Piece of My Heart Page 9

  At that moment, Agnes pulled her Volkswagen Bug up next to Jenna’s car. The Bug was a faded baby blue color with a lot of rust and was at least fifty years-old. The door creaked open and Agnes got out.

  “Hi, Agnes! We haven’t seen you in a while,” Dale said.

  Agnes sighed wearily. “It’s been rough. My girls keep fighting over who gets to come out.”

  “The natives are restless?” Jenna asked. She was relieved that Mickey, who already knew how to fix a toilet, and Naomi, who’d most definitely be a distraction for everyone in the DIY toilet-repairing seminar, had stayed home. Jenna wondered what they did when they didn’t have control of the body?

  “Do you have children?” Brooklyn asked.

  “No. By ‘my girls’ I meant my alters. I have multiple personalities,” Agnes said without the least bit of embarrassment.

  Jenna grimaced. “You don’t have to tell people that right off the bat. That’s a TMI for sure.”

  Brooklyn asked, “How many do you have?”

  “Three altogether, but that includes me.”

  “Wow,” Brooklyn said. “I thought I recognized you. You were Mickey, right? At the carnival?”

  “That is one of my alters, yes.”

  Jenna stared at Agnes who wore her signature all-gray outfit. Her hair hung around her face in a lifeless way. When Naomi showed up, her hair was put up in an elaborate coiffure, and with Mickey it was tied back into a softball girl’s ponytail. With Agnes, everything, including her hair, was blah. Jenna wasn’t sure which personality she liked best, but Agnes scored the least points.

  “What are your other personalities like?” Brooklyn asked.

  Agnes blushed. “I can’t really describe them. It gets all muddled up in my head.”

  “Let me help,” Jenna said.

  “No, let me,” Dale said. “Agnes is, well, Agnes. And then there’s Naomi, who is a very attractive, sexy, femme fatale. And then there’s Mickey, the one you met. She’s the butch who is fun-loving and a bit dangerous. But she has a good heart,” Dale said.

  Agnes burst into sudden tears. Jenna pulled out a handkerchief and handed it to her.

  “What did I say wrong?” Dale asked.

  “Nothing,” Agnes blubbered. “It’s just that no one has been so accepting and gracious about my disorder. Usually, people avoid me like the plague once they find out. Or they make fun of me.”

  “What d’ya mean, I think you’re great,” Brooklyn said. “And I might just have a date for you with one of my friends. She doesn’t believe in monogamy.”

  “Seriously?” Jenna asked.

  “Yep.”

  “I had never thought of my disorder as anything more than a life sentence of loneliness.” Agnes burst into tears again.

  Cindy and Liz-Melody showed up next. Liz-Melody got out of the Ford Focus first. She wore a gauzy, flowing, white dress, and a silver tiara.

  “You two drove together,” Jenna said. It wasn’t a question.

  “Cindy was kind enough to come get me. My car suffered a minor mishap and is in the shop. And no, I don’t want to explain. Suffice it to say it was not my fault,” Liz-Melody said.

  Dale pointed a finger at her. “The Bluebird,” she said. “You’re the Queen of Light.”

  Queen-Liz-Melody smiled big. “You got it.” She was obviously pleased.

  Jenna checked out Cindy’s outfit. She was wearing white painter’s overalls, Converse high-tops, and a backwards ball cap. She looked cute. Except… she was dragging a running shoe by a leash.

  “What is that?” Jenna asked, pointing.

  “It’s shoe,” Cindy said.

  “I can see that,” Jenna said. “Why do you have a shoe on a leash?”

  “Because I read online that it’s a good idea to have something with you that people will ask about. Like you just did. You know, it’s a conversation starter. And it keeps me from juggling because I only have one hand free.”

  “Hunh,” Jenna said. She didn’t know what else to say.

  “Can I bring my shoe in the store?” Cindy asked Brooklyn. “I know she’s not a service dog but, surely if she’s well-behaved, you could make an exception.”

  “I don’t see a problem with that,” Brooklyn said. “What’s her name?”

  “I named her Nike. It just seemed to fit,” Cindy said.

  “Nike’s good. How can you go wrong with the Greek goddess of victory?” Brooklyn said. She checked her watch. “We need to go.”

  Jenna was so lost in thought that she forgot to check out Brooklyn’s butt as she lead them into the store. Brooklyn intrigued her. She was smart and nice. She was unperturbed by her clients’ weirdness. She even managed to put a good spin on it. She looked over at Dale as they walked. Dale smiled and raised her eyebrows.

  “She’s a nice package huh?” Dale asked.

  “Who?” Jenna asked, doing her best to look completely innocent.

  “You know who.”

  Jenna didn’t answer. Luckily, they’d reached the doors so she didn’t have to. She told herself it was her duty to find her clients a date, not find herself one.

  Brooklyn led the way to the back of the store. A large open area by the plumbing aisle was cordoned off for the seminar. Eight toilets were set up in a row. There were three women already waiting. Two of the women were sitting on the toilets and the third stood nearby. The women stared at Cindy and her shoe on a leash and Liz-Melody’s strange outfit.

  Holy crap, Jenna thought, the hopelessness of finding her clients dates—much less a life partner—were looking slimmer with each passing second. A three-legged, one-eyed mutt at the pound stood more of a chance of finding a forever home than these women stood at finding a forever girlfriend.

  “Don’t look so glum,” Dale whispered. “We’re three for three here.”

  “Yeah, and two of them are sitting on toilets and…” Jenna looked over at the third woman who was taking photographs of the toilet from all angles. “That one is some kind of toilet photographer.”

  Jenna and Dale watched as the photographer asked the other two sitting on the toilets. “Do you mind if I take pictures of your feet?”

  “Why?” asked the woman dressed in cut-off jeans and a grungy white T-shirt with the sleeves cut off. She looked like she should’ve already known how to plumb a toilet.

  “Because I’m doing a series of abstract photos using everyday objects that we take for granted,” the woman with the camera said. She was dressed in a khaki desert safari outfit. Her vest pockets were stuffed full of camera equipment including a telephoto lens sticking out of one of her pockets.

  “Have at it,” the woman in the cut-off jeans said with a shrug.

  “Sure,” the other woman said. She wore black jeans, an orange Dickies work shirt, and a large gold chain with a skull attached. It was very Halloween-esque.

  The photographer knelt on the floor and snapped photo after photo of the women’s feet as they sat on the toilet.

  Jenna thought that this was the oddest collection of people she’d ever met. Maybe her girls did stand a chance after all. She was so busy contemplating their dating potential that she tripped over a hose that was on the floor.

  Fortunately, Brooklyn came to the rescue. She caught Jenna in her strong arms and held her close. A little closer than was necessary. And a little longer than necessary, too. Jenna didn’t mind.

  “Whoa, there,” Brooklyn said.

  “Thanks for catching me,” Jenna said.

  “Oh, were you falling?” Brooklyn teased. “I thought you were jumping into my arms.”

  Jenna giggled.

  Brooklyn reluctantly let go of Jenna and said, “I gotta get this straightened out. Those damn boys. They’re supposed to set this up so our customers don’t get hurt. Not leave supply lines out for people to trip over. I’ll be right back.”

  Jenna rejoined the group in time to hear the lady dressed in black and orange ask Cindy, “What’s with the shoe?”

  “It’s an i
cebreaker. It also stops me from juggling. I can’t juggle if I don’t have both hands,” Cindy said.

  “I don’t get it. What happens if you let go of the leash?” the woman asked.

  Why did she have to bring up the juggling? Jenna thought. They were going to need a seminar about giving out too much information. Let people get to know you first before you freak them out.

  Brooklyn returned and clapped her hands to get the group’s attention. “Let’s get started.” She picked up her clipboard and said, “When I call off your name speak up. Desmond McDermott?”

  She was the grunge girl. She had short blond hair, brown eyes and a pierced nose. A little on the dirty side, but she’d clean up nice, Jenna thought.

  “Ingrid Swartz?”

  She was the Halloween girl. Not bad looking either—long brown hair, green eyes and high cheekbones.

  The photographer was Jennifer Orland. She waved at everyone and then snapped a photo of Brooklyn’s clipboard. Jennifer was rather plain looking but she had an interesting nose and she seemed nice. Her hair was pulled back into a no-nonsense bun.

  Jenna was pretty sure that the three women weren’t here to learn about toilets. They were probably here to meet other lesbians just like her clients. It was a sad world when you had to resort to plumbing seminars to meet your soul mate. Whatever happened to meeting somebody at work, or at a club? Was this what the age of the Internet had done? It was amazing how the Internet made the world smaller and also made the world seem more distant at the same time.

  Brooklyn clapped her hands again. “All right, everyone’s here and accounted for. Let’s get started.” She passed out toilet kit boxes.

  Jenna started to panic. She was hopeless in the DIY department. She wasn’t even sure what DIY stood for. She didn’t know a crescent wrench from a screwdriver. Lee had taken care of all the home repairs.

  “Okay, the first step is to lay out all your parts,” Brooklyn said.

  Cindy was using only one hand because of her shoe. As a result, everything inside her box crashed to the floor. “Sorry,” Cindy said.

  Jenna took the leash from her and tied it to the pole of one of the nearby shelves.

  “But…”

  “Nike will be safe there, no worries,” Jenna said, patting Cindy’s shoulder.

  Brooklyn continued, “Now, the next thing to know about home repair is that a lot of repairs are going to hurt your knees.”

  “Knees?” Jennifer the photographer asked.

  “We’re going to be kneeling on the floor by the toilet,” Brooklyn said. “And that can really hurt your knees after a while.”

  “Last time I was kneeling by a toilet was New Year’s Eve,” Desmond said. “I’ll never drink Green Apple Vodka again.”

  “So,” Brooklyn said, getting them back on track, “you can either wear knee pads, which in my humble opinion are a pain, or you use this knee pad instead.” She held up a foam kneepad.

  “Plus, you can use it in your garden,” Queen-Liz-Melody said.

  “Yes, you can. It’s what we call a multi-purpose tool,” Brooklyn said. She passed a kneepad out to each woman. “Your knees will thank me later.”

  Jennifer snapped a photo of her kneepad.

  Everyone else kneeled on their foam pads and took all the parts out of the box. Dale helped Cindy gather up her parts and lay them out neatly. Queen-Liz-Melody removed her tiara and pulled up the sleeves of her dress. Okay, Jenna thought, so far so good.

  “Now, after laying out your parts, you need to turn off the water. It’s imperative you do this or, guess what, you’ll have a big mess,” Brooklyn said. She crouched down and pointed at the silver hose with the knob that was located under the toilet tank. “Turn the shutoff valve until the knob is crossing the hose. You know, perpendicular to the hose. That means the water line is shut off. I know the tanks are empty now, and they’re not really hooked up to anything, but just imagine them full.”

  Everyone followed her directions.

  “Good job. Next thing is to dismantle the old equipment. We’re replacing the old innards. So we have to take the old stuff out and put in all new stuff.”

  The dismantling went well, but in Jenna’s experience taking things apart was much easier than putting them back together—look at Humpty Dumpty as a case in point.

  Cindy was being assisted by Desmond. That looked promising. Jenna caught Desmond sneaking looks at Cindy’s backside. She moved closer to them and listened:

  “I really like your shoe icebreaker. I have a really hard time with small talk, but if I had a shoe to talk about, then maybe I could talk to people,” Desmond said.

  “Maybe I could help you find just the right shoe,” Cindy said and blushed. “I don’t mean to say you can’t pick out your own shoe. That’s not what I meant.”

  “I’d like that. Maybe we could go shoe shopping after this. If you don’t have plans or anything,” Desmond said.

  “I’d like that, too,” Cindy said.

  Jenna refrained from a fist pump. Cindy got a date. Yes! She looked over at Dale to see if she’d caught the conversation. Dale grinned.

  Jenna sidled over next to Dale. “A potential success?” Dale asked.

  “Looks like it.”

  “How’s it going over here?” Brooklyn asked.

  Jenna had only gotten half her toilet stuff out of the tank. Brooklyn leaned over. “Here let me give you a hand.”

  “Sorry, I’m kind of a putz,” Jenna said, trying not to look at Brooklyn’s cute butt and failing miserably.

  Brooklyn finished up Jenna’s toilet and went to inspect the others’ work. “You’re all doing great. Now comes the tricky part, putting it all back together.” She held up the float and the flap. “Now the flap allows the water to go in and out of the tank. The float is what determines the level of the water in the tank. We get these two things set up right and your toilet works perfectly.”

  At that moment, a forklift rounded the corner of the aisle. This wouldn’t have been noteworthy except for one thing. Cindy’s shoe was lying directly in the forklift’s path.

  “Nike!” Cindy screamed. She leaped over her toilet and ran for her shoe.

  The forklift driver, a teenage boy with unfortunate acne, was wearing headphones and didn’t hear Cindy’s scream. When he saw Cindy dash in front of him, he stomped on the forklift’s brakes.

  The forklift’s front tires screeched to a stop a mere inch from the shoe. Cindy picked up her dear shoe and cradled it to her chest.

  That would’ve been the end of that... until a five-gallon can of blue paint fell off the forklift’s platform. This scared the driver so much that he pumped the gas. Then deciding that was a wrong move, he quickly braked again. Four more five-gallon cans of blue paint fell off the platform.

  The five cans of paint rolled down the aisle like bowling balls and hit the row of toilets. The first toilet fell and hit the next toilet, and like a row of dominoes, all the toilets crashed to the floor.

  The lids popped off the paint cans. Blue paint gushed out in a tidal wave, heading straight for the women. It was like a giant blue tsunami hell-bent on destroying everything in its path.

  The women screamed and scattered.

  Queen-Liz-Melody crashed into Dale who slid on her butt across the floor, knocking down Jennifer and Ingrid. Desmond crawled on her hands and knees—standing was impossible with all the slippery blue paint— over to see if Cindy was all right. Cindy, still clutching Nike to her chest, stood by herself off to one side. She appeared to be in shock. She was the only one not covered in blue paint.

  Jennifer fell to her butt and sat in the middle of the lake of paint, snapping photos.

  Brooklyn’s feet slid out from under her and she plopped to the floor just as a tide of paint washed over her legs.

  Jenna slipped and went down, belly-first. She slid across the floor like she was sliding into home.

  The rest of the women were a tangle of blue arms and legs.

  Jenna could
n’t believe her eyes. The entire aisle was like a giant Slip ‘N Slide, and everyone in the vicinity was covered head to toe in blue paint.

  “Don’t move!” Brooklyn shouted. “Crawl out of the paint. Don’t walk or you’ll fall! Crawl out.”

  One by one, the women crawled out of the gigantic blue puddle. Jenna, being extra careful, scooted out on her butt.

  Brooklyn extended her hand and helped Jenna to her feet. “You look like a Smurf.”

  “So do you,” Jenna said.

  “Do you think you two could stand together so I could get a photo?” Jennifer asked.

  “Only if you give me a copy,” Brooklyn said. “I’d like something to remember this day by.”

  Jenna and Brooklyn smiled for the camera. Their teeth looked even whiter against their blue skin.

  The public address system crackled and a voice announced, “Clean up on aisle 37.”

  Jenna was the first to laugh. Then Brooklyn’s deep laugh joined hers. Soon, all the women were laughing and comparing blue body parts.

  “Are you still going to teach us how to put the toilet together or should I sign up for the next class?” Ingrid asked.

  “Uh, we’re probably done for today,” Brooklyn said. “But be sure to sign up for my next class: How to clean up paint spills.”

  ***

  Jenna and the rest of the women had taken showers in the women’s restroom. Home Depot didn’t actually have showers in the women’s restroom, but it did have plenty of pipe, showerheads, shower curtains, drains in the tiled floor, and everything needed to make a quickie shower room. It only took Brooklyn twenty minutes to rig it all up.

  Jenna had stood under the warm water and scrubbed her body until her skin glowed pink. The women all had to throw away their clothes, shoes included—except for their underwear. Mercifully, their underwear had escaped the blue paint. Since they didn’t have extra clothes, Home Depot had generously donated black garbage bags for them to wear home.

  Later, getting into her car, Jenna asked, “Do you think it’s us?”

  “What do you mean?” Dale asked, trying to chip blue paint off her fingernail.

  “I mean creating havoc wherever we go,” Jenna said. She started her car. “Is it chance that crap happens to us or is it us that causes crap to happen?”