Chapter twenty-one: Edward's Hands are Bananas
I couldn't believe that anyone in this world was as unlucky as I was. I've always been prone to accidents and injuries and I accepted that fact with strength, but this? No one should have to put up with such a prolonged lack of orgasm due to ridiculous interventions.
Few women would understand my pain, but I knew one who could. If Edward and Bret were allowed to call John Guevrenmont, I could place a phone call of my own. I grabbed my cell phone, swinging my arm so quickly that if a video were being taken at a frame rate of 29.97 frames per second, there would still be substantial blur lines.
"R. KELLY?" I yelled into the phone.
"You forgot to dial, Bella," Edward glared from the other side of the room. "God. Dumb."
I returned the glare with one of equal measure, wondering idly if there was a measure for a glare. If there was, I'm sure it would be something that would be easy to measure using a protractor. As I wondered such mysteries of the universe, I dialed the number to the greatest source of guidance I could think of.
"Dis is Big Man," a voice answered.
"Big Man? It's Bella. Is your narrator there?" I asked, grateful to finally hear the voice of someone sane.
"Oh yeah. He's here. Hold on..." There was a slight muffling on the other line as a phone was handed over what I can only imagine was a wonderful cherry pie made by Bridget.
"Hello?" a manly yet oh so velvety smooth voice answered.
"R. Kelly!" I said. "It's me! It's Bella!
"I'm thinking of the person. I'm pondering the person. I'm a remembering the person!" R. Kelly sang. "It's BELLA! Ella... ella... ella..."
"Yes, R. Kelly. It's me. Bella," I said. "I've got a problem which you need to help me with. R. Kelly... It's Bret Michaels."
"He's carryin' the baby! He's got the baby! He's delivering the baby... baby... baby..."
"How did you know?" I asked, even though I should have well known that R. Kelly knew everything, being the narrator of many ridiculous stories about people having other people's babies and such things.
"Yeah well the baby he is carrying belongs to my husband...husband...husband!" I couldn't help but match the singing the soulful pedifiliac R&B singer.
"Shit. Think. Shit. Think."
"Can you just come over and help me sort this all out?"
"I'm getting my keys. I'm walking out the door. I'm heading to the car. I'm close the the the car! My hand is on the car! I'm opening the door! But oh shit, it's locked...locked...locked!"
"Well just try and get here as soon as you can," I hung up on the R. Kelly's song narration of him trying to get his pop out key to work so he could unlock his most definitely Gangsta ride.
When I turned back to the room, John Guevermont was already there giving words of comfort to his disciples in between angry and rueful stare at me.
"You will all be sorry for this!" I stared back, refusing to back down. It was show time. The final curtain call. It was go big or go home. Let the shit hit the fan. Cut the turd loose.
"OH yeah! What are you gonna do?" Bret Michaels demanded, a sly smirk spread across his face. "Bleed period blood on us, because you know, you have not fertilized egg in your womb. Your dead woman womb!"
"YOU GO GIRL!" Edward screamed while doing a badly chorographed z snap.
"OH SHEEIT!" John heckled. "BRET DID NOT JUST GO THERE!"
Before I could respond to the clever insult from Bret, the sounds of R. Kelly narrating were heard outside the door.
"I step off the elevator! I see the room! I'm walking towards the room! I'M GETTING CLOSER TO THE ROOM! I'M AT THE ROOM! I ENTER THE ROOOOOOM!" R. Kelly walked into the room as he sung the last part.
"You called R. Kelly?" John Guevermont asked with bewilderment. "OH! MY! GOD!" he started screaming and jumping in circles like he was a pre teen girl and R. Kelly was the Jonas Brothers. "I can't compete with R. Kelly! He's a really singer/songwriter! I'm just a high school English teacher!"
"WHAT?" Edward screamed, tears welling up in his copper eyes. "You lied to us. Why? WHY GOD WHY?"
"What the hell is going on?" R. Kelly's soulful voice chimed in, "I stare at Bella. Then I stare at John. Then I stare at Edward. They're faces are in shock, so I PULL OUT MY GUN. Someone better tell me what the hell is going on or I'm going to shoot this place up!"
"Calm down, everyone!" Bret cried. "All this tension is bad for the baby!" He clutched his stomach close to his body.
"JOHN! EXPLAIN!" Edward sobbed, his whole body shaking with complete sadness. "I can't believe... you were... lies..."
"Eddie, hey. It's still me. It's still Johnny," the Canadian said, petting Edward's hair. "I'm still the god among men you believed me to be. I just... I can't compete with god of gods-lyness."
Edward looked up at John, his tears drying as though the heavens had opened up for him once more. "Really?" he asked.
"Really," John smiled, the gap from his teeth shining like a beacon of hope in a world shadowed in hate. I had to admit, it was a beautiful sight.
"It's kinda turning me on," Bret said to me, noticing my reaction to the moment. "But I can't do nothing about it. Not with me being so fat. I'm like a whale now..."
R. Kelly turned to me, his soulful eyes deep with confusion and musical talent. "Baby, what is goin' on? Tell me what's goin' on. I need to know what's goin' on!"
"Oh, right," I said, remembering what I called the R&B super star for. "I need this man's uterus before my husband has a child with another man. I'm... well I'm not really sure why John Guevrenmont's here, but he kind of shows up every once in a while."
"Oh." beat. "Oh." beat. "Oh," R. Kelly replied in time with the music in his head.
"Yeah, more or less," Edward nodded. "Except, God Bella you're dumb. John's here because he's the godfather to my unborn child! He's here to protect little Brecarlisle."
"Bre...carlisle," I repeated slowly.
"Yes. Because his father is Bret and my father is Carlisle. It makes perfect sense, Bella. I figured it'd be what you wanted. Maybe if your woman eggs weren't sunny side up, we could have named our child Reneseme. But they are. So you lose."
"...Edward, what are you even talking about?" I asked.
"Wait! Wait. Wait," R. Kelly sang. "I did not stay here to hear you chew each other out! So get to the point or I'm a'gettin' out!"
"We went over this," I said. "I need the uterus that Emmett put into Bret Michaels."
"THIS IS CRAZY!" R. Kelly screamed in soulful song. "I'm gonna have to shot someone!"
"No! Please!" Edward sang in time to R. Kelly's acapella beat.
"THINK OF MY BABY!" Bret crooned as R. Kelly pointed towards him.
"SOME ONE BETTER TELL ME!" R. Kelly shot a round in air, "What are we gonna do?"
"Maybe we should go to the hospital?" I rhymed as best I could, not being an award winning and ex-convict R&B singer.
"That sound like a plan to me!" R. Kelly lowered his gun and his lulled into the soulful part of his song, seeming to enjoy this plan.
"But Mr. see?" Bret Michaels stood up with the strain that only a pregnant woman could have.
"We want to keep our baby!" Edward chimed in as he helped Brett to his feet.
"I take a minute to fully digest what has been said," R. Kelly went into his musical aside. "I was trying hard to not blow a vessel in my head. How can a male be pregnant with another man's baby? This shit's gettin' crazy. Why did I get into this mess? I JUST CAN'T HELP, HELPING A DAMSEL IN DISTRESS!...distress...distress."
"Well," John broke in without singing. "Something similar happened to me once. You see I had an emotion affair with one of my students and she got mad at me for something that couldn't possibly have been my fault. So, in order to smooth things over I sent her carnations on Valentines day label to the "Other Nicole" which is really special because she is my most beloved of student emotion affairs!"
"What does this have to do with anything?" I asked, throwing my hands up in exasperation.
"You better start explaining or you'll get shot by me!" R. Kelly backed me up.
"They answer is simple, but maybe only someone as intellectual as me would get it. Give carnations to Bret and Edward and then they're putty in your hands."
"But...but...don't you want them to have the baby?"
"GOD NO! I'm a Roman Catholic for Gods Sake! Why I believe that everyone loved Jesus even though a religion book proclaimed that to Hasidic Jews saying the name Jesus is like utter a swear word."
"Why you gotta do us like that?" Edward cried, weeping once more.
John shrugged, R. Kelly hummed, Bret rubbed his belly woozily, I ate some more popcorn.
"COME ON DOWN," an all too familiar voice called from the heavens. We all looked up, searching for the source of the call.
There, on the lawn of our Elvis themed hotel, dressed in full uterus-reposession attire, was Earnie Boch Junior.