Crazy Little Thing (14 page)

Claire Speaks

Claire knitted her eyebrows and shook her head at
the camera. She had make-up caked over the bruise below her left eye. “The past
few days have been really weird. I’m not usually like this at all. I’ve never
been in jail in my life and then suddenly I’m with Ollie for a couple of days
and Bam! I wind up behind bars. Life around Ollie is always an adventure, I’ll
give her that much. You never know what to expect next.”

She smiled and looked past the camera, deep in
thought. Suddenly, she sat up straighter and wiped the smile off her face,
replacing it with a frown. “The thing is… I like to know what to expect. That’s
why I like Scarlet. I mean,
love
Scarlet. I always know what to expect
with her. She makes these lists. They’re so cute. She posts a list every
morning for me on the fridge door. She outlines my entire day for me. She even
tells me what to eat. She puts up this graph showing my expected caloric output
and my expected caloric input. I’d be lost without her. Do you know before I
met Scarlet my shoes were a mess? All over the closet. Scarlet taught me how to
line them up by category: inside shoes, outside shoes, walking shoes, running
shoes, dress shoes… then subdivided by color. Now in the morning I just have to
stop and think, what kind of shoe am I wanting today? Do I want inside or
outside? Am I going to walk or run or go to work? What color?’ Then my choice
is obvious and I save minutes – literally minutes – every day simply by having
organized shoes. You know if you save two minutes a day, that’s fourteen
minutes a week, 56 minutes a month, almost twelve whole hours a year! Can you
imagine? I used to waste a whole waking day just choosing what shoes to wear.
You know how lucky I am to have Scarlet point that out for me?”

Claire paused and looked down at her hands for a
long moment. When she looked back up, she said, “No wonder Ollie and I didn’t
work out. She’s more of the flip flop for every occasion type.”

Here Come Da Judge

Ollie led the way into the courthouse. Claire
followed close behind, keeping her sunglasses on even after she stepped inside
the building. G-Ray was the caboose. That way he could capture everything that
happened on film. He followed Ollie and Claire through the metal detector, but
a big hand clasped his shoulder and brought him to an abrupt stop.

“You can’t come in here with that,” the stout female
guard said, pointing at G-Ray’s helmet cam. G-Ray’s choice of outfit only
compounded matters. He was wearing red longjohns under his surfer shorts, and a
T-shirt under a yellow plaid jacket.

“I have to have it. It’s for a documentary film I’m
directing,” G-Ray said.

“Film?” The Guard said, perking up.

G-Ray looked her up and down, using the elevator-eye
technique Ollie had taught him in the fifth grade. “You’re a whole lotta woman,
aren’t you?”

The Guard raised one eyebrow. “What’s that supposed
to mean?”

“Built like a brick house in the middle of a
street,” G-Ray continued, using lyrics from one of his favorite songs.

The Guard put both hands on her hips. Ollie
recognized the pre-fight stance and came to the rescue. “What he means to say,
Ma’am, is that you are just right for a speaking role in this film. Do you have
any acting experience? Wait!” Ollie said, snapping her fingers, “Haven’t I seen
you on TV?”

The Guard softened and smiled at Ollie. “Well…” she
began coyly, “I was a professional wrestler before this job.”

“No kidding?” Ollie asked. “That’s incredible!”

“What kind of role in the film?” The Guard asked.

Claire pulled G-Ray and his helmet cam through the
metal detector. Ollie walked through next, while still talking, “You could be
the Security Guard with a heart of gold. You would speak one line. But, oh,
what a line it is! The one line that will become the catch phrase for the
entire film. You know like, ‘Show me the money!’ Or ‘You had me at hello.’ Or
‘Love is never having to say you’re sorry.’”

Claire and G-Ray turned tail and ran toward the huge
marble staircase in the middle of the lobby. Ollie backed away from the Guard,
still talking, “Your face will be on T-shirts, bumper stickers. They’ll make
those dolls with the bobbing heads in your likeness. We already have a toy line
ready to go with a major hamburger chain.”

The Guard asked, breathlessly, “What’s my line? What
line do I get to say?”

Thinking fast (or not so fast, depending on your
view point), Ollie said, “Love is a battlefield.”

“Love is a battlefield?” The Guard looked perplexed.
“I think I’ve heard that somewhere.”

“Just practice that line. We’ll be back in a just a
bit to film it.”

The Guard nodded and muttered, “Love is a
battlefield. Love is a battlefield…”

“That’s it!” Ollie coached. “Keep practicing!” She
turned and fled.

*

The interior of the courthouse was marble and dark
wood. It exuded seriousness. Ollie found G-Ray and Claire sitting on the
benches outside Judge O’Connor’s courtroom. She ran up to them and doubled
over, hands on knees, huffing and puffing. “Flip flops are not made for
running,” she panted.

G-Ray stood and gestured for Ollie to sit next to
Claire. “Sit down here, Ollie. I need some pre-divorce footage of you and
Claire.”

Ollie sat. She tried to look serious, but only
managed an uncomfortable look. Her collar was too tight. Her waistband too
tight. Her pants were itchy and she could feel the sweat pooling in the small
of her back.

“Are you as nervous as the first time you were
here?” G-Ray asked Claire.

“More nervous,” Claire replied. She shifted back and
forth on the bench.

Either she was fidgety or her butt had hives again.
Maybe both, Ollie thought.

“How about you, Ollie?”

“Terrified,” Ollie said. And that was the truth. It
was one thing to agree to a divorce. It was another to actually go through with
it. She wasn’t terrified of the legal proceedings. She was terrified of losing
Claire. True, she had sorta lost her the day Claire threw her out on her ass,
but as long as they were married she had a hold on her – no matter how tenuous.
But after the divorce would she ever see Claire again? That thought terrified
her.

G-Ray leaned against the wall and dropped to a
squatting position so he could video them at eye level. “Elaborate, please.
Terrified why?”

Ollie shrugged. “The first time I was a little
nervous, but happy. You know, really happy. Now I feel like… like I’m being
summoned to the principal’s office. Like I did something wrong and I’m going to
get a detention or even a suspension. Because we failed and now we have to
admit it,” Ollie said, pointedly not looking over at Claire.

“Claire, are you going to tell him you want to get
married again?” G-Ray asked.

Claire considered this. She looked over at Ollie.
“Should I? I hadn’t given it much thought.”

Ollie was torn about how to answer. One part of her
wanted to help Claire and the other wanted to help herself. And those two
things were at definite odds. She decided to pass the ball and give the
question to G-Ray. “I don’t know. What do you think, G-Ray?”

“If you tell him about Scarlet, he’ll think you’re a
serial matrimonialist. That could work against you. However, if you don’t tell
him that could be lying. Is there such a thing as perjury by omission?”

“I don’t think we’ll be sworn in,” Ollie said. “So,
it can’t be perjury.”

Claire said, “Perhaps I should’ve thought my
presentation through better. Scarlet was just so excited to get us down here,
but I’m not really prepared.” Claire’s brow furrowed. “Maybe I should’ve waited
a few days.”

“Parties Hiland and Drummond, the judge will see you
now.” Ollie turned and saw a seven-foot-tall, Nordic-looking female bailiff.
Was this place was where all the pro-wrestlers go after retirement? Ollie
thought.

“I wonder if we can reschedule,” Ollie muttered.

“Too late now. We’ll have to wing it,” Claire said.

“Ollie…” Claire said, grabbing her elbow.

Ollie stopped and gazed into Claire’s eyes. She had
a brief moment of hope. Was Claire backing out? Did she want to renew their
vows instead? Maybe Claire had realized that theirs was a romance that would –

Claire interrupted Ollie’s fantasy, “Please don’t
say or do anything stupid to ruin this.”

“Who, me?” Ollie joked. She turned and walked away,
adding, “Far be it from me to ruin your happy divorce.”

Claire had to run to catch up with her. “I’m
serious, Ollie.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll follow your lead.”

Claire looked dubious.

“I promise, okay?” Ollie said.

“Okay,” Claire said.

Ollie followed Claire into the courtroom.

The bailiff put out a hand to stop G-Ray. “Sorry,
sir, you can’t come in.”

“I’m with them,” G-Ray said.

“He needs to be present, Sir. I mean, Ma’am. I mean,
Ms. Bailiff. He’s making a documentary on lesbian divorce,” Ollie explained.

“What so you can watch it later?” the bailiff said.
“And emotionally torture yourself?”

“Something like that,” Ollie replied.

“Go ahead,” the bailiff said, signaling to G-Ray.
“But stand in the back of the courtroom and don’t get in the way.

“I thank you. My tocks thank you. My future film
career thanks you,” G-Ray said.

The bailiff rolled her eyes. She shut the door and
stood in front of it, legs spread shoulder-width apart and arms crossed over
her massive chest.

Ollie and Claire stood nervously at the front of the
courtroom. Ollie felt like she was awaiting sentencing as she shifted from foot
to foot. Claire was all nervous smiles.

A door in the back of the small courtroom opened and
the Judge strode in. He was a tall, bald, black man who looked regal and
imposing in his black robe. Ollie, being nervous, giggled. Claire poked her
elbow into Ollie’s ribs, uttering, “Ssshhhh, you promised no funny business.”

Judge O’Connor glared at Ollie from underneath his
somber, bushy eyebrows. “Is there something funny? Do I have toilet paper on my
shoe? Toothpaste on my chin?”

“Yes, sir,” Ollie blathered nervously. “I mean, no,
sir, no toothpaste or toilet paper, but yes, sir, there is something funny. I
was just thinking about Flip Wilson. I watched him as a kid. Remember his ‘Here
Come Da Judge’ routine? And then I saw you and you were all like ‘here come da
judge’ for real and it made think of how far we’ve come. I mean there was a
time not so long ago when a black man couldn’t be a judge, you know, and you
married two women and that couldn’t have happened either.”

There was a weighty pause while the judge glowered
at her and Claire glowered at her and even the bailiff did some glowering. “So,
I giggled. It just kind of popped out all on its own. You know how when you
shake a bottle of soda pop and then open it and the foam spurts out? That’s me
and giggles. I’m the pop and giggles are the foam.”

Claire whispered harshly under her breath, “Stop
talking, for Pete’s sake! Please, stop talking.”

“And I do apologize. I’m sorry,” Ollie finished.

“What did you expect?” the judge asked. “Did you
think I would be holding a spear and have a bone in my nose?”

“No!” Ollie protested. “Good God, no, I never
thought that.”

The judge opened a manila folder, saying, “That was
“Laugh-In.””

“Huh?” Ollie said.

The judge looked at Ollie and said, “Not Flip
Wilson. The judge routine of which you speak was from the show “Laugh-In” and
was originated by the comedian Pigmeat Markham.”

“Oh. I beg your pigmeat. I mean, I beg your pardon.
Pardon, not pigmeat,” Ollie said. “Pigmeat, pigmeat, sorry.”

Claire elbowed her again and whispered through
clenched teeth, “Stop saying pigmeat.”

Ollie giggled. She felt like she was caught in some
kind of play in the theater of the absurd. The harder she tried to be serious
the more absurd stuff became.

“It was a very funny comedic routine and very
popular,” the judge said with a super serious face. “Pigmeat was to later
become known as the father of rap music because of that routine.”

“Father Pigmeat,” Ollie said. “Pigmeat. Rap.
Pigmeat.

“Yes, Pigmeat,” the judge repeated.

“Pigmeat,” Ollie echoed.

Claire was turning red. She ducked her head and
whispered so only Ollie could hear. “Stop the pigmeat stuff. You promised no
funny business.”

Ollie nodded and zipped her lips. She didn’t trust
herself enough to open her mouth. Each time she did pigmeat flew out.

“Shall we proceed?” the judge asked.

Ollie nodded with a forced smile. The Judge remained
frowny-faced. Ollie wondered if he was incapable of smiling. Maybe there was a
law against smiling in Iowa courtrooms. Maybe there was some unwritten code of
honor against smiling. Like how those British Guards with the funny hats
weren’t allowed to smile.

“Remove your sunglasses please,” the judge said to
Claire.

Claire gulped. “I’d rather not.”

“I would rather you did,” the judge said.

Claire slowly lowered her glasses, revealing her
black eye.

“How did you get that black eye, young lady?” the
judge asked.

“I ran into a door.”

“You ran into a door,” the Judge said in a tone that
said he didn’t believe it.

“Yes, sir.”

The judge looked at Ollie. “Are you responsible for
this?”

Ollie shook her head. “No! I mean, yes. But no.”

“Which is it, yes or no?” the judge asked.

“It’s both. I didn’t hit her but the door I was
opening did hit her.”

“You hit her with a door?” the judge asked.

“Not on purpose,” Ollie said. “I had no idea she was
on the other side.”

The judge harrumphed, but continued. “Is it the two
of you who are getting married?”

“Um… your honor? This is a meeting for a divorce.
Not a wedding,” Claire said.

He looked down at the paperwork in his hands. “I
see. So it is.” He looked at Ollie. “Haven’t I seen you in here before?”

“Yes, sir, you married us,” Ollie said.

“And how long ago was that?”

“One year, fourteen days and,” Ollie looked at her
watch, “three hours, fifty-three minutes and thirty-six seconds. Sir.”

Claire studied her, incredulous. “You’re keeping
track?”

“It was an important life event. Outside of my own
birth, the most important event in my life. Lots of people keep track of
important life events.”

“You have filed the petition for divorce?” the judge
asked.