Valentines Day Massacre

I certainly was disappointed that the world didn't end like everybody thought it might. I really had my hopes up. The timing couldn't've been more perfect for me--I was completely miserable and practically sinless. I'd spent the past several months preparing to be baptized, and get married in the temple, only to have it all turn to crap--my life was Judgment Day compatible, and I totally wanted to die. I was all like, "come on back Lord, time to take the sinners OUT!!! Sweet Sassy Molassy let the cleansing begin." I'm so not well.

As you may have noticed, the world didn't end or anything, so I decided to drive to Pahrump, Nevada and kill my old boyfriend, myself--save the Lord the trouble. I know, I know--you're probably thinking, "Maddy--that's an awful long way to drive;" but I wasn't really doing much--just limping around the house trying to decide which kind of poison to take. I wasn't about to spend another night with my overactive imagination and my pain-in-the-ass broken heart. If good old "Jack the Mormon" is really caught up in some evil web of carnal depravity woven by that supplicate of Satan--Diane--I want to see for myself. It's just impossible for me to believe that after his years of missionary work and all his zealous effort trying to get me "in the water," that he'd chuck it all for a hot shag and a cold beer.

How weak is that? It's not like she's some kind of wolf in sheep's clothing--hello, she's a damn whore in slut's clothing. Look directly at her--you'll turn to stone. Picture every dark-eyed, raven-haired, half-naked seductress you've ever seen on a glow in the dark poster--that's her. That's what I was up against--black magic, voodoo, five feet and ten inches of pure evil. But I'll be damned if I'm going to sit around and stew in my jilted juices on Valentine's Day, no sir, I'm on the road--it's my turn to go on a mission. I couldn't say for certain, but I think I felt the prompting of the spirit.

It did occur to me as I headed south at 90 miles per hour, that I really didn't have more than a vague idea where Jack lived. You see, I'd only been to Pahrump um pump hump on the occasion when I met him during a visit to my Aunt Iris, (she lives next door to Jack) which was going to make my "fatal attraction" surveillance operation just that much more difficult. Still I had no doubt that I'd drive straight to his house--the "hell hath no fury" package comes complete with the Northstar system. Besides, my mind was well occupied with my favorite imaginary scenarios--dramatic confrontations that invariably conclude with me shaming Jack to tears, and him begging me for forgiveness . . . right before I shoot him. Even though the Millennium thing totally fizzled out on me, as I headed west with the ominous lights of Vegas just behind me, it was easy to fantasize that the second coming was in full swing, and that I was one of the Four Horseman of the Apocalypse dispatched to do a little "ditty" on Jack and Diane. "Time to pay the fiddler, whore."

As you may have noticed, my spirituality has suffered a bit lately, and to borrow a joke from myself, I've been "losing my religion" faster than R.E.M. But imagine my disappointment: there I was cruising through the clouds amid this whirlwind courtship that not only promised hot wedded bliss, but eternal salvation. (A package deal, that Jack assured me would be well worth the wait). Each day he'd call to whisper his erotic promises and check to see if I was reading my scriptures and saying my prayers--then, "boom" he bumps into his old girlfriend and it's "game over!" The phone calls stopped coming. Three weeks of silence, not a word, wouldn't return my calls--nothing. I couldn't begin to exaggerate the profound suffering this put me through. Thank God he finally called to dump me and put an end to that.

To spare my feelings he lied and told me that he wasn't breaking it off because he was getting back together with his old girlfriend, but rather that he felt confused, it was all happening too fast . . . bla bla bla. That's very considerate, but I'm pretty sure I'd rather be dumped in favor of another woman, than being rejected purely on the basis of my own shortcomings and overall undesirability. Thanks Jack. Obviously the truth is he couldnÕt own up to the fact that he sold it all out for a cheap thrill. Which, of course, is all the more painful when one bears in mind that all I wanted was a cheap thrill in the first place. In any case I had to see for myself, and as I rolled passed the one-armed hitch-hiker in front of Denny's, I knew there was no turning back--I was in Pahrump, the Twilight Zone. Ditty dittoo, ditty dittoo.

I found a pretty sly place to stake things out without getting out of my car--just across from Jack's and kitty-corner from my aunt's. I was even hunkered in behind a little stand of Oleander--perfect. Now what? Do I wait for Diane to pull up and charge across the street and make a citizens arrest? "Freeze whore--I'm agent Boneapart, with the Federal Bureau of Fornication." Before I could even smile at my own stupid little joke, a pickup truck swung into view and came to a skidding halt just across from me. Lynyrd Skynyrd went out with the headlights, and then nothing. Nothing. I'm lucky my heart didn't gallop right out of my chest. Okay I'm afraid--I'm going home, as I touched the keys, Diane hopped out of her truck and looked straight at me, one, two, three, then shook her head and turned toward the house carrying a grocery bag and a purse. In my fantasy scenario this is the point where I leap from the shadows and beat her over the head with the Book of Mormon--but at the moment I was working with the bladder control of a 90 year old and the heartrate of a hummingbird. Not to mention the fact that I probably ought to resume breathing. Diane is much bigger and stronger than me and the most likely outcome of any offensive I might mount, would be me getting my ass kicked.

Not acceptable. No, this is an adversary I was going to have to out-wit; thing to do is wait . . . patience, that's the ticket. So wait I did, until the jealous insanity part of the plan became stronger than the fear and I managed to unlock the car and step out into the chilly embrace of midnight. Before I could chicken out, I stole across the road and into the skeleton tree shadows, tall ghostly weeds and uncharted realms of terror. While I waited for my eyes to adjust to the darkness, I did what all professional private investigators do--I crouched down really low and took a whiz.

As some of you may recall I've been in Jack's room, so I had at least some notion as to where I was headed, but the eerie light that shone from his window gave me the hugest case of the creeps I've ever had. At this point I was genuinely afraid that if I laid an eye on their unholy coupling, they'd both turn on me like some sort of Stephen King shape- shifters, drag me through the window and savagely reduce me to a bad stain on the rug. But I'd come too far and suffered too deeply not to have myself a look now. I have to know. So I crept toward his window like G.I. Jane, gathered my nerve and raised up for a peek. I didn't see anything at first, but after a moment Diane came into view, wearing a bra and panties and dancing in such a way that convinced me that she wasn't preparing for a game of scripture chase. But I couldn't see Jack, and as I craned up a bit higher, I was seized by the mouth and pulled backward onto the ground. As I became aware that I was still conscious and unmurdered, I opened my eyes to see the heavens spinning wildly, and then from the darkness a croaky voice said, "Oh it's just you Maddy--I thought it was Boo Radley." (To Be Continued)