Veronica and Amy exchanged a look.  Amy shrugged.

Jeremy muttered, “If I were a crazy man, where would I put a tracking device?”  Suddenly, his eyes popped open.  He reached down and ran his fingers behind the license plate.  He grinned and pulled out a small silver bullet-shaped tracking device with black electrical tape crisscrossed over it.  “Got it!  Now, where’s his car?”  He looked around and spotted The Beemer.  “I’ll put it on his car and then you can track him.”

“Don’t we need one of those GPS tracker thingies?” Amy asked.

“I’ll download the app to your phone,” Jeremy said.  “That way he can never sneak up on you again.”

“The man is seriously deranged,” Veronica said.

Jeremy agreed.  “He should be put in a loony bin.”

“Great idea!” Veronica said.  As Jeremy stuck the tracker under The Beemer’s plate, Veronica dialed her phone.

“Hey, Sis,” Veronica said into her phone.  “Listen, there’s a package in Dr. Stewart’s office.  Can you fill out a 2XC – 49R, put Dr. Jeremy Blevins name on it and give it to Salvatore?  He can transport the package to its proper destination.  Uh huh.  Call me when it’s done, okay?”  She hung up and grinned at Amy.

“What’s a 2XC-49R?” Amy asked.

“It’s a Psych Evaluation Request Form,” Veronica said.  Chad will be in a rubber room before he even wakes up.”

“That is totally brilliant.  I’ve got friends over there that will keep an eye on him,” Jeremy said.

“Why does that not surprise me?” Veronica said.

Jeremy continued, “They’ll take good care of him.”  He winked.

Veronica looked Jeremy up and down.  She must have liked what she saw because she looped one arm through his as they made their way back to the hospital.  “So, tell me, do you like twins?”

“Love them,” Jeremy said.

“Well, isn’t this your lucky day,” Veronica said.

Amy shook her head.  It seemed like everyone around her was falling in love.  Or at least lust.  She dialed her cell phone again.  When Edison picked up, she said, “Me again.  Have you found her yet?”


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!”


The Garbage Man

Amy yelped into her cell phone, “You did?!  She did?  You did?  She did?”  She was so excited she hopped up and down.  “Oh, Edison, I love you!  I mean, you know, not that way.  But I do love you, I do, I do, I do!”

Amy hung up.  She was elated that Edison had found Jordan.  She didn’t care if she was in a hotel in Las Vegas.  All that mattered was that Jordan said she was coming home to be with her.  She was on her way back.

By the time Amy got to her office, she found Veronica, Valerie, Jeremy and a big, muscled-up man standing around Chad’s limp body.  Amy studied the muscle man.  He had a flat nose that looked like it had been flattened by a snow shovel.  He had big ears, shiny black hair and was missing some important teeth.  “Who are you?” she asked.

“The less you know, the better,” he said in a voice reminiscent of Marlon Brando.

Amy looked alarmed.

“He’s the garbage man,” Valerie said.

Veronica laughed.  “He’s here to pick up the garbage.”

With that, the muscle man bent, picked up Chad and flipped him over his shoulder like he was nothing more than a bag of flour.  He walked off down the hallway whistling the tune to The Godfather.

“I thought you were just sending Chad in for a psych evaluation,” Amy said.

Veronica and Valerie shrugged simultaneously.

Veronica said, “All I do is fill out the forms.  They go out the door…”

“And never come back,” Valerie said.


Going Home

 

“I think you need several stitches,” Petronella said, pulling the sanitary napkin away from Jordan’s head.  Blood leaked out.  She quickly replaced the old napkin with a fresh one.  “Yes, definitely stitches.”

“I have to see Amy.  She can fix me up,” Jordan slurred.

Irma said, “I have a plane waiting for us.  It will take us back to Portland.  From there I have a limo waiting.  It will get us to the hospital where Amy works.”

“Yippee!” Jordan yelled, jumping to her feet.  The sudden movement made her woozy.  “Oh my,” she said.  Her eyes rolled back in her head and she flopped onto the bed, unconscious.

Irma grabbed Jordan and threw her over her shoulder.  She turned to Petronella.  “You will be okay?  You will follow us in car?”

Petronella nodded.  “I will be back in your arms in no time.”

Irma grinned slyly.  “Irma loves Petronella.”

“And Petronella loves Irma,” Petronella said.  She grabbed Irma and kissed her passionately.

Jordan’s eyes opened.  From over Irma’s shoulder she said, “Do you two mind?  I’m bleeding up here.”


Edison and Isabel

 

“Oh my God,” Isabel moaned.  She was sprawled under the covers of Edison’s bed with the Corndog in her hands and between her thighs.  It had taken them approximately twenty-three hours to go from meeting each other to rolling around in bed.  This was not a lesbian record.

“Right there?” Edison asked.

“A little to the left.”

Edison was sitting on the edge of the bed with her back to Isabel.  She was wearing her camera sunglasses.  She held a remote control in her hands.  She moved the thumb toggle to the left.

“Oh my God!” Isabel shrieked in ecstasy.

“How’s that?  Good?” Edison asked.

“Better than good,” Isabel panted.  “Better than…Oh my God. You’re a genius.”

Edison beamed.


Leaving On a Jet Plane

Ten minutes later, Irma and Jordan were sitting in a private jet, flying over the skies of Nevada.  Jordan was slumped in her seat with her chin on her chest.  Irma slapped her.

“Ow!”

“No sleeping.”

“You Russians are mean,” Jordan said.

“It is our way,” Irma said.  “We protect our soft hearts with armor.”

“Whatever,” Jordan said.  “How much longer until I get to see Amy?”

“Not long.”

“How did you get this jet on such short notice?  Who’s is it?”

Irma smiled and shook her head.  “The less you know, the better.”

Jordan felt the top of her head.  It was sticky and oozy.  “I think I need to change my sanitary napkin.”

Just as Irma predicted, not much later the jet was landing at a private airport on the outskirts of Portland.

Jordan sat up straight in her seat.  “How do I look?”

Irma’s eyes roamed over Jordan.  From the bloody sanitary napkin on her head to the blood spattered shorts she wore.  “You look like you need medical attention.”

Jordan was delighted.  “Perfect, Amy will know that I need her.  So, I really look injured then?”

“Yes, you have that sufficiently covered. Now, let’s go.”

Victor, the big bearded pilot, opened the plane door as soon as the ground crew wheeled the stairs over.  “Thank you so much,” Jordan said, trying to shake his hand.  She missed it several times.  It seemed her eye-hand coordination was still off kilter.

He grasped her in a bear hug.  “May your love save you.  Go in peace,” he gave her a hearty pat on the back and Jordan weaved from side to side.

“Victor, can you get her down the stairs?” Irma asked as she poked her head out the door and ascertained the difficulty for someone with impaired motor skills.

“This little twig of a girl?  Ha!”  He lifted her up and over his shoulder and before Jordan had time to process what had happened she was in the back of another limo.  Victor held the door open for Irma.

Irma smiled at him.  “Victor, you shouldn’t have.”  She kissed him on both cheeks.

“Victor is here should you ever change sides,” he said, kissing her hand.

Irma was all business when she got in the limo.  “Take us to University Hospital quickly before she leaks all her fluids out,” she told the driver.

He was a thin, reedy looking man.  In a deep voice he said, “Yes, comrade.”

Jordan watched as the lights of Portland danced across the glass of the limo.  She was glad to be home.  If she could’ve hugged the whole city she would have.  “My homeland,” she whispered, leaning her head against the window.  She closed her eyes.  She was so happy.

Irma pulled her upright and slapped her.  “No sleeping.”

“Ow,” Jordan muttered.

“We are almost there.  How do you feel?” Irma gave her the once over.  “Never mind, you look awful.  Irma swears on Babushka’s grave if you die Irma will haunt you forever.”