Kate, Amanda and CS
WWhen I met Amanda in New York, years ago, she told me her name was Leslie –but many lasting friendships begin with one good lie. I cannot now imagine life without her, my crazy blonde jewess of the midnight movie run, rain-soaked and giggling, with popcorn butter on her chin. Oh, wait –that’s me. Amanda is the friend who dances well, dresses fashionably, and gets more than her share of the Male Gaze when we‘re out on the town (it’s true!) –but more importantly, she’s the friend who listens to my man-troubles, job-troubles, and troubles with, well, everything. Then she smiles and says, “let’s get bubble tea!”
Here’s how the story ends:
“So it came to pass, in a sleepy Colorado suburb, that The Lady, the Priest and the Assassin went looking for trouble fun. The Priest and the Assassin, though opposed to each others’ methods, turned out to be ideological bedfellows, so to speak, and they shared many expensive hygiene products too. They’d been traveling the Wild West together for nearly a month, seeing many sights, tasting many foods. Whenever the Assassin got an urge to kill someone, the Priest would say to her, “Hey now, you can’t really go through life killing folks! Think of the lowly squirrel, and you will see the error of your ways.” This stopped the Assassin cold; you can’t win squirrel arguments. Likewise, when the Priest got an urge to kill herself, the Assassin would say to her, “Hey now, if you kill yourself, who will talk me out of killing others?” and this was enough to prevent the Priest from committing suicide. Days passed in this lovely way, until one afternoon a fateful thing happened: The Lady rolled into town.
Now, The Lady’s coming was both foreseen and welcome, but it spelled one thing for our heroes: fun trouble. They saw many things together in cowpoke Colorado, drove around, ate food. There was a baby sleeping on a couch. They lusted after Javier Bardem on the big screen, each in her own fashion. This was before the time of chocolate overload, when all things (even the lisping actor) were forgotten, followed by a visit to the world of Men and Floozies (see: Michael Garman’s Magic Town). And then, as it does, the inevitable happened.
The Priest fell in love with the Lady, but was very conflicted by it, as The Lady was most surely a sinner. The Assassin, on the other hand, had developed a yen for the Priest, and so you have it: the classic Love Triangle. There was a great to-do, a certain incident involving pancake batter, and all relations between the three heroes soured to the flavor of moldy pickles in a jar. In the end, the Assassin discovered the lovers conducting one of their private “prayer sessions”, drew her sword, and in a single motion murdered The Lady, sepukku-style. The Priest’s eyes flew toward heaven and she said, “Thank God she was Jewish. They don’t go to Hell.”
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