comfortable enough to sleep in. She pulled her brown hair up into a ponytail and looked at her reflection in the full-length mirror. “I look like I’m going to rob a bank.”

  “You look like Audrey Hepburn,” Scarlet said.

  “Yeah, if Audrey Hepburn gained fifty pounds and was going to rob a bank.”

  “Remember, no gluten,” Scarlet said, wagging her finger at Claire’s reflection. At twenty-nine, Scarlet was much younger than Claire. The age difference didn’t bother Scarlet. It bothered Claire plenty.

  Scarlet had flaming red hair. She also had a red-hot temper and sexual appetite. Everything about Scarlet was scarlet. Scarlet tapped her toe and warned again, “You promised, no gluten. It makes you bloat.”

  “I know, I know,” Claire said. “No gluten. You want to write it on my forehead?”

  “Don’t be cranky,” Scarlet said. “I’m not the one with the weird-ass allergies.”

  “They’re not weird-ass, as you so eloquently put it,” Claire said. “Lots of people get hives.” She absentmindedly scratched her belly.

  It was true that Claire wasn’t feeling at the top of her game. She was retaining water, emotional, at turns hyper and lethargic, and in a bad mood in general. She blamed it on gluten and numerous other things. But deep down, she was worried there might be another cause. And maybe, just maybe, the cause was standing before her right now with one hand on her hip and one eyebrow raised accusingly.

  “I haven’t even eaten gluten and you’re acting like I have,” Claire whined.

  Scarlet buried her face in the crook of her arm and dramatically turned her back to Claire. “You can’t go,” Scarlet whispered. “I can’t live without you.” When she turned back around, there was one perfectly shaped tear under her eye. She didn’t wipe it away. She let it sit there on her cheek where Claire couldn’t help but notice it.