“Of course. Jordan has her homies, you’re going to need yours.”
“What do you mean?” Amy said.
“You need a back-up. I’ll be your muscle.”
Amy figured her cause was already lost if all the muscle she could round up came in the form of Isabel. Knowing she didn’t have anything else to lose, she got out of the car and followed Isabel.
Isabel marched up to the front door on the balls of her toes like a professional wrestler who was ready to throw the competition in a headlock. In direct contrast, Amy slunk to the front door like a dog with its tail tucked between its legs.
Isabel pressed the doorbell. It played the first few notes of the “Banana Boat Song.” It made her think of that scene in Beetlejuice where the people at the dining table danced and sang the “Banana Boat Song.” That scene never failed to make her laugh. Amy suddenly realized she was smiling. She quickly replaced the smile with a frown. What would Jordan think if she opened the door and saw her with a big smile on her face?
The door opened. It wasn’t Jordan. It was Edison.
“Hi, Edison, it’s me,” Amy said in a little voice.
Edison frowned at Isabel, then looked disapprovingly at Amy. “You have some nerve.”
“Where is Jordan?” Amy asked. “I need to see her.”
“She is at an undisclosed location that is not in this house,” Edison said, as if she were repeating what she’d been told. “And she doesn’t want to see you.”
“It’s not what you think, Edison, I swear,” Amy said.
“It’s really not,” Isabel said.
“Who’s the cute chick?” Edison asked Amy. “You not satisfied with humiliating Jordan with a guy? You have to rub her nose in another woman?”
“Rubbing her nose in another woman” brought up all kinds of images Amy didn’t want in her head at the moment, but she thought it prudent not to remark on the poor choice of words. “This is Isabel. She’s my muscle,” Amy replied.
“You really think I’m cute?” Isabel asked, batting her eyes.
Amy didn’t realize women still batted their eyes. She had thought that move went out the same time as the word ‘coquette.’
Edison looked her up and down. “Another time, another place, maybe. You sure don’t look like anybody’s muscle.”
“I could surprise you,” Isabel said.
“Oh yeah?” Edison cocked an eyebrow at Isabel. “Give me your best shot.”
Amy couldn’t tell if they were flirting with each other or getting ready to beat each other up. She also didn’t know which scenario she preferred. “Can we get back to my dilemma, please?”
Edison tore her eyes away from Isabel and looked at Amy.
“Thank you,” Amy said. She summoned up her inner Bette Davis and said, “I am now going to come in your house. I am going to search the entire house. I am going to find Jordan and tell her my side of the story. This is going to happen with or without your consent. So you might as well step aside and make this easy on yourself.”
Edison squinted one eye at Amy. “You really mean it, don’t you?”
“I do.”
Edison opened the door wider and gestured for them to enter. “Then be my guest.”
Ten minutes later, Amy had searched every room in the house except Jordan’s study. She saved that room for last. She walked in and turned on the light. What she saw froze her to the spot. Isabel bumped into her back.
“Whoa,” Isabel said, looking at the far wall. “Is that what I think it is?”
Amy was stunned. There was a huge, blue portrait of her face painted on the wall. She was no expert on art, true, but even she had to admit that what the portrait lacked in variety of color, it made up for in feeling.
“It’s me,” Amy said.
Edison entered the room and looked at the painting. “She painted that the day you stitched her up. She had it bad for you, right from the start. I tried to tell her that you would end up hurting her. It’s the first time I ever wished I was wrong.”
Amy turned to Edison. “I didn’t mean to hurt her. It wasn’t even my fault.”
“Yeah, right. Next thing you’re going to tell me you were the victim in all this?”
“That’s right,” Isabel said forcefully, stepping toe to toe with Edison. “Why don’t you hear what she has to say before you go making judgments?”
Edison opened her mouth to say something, then thought better of it and closed her mouth. She looked at the wall, studying Amy’s blue likeness. “Okay. I’ll hear what she has to say.” She stepped around Isabel and looked at Amy. “Tell me your side of the story.”
“That man is… his name is Chad. He’s a doctor at the hospital. Chad is… living in Chad-World. We went out once,” Amy said. “Only once.”
Edison put her hands on her hips and said, “Why do I get the feeling there’s more to the story?”
Amy sighed. She might as well come clean. “There is more.” She sat down on the couch and said, “I got really drunk. I had sex with him. He threw the condom on the floor. I got up to go to the bathroom, slipped on it and knocked myself unconscious. He took me to the emergency room and to save face I told them I slipped on a banana peel. It turned into this big joke at the hospital. They all called me Banana Amy. I’ve hated Chad ever since. However, my hatred has turned into a personal challenge for him. He won’t leave me alone.”
Edison broke into loud guffaws. She slapped her leg and chortled, “Banana Amy? For real?”
It wasn’t the reaction Amy had expected at all. Appalled and disgusted, yes. Laughing and mirthful, no.
Edison dropped onto the couch beside her, wheezing from laughter. “A banana peel? That’s the best you could come up with?” She laughed herself out while Amy and Isabel only stared at her. Finally, Edison collected herself and wiped her eyes with the corner of her T-shirt. “Okay, well, so how did you end up being engaged to the guy?”
“Are you sure I can’t talk to Jordan? This is so embarrassing. I don’t want to do it twice,” Amy said.
“Really and truly, she’s not here. Irma whisked her off to some KGB safe house so she could get away from you and get her head screwed back on straight. Tell me the rest of the story.”
Amy told her about the romantic pizza lunch, the lobster, the stalking, everything.
“Really, he had his finger bit off by a lobster?” Edison said.
Amy and Isabel nodded their heads in unison.
“You expect Jordan to believe all that?” Edison said.
Isabel said, “It’s the truth!”
Amy buried her face in her hands, hiccupped three times then began to sob. Isabel pulled her into her arms, held her tightly and patted her back like she was burping a baby. “There, there,” she cooed. Isabel shot Edison a look that said, “Now look what you’ve done.”
Amy blubbered through her tears and Isabel’s bosom, “Chad’s a creep and I hate him. And now the love of my life thinks I’m a liar and a philanderer.”
“Philanderer wasn’t the exact word she used,” Edison said.
Amy sobbed louder.
“Do something,” Isabel mouthed silently to Edison.
“Okay, okay,” Edison said, rising to her feet and pacing. “We can fix this.”
“We can?” Amy whined, looking over Isabel’s shoulder. “How?”
Edison stopped pacing, ran her thumbnail along her lower lip and looked thoughtful. “We need to do some reconnaissance. Are you up for it?”
“Like in a spy movie?” Isabel asked excitedly.
“Exactly,” Edison said.
“Like in a James Bond spy movie?” Isabel asked with her eyes glowing brighter.
“Exactly like that,” Edison said. “I get to be James Bond, of course.”
“And I’ll be Pussy Galore,” Isabel said, jumping to her feet.
Amy dried her tears and looked from one woman to the other. There was something happening between Edison and Isabel that much was evident. It was like an electrical charge was shooting from their eyes and fingertips to the other’s eyes and fingertips. Well, okay, that sounded too science-fiction-y. It was more like an unseen magnetic force was pulling them toward each other.