by K A Young
“Quiet down in there!” he ordered as a policewoman walked up and began spraying Lysol. Thank God for that woman! He took out his keys and called in a really mean tone, “Hawkins, Bates, and Bielawski, you’re being released. All charges have been dropped.”
“Yes!” Mary did a fist pump. Hairy Mary Bielawski? What a name. How did we not know that?
“Excuse me,” Phoebe said politely as one of the women on the floor woke. We were forced to step over her anyway. She shot us both the double bird. “Rude ass bitch,” Phoebe said softly to me. “She’s lucky we are getting released. I would have had to pound her ass.” I rolled my eyes at her. She was so full of it. She-Beast Number Two woke and barked at us. Phoebe and I let out a scream and nearly knocked each other over trying to get through the door.
“One at a time! Don’t run!” the officer barked.
We emerged into a semi-clean open space and I inhaled deeply. Fresh air. How wonderful. I looked at Phoebe who was doing the same. Mary was embracing a tall, dark haired, oh-so-handsome man, dressed in what looked like a very expensive suit.
“Shit, Phoebs, she’s going to get us locked up again. What is she playing at, molesting that man?” I was horrified and contemplated making a run for the door before we were hauled back into the cell with the beast. I could nearly smell her from here; something obviously had crawled up her arse and died. I will never ever forget that smell for as long as I live.
“Sign here.” The officer made both Phoebs and I jump, and we scribbled our names where he had marked. “You’re free to go—here are your belongings.” We didn’t stop to see what we had signed and took the clear plastic bags from the officer before we made a dash to freedom.
The heat hit me when we got outside. As I glanced back to see if Mary was following us my stomach started to quiver again. I hoped I wasn’t going to be sick. My tummy troubles faded into the background as I spied Hairy Mary arm in arm with the handsome stranger. “Phoebe, look.”
Phoebe, who was bathing her face and hands with massive amounts of hand sanitizer, turned and her mouth dropped open. “Sex on legs.” I pushed her jaw back into place as they approached us.
“Liz, Phoebe, this is my brother Mark. I told ya he’d bust us out.” She proudly grinned at him and I had to close Phoebe’s jaw again.
“Thanks, Mark,” was all I could say as I attempted to tuck a stiff lock of hair behind my ear.
“No problem, ladies, anything for my big sister. She has told me a lot about you girls—best friends and all. I’m glad she has friends like you, current situation aside.” Phoebe and I just smiled, not really knowing what to say. “Coffee, anyone?” Mark asked while squeezing Mary’s shoulder.
“Does a bear shit in the woods?” I replied, just glad to be free.
“Excuse me?” Mark looked confused and I realized what I had said.
“That would be lovely. Thank you, Mark.” I linked arms with Phoebe and we followed the siblings down the street.
American and Brit
Dear American and Brit,
I’m a forty-eight year old man and I have never had a date and I’m dying to get laid. I have no idea why women don’t want me. I’m starting to wonder if all the single women in this town are lesbians. I’m really getting sick of it! Yesterday I decided to just go for it. My mail lady came by with a package and she looks okay, so I thanked her for the package and I told her I was desperate for sex and wondered if she would suck me off? I was damn nice about it too. She refused and pulled out a bottle of mace and blasted me with it! Can you believe that? I still can’t see good out of my left eye.
Please tell me how to get a date!
Desperate To Get Some from the US
Dear Desperate To Get Some,
It’s hopeless. Give up. If I could send some mace spray across the web you wouldn’t be able to see out of either eye.
The American and The Brit
Phoebe
We Can’t Screw Up Even When We Screw Up And We Screw Up A LOT
“Are we actually going for coffee soaked in vomit?” I whispered to Liz as we hurried after Hairy Mary and her hot as hell brother. I was extremely careful to keep my mouth mostly closed. Inhaling hung-over vomit breath was something one didn’t recover easily from.
“I’d say more like caked in vomit than soaked, and yes, we are.” Liz wasn’t at all careful as she breathed heavily onto me and I gagged.
“Holy hell, Liz, we’ve got to get you a mint!” I all but yelled as I began waving my hand in front of my nose. Liz’s face nearly turned purple when Hairy Mary and her brother turned around. Mary burst out laughing and her brother merely shook his head.
When they turned back around Liz was pissed. “I know what you’re doing, Phoebe Hawkins. You are not going to call dibs on Hairy Mary’s brother by sabotaging the connection he and I have.” She smirked and began sticking her boobs out, then started to pull her arm from mine. She was playing dirty now.
The moment I jerked her arm back I warned her, “Watch it Liz, just keep in mind what happened last night when you decided to take me on.” I gave her a level glare.
“Wow, Phoebs!” Liz wailed. “We really need to get you some Gas-X!” She began making faces and pointing at me to the onlookers on the street.
“That’s not me, Liz, that’s your stank-ass breath!” I bellowed back, making a spectacle. We’d been so busy arguing like children that we didn’t notice that Hairy Mary’s brother had left and Mary was standing alone in front of the coffee shop waiting for us.
“I feel ya, Phoebs, alcohol gives me the shits too.” She grunted and farted so loud she startled both Liz and me. “Sorry, my bro had to go. Something for work, I guess.” She laughed loudly at her rhyme. “He gave us cab fare. I really need to take a shit and I’m too dainty to use public restrooms. You just don’t know how many skank asses have been on them.” She waved for a cab. Thankfully she flagged one down. Now that the adrenaline had worn off I was feeling quite puny.
Liz, Mary, and I piled into the yellow cab and Mary shouted out our directions. “Don’t try to cheat on the miles,” she barked. “I know this area like the back of my hand and I’ve got my eye on you.” The Latino cab driver responded in Spanish with what I’m guessing was profanity because of the eff you smile he had on his face.
“Liz.” I laid my head on her shoulder as my head began to pound. I was having some majorly delayed headache pain from the hangover.
“Hmm.” She covered her eyes with her hand.
“Do you think we still have jobs?” Terror seeped into my bones as I played the scenario where the big bossman heard all about the ordeal from his brother and terminated our employment on the spot.
“Let’s not think about it right now. We’ll go home, shower, drink gallons of water, sleep the rest of the day, then think about it.” That sounded like a good plan to me.
Then a thought hit me and mortification set in. “Oh my God. We’re going to be in today’s issue of Busted.”
Hairy Mary let out a bark of laughter. “That’s right! How did I forget about that? I have a couple of old issues that I was in a few years back.” I stared at Mary, surprised by her comment, but then again perhaps not. She was chortling. “I’ll grab a stack of them for us.”
Oh God! I began vehemently shaking my head no. “Please don’t trouble yourself, Mary. We really don’t need a copy.”
“What’s Busted?” Liz asked, confused.
“It a local paper that comes out with all the latest busts in the area. And you, you little British cutie,” Mary reached over me to pinch Liz’s cheek, “are probably the first British chick in it!”
“Bird,” I interjected as Liz slapped Mary’s hand away.
“Huh?” Mary raised her unibrow.
“She’s a British bird, not a chick.” I laughed, thinking about Liz sending a copy home to her mom. Doing great in America, Mom. I’m even in the local paper.
“What are you laughing at Phoebe? And what kind of horrible place has
a paper to celebrate those who, like us, were unfortunately detained for circumstances completely out of their control?” The more she went on the more I laughed. “And Mary’s right, this is all Chrissi’s fault. She put something in those Jello shots. I’ve never in my life behaved in such a manner. It had to be some kind of drug.”
“The date rape drug!” Mary shouted, then clapped her hands, “No, maybe ecstasy. Hey, you guys ever tried the stuff? It makes you real horny and when I’m horny I like—”
Oh, hell no! I sat up. “Mary, I’m going to have to stop you right there. If you ever bring up being horny and your sexual likes and dislikes we will never speak to you again.”
Liz, who was as horrified as I was by the sweatpant wearing, midget cousin of Bigfoot seconded my restriction, “We mean it, Mary.” She pointed at her. “Never. Ever again.”
“You here, get out. Get out, you stinky crazy girls! You smelling up my cab!” the cabbie yelled at us as he pulled in front of our building. He was a little perturbed.
Mary paid him. “No tip for you, asswipe! You’re rude.” Liz and I both nodded in agreement as we exited the cab.
~ ~ ~
After a shower and a nice long nap. I went to the kitchen to find some protein to put in my tumultuous stomach. My digestive tract would be screaming at me for weeks after a night like the last. As I opened the fridge I was terribly disappointed that nothing was left inside. Ugh. I closed the door then looked around the apartment. It was a disaster. Liz and I had been way too worn out to tackle it when we got home. Well, no time like the present. I pulled out my cell phone and ordered two pizzas online then checked for missed calls or messages. When I found none I checked my email. Nothing from the bossman or the Bastard. A giant sigh escaped me and I decided to do something that I could affect. I cleaned.
Thirty minutes flew by and I’d surprised myself by almost having the place back in decent order. I usually wasn’t the neat one; that was Liz, but today I did a pretty great job.
“Hey, why didn’t you wake me? I would have helped you.” Liz yawned and walked into the kitchen to check the fridge.
“That’s okay, I needed something to keep me busy. I ordered a couple of pizzas—they should be here any minute.”
“Good.” She came out with a bottle of water and sat down on our freshly scrubbed sofa “Did anyone from the office call?” I shook my head right as the doorbell rang.
As I walked to the door I felt a little sick. Why hadn’t anyone from the office phoned? Was it a good sign or a bad sign? After I swung open the door I smiled at the delivery girl, the aroma of meat, veggies, and melted cheese making me lightheaded. “That smells fabulous.”
She handed me the pizzas, which I passed to Liz who had caught the aroma and was apparently as hungry as I was, and then a presented a receipt for me to sign. “Some kind of a joke?” The delivery girl asked as I handed her the receipt back.
I was a little shocked by her question because I’d tipped her twenty percent, which I thought was more than generous. I asked, “I beg your pardon?”
She pointed to the front of the door. “The paper mug shots, is that a joke?”
My eyes widened as I took in the photos of both Liz and I, drunk as skunks, looking worse than Nick Nolte had in his mug shot taped over our door! “Yes, it’s a horrible joke.” I smiled like a mental patient at the girl and she took that as her cue to skedaddle. “Liz, come look at this awful joke someone has played on us!” I said through gritted teeth as I watched the delivery girl board the elevator.
Liz opened the door wider. “Oh. My. God.”
“Yep. Help me take them down!” Was this nightmare ever going to end?
“How could she?” Liz was whimpering and swearing under her breath and giving me intense descriptions of how she was going to maim and dismember Hairy Mary as we frantically took the paper clippings inside and shut the door.
Liz’s cell phone began to ring. She and I both stood there with piles of newspaper in our arms staring at each other. “It could be the office,” Liz whispered.
“You have to answer it!” She nodded and went to her room to get her purse. I heard her say a tentative, “Hello.” Then she went silent. The papers dropped from my arms and onto the floor. I flew into her room and sat next to her on the bed. She stood. “Uh huh.” She sat back down next to me while I extremely impatiently waited for her to communicate something, anything about what was being said. “I understand. Yes, thank you.” Was that thank you, you’re giving us another chance? Or thank you we’re fired?
“What?” I whispered and she held her hand up for me to be quiet as she stood again. Dammit! I was dying here. No thumbs up, thumbs down. Nothing. She and I were going to have serious discussion about gestures and signals when we couldn’t use words. I thought we had it with our ocular convos but right now her eyes were blank.
“Of course, you deserve to be informed.” Ahhh. I threw my hands in the air. “Thank you for calling. Goodbye.” She disconnected the call.
“Well?” I screamed and was on my feet.
She threw her phone on the bed. “That was the bossman. He was upset with us because we didn’t inform him beforehand about our publicity stunt.” Her eyes were wide.
“Say what?” I wasn’t sure I’d heard her correctly.
“He thinks the whole jail incident was a publicity stunt orchestrated by us and Jake!” she screamed. Then I screamed. Then we jumped up and down.
“We can’t screw up even when we screw up!” I danced around, feeling like a massive weight had been lifted from my shoulders.
“Our ratings are through the roof!” she shouted with a fist pump.
“Woot! Woot!” We celebrated for a couple of minutes. Now that things felt better I was starved. “Let’s eat, I’m ravenous.”
Liz stopped mid dance move. “Oh God, me too!” She put her hand on her head. “I’m starting to feel faint. I’m glad you got two!”
We each grabbed a box, plopped down on the sofa, and began devouring our pizza. I flicked on the TV and pulled up our DVR menu. “I guess we better call Jake at some point.”
“We will,” Liz agreed. “At some point.” Made perfect sense to me.
Lizbeth
Bling Up and Shut Up!
Our celebration dinner with Mr. Gary Anderson went right out the window after our run-in with the law. Once we’d devoured our pizzas we slept right through until Sunday afternoon. There was no more putting it off; I had to face the music with the Bastard. Without another thought I dialed Jake’s number and waited while I laid on my bed and tried to figure out what I was going to say. A huge part of me didn’t want him to answer, but a tiny part did just so I could get it out of the way before work tomorrow. I’m so thankful that Mr. Gary Anderson thought our time in the slammer was a publicity stunt. I didn’t think Phoebe’s and my gift of gab could have gotten us out of that situation without our marching orders from Anderson Media. Then I heard his voice. Hi, this is Jake Anderson. Sorry I can’t take your call… I hung up, not wanting to leave an apology on his voicemail. My head was pounding, but not as much as my pride.
“Hey Liz, are you awake?” Phoebe called from the living room.
“Barely,” I replied, not wanting to get out of my pit.
“They’re filming today downtown.” That did it for me. I was out of my bed faster than a bullet from a gun.
With a towel in my hand I shouted, “Be with you in five,” and I darted for the shower. My mouth still felt like sawdust so to save time I brushed my teeth with one hand, while shampooing my hair with the other. Then it dawned on me that I might actually see Norman Reedus, aka Daryl Dixon. My stomach started churning and my knees went weak. What if he spoke to me? I’d faint, I knew I would. I shook myself out of the ridiculous daydream and finished up in the shower. After I toweled off my hair and returned to the bedroom I noticed Phoebe had placed a brand new pair of faded blinged jeans in my size on my bed. She was always wasting her money; I laughed to myself and opened m
y drawer to retrieve my old faithful black skinny jeans. Nothing. I opened another drawer. Nothing. A quick dash to my wardrobe confirmed my suspicion. There I found nothing but shirts. Where were my jeans? "Phoebe!" I shouted at the top of my voice, but only snickering came through the crack of my door. Shit!
"We're leaving in five minutes. I'll be waiting in Wilf." Phoebe retorted, then I heard the front door close. Shit, shit, shit.
I debated it, I really did as I eyed the blingy arse jeans while I dried my hair. I tried desperately to think where she would have hidden my jeans. Stupid Phoebe, knowing her as well as I did, I felt certain she’d probably stashed my clothes in Wilf. Phoebe, knowing me as well as she did, knew that I would wear these jeans if I could get the chance to see Norman Reedus. Shit. Maybe if I wore a long shirt no one would see my arse blinged up like a Christmas tree. Ha, Phoebe Hawkins.
I cringed as I pulled the jeans on and refused to look in the mirror. It wouldn't matter anyway once I put on the long blue plaid shirt that Phoebe had bought me a few years ago when I went through my cowboy phase. As I reached into the wardrobe to snatch the only piece of clothing I had that would cover the bling I noticed a note hooked onto the clothes hanger.
