by K A Young
I am always one step ahead of you, Liz. Embrace the bling, you might like it. ~ Phoebs
"Bitch." Stuff it, she wanted a reaction and I refused to give her one. I would wear these awful jeans and I would pretend to like them. Maybe then she would back off. Ugh. I sighed as I pulled out a sleeveless shirt and headed to the mirror; my stomach still growled from not eating breakfast. I took a deep breath and looked at my reflection. The front looked great, they fit perfectly. Then I turned around. "Well, look at that!" Not wanting to blow my own trumpet, but my arse looked amazing. The jeans somehow lifted and shaped my backside, and the bling…well, it was positioned perfectly to complement. "I'll never hear the end of this." I laughed as I made my way out of our apartment, grabbing my work bag as I left. Phoebe stood beside Wilf, waiting for me to blow up.
"Nice jeans," Phoebe said straight faced as I crawled inside the death trap she called a car.
"Thanks," I replied. That was all she was getting.
"Shall we grab some breakfast first or do you want to head straight to the set?"
"I'm not fussed, whatever." She turned the ignition over.
"They really do look great, you know. I bought you the pair I would have bought myself and you’ll be happy to know I got them on sale.”
"Yeah, they're great. Thanks again." I saw her looking at me as we drove out and onto the street. "Breakfast. I need food."
"Gotcha." She smiled as she indicated and wove through three lanes of traffic. "Pancakes okay with you?"
"Yup."
"Oh, come on Liz, don't pretend you don't love them. They look better on you than those drainpipe jeans you usually wear." She pulled in front of a diner and turned off the ignition. "Okay, I give up. Your jeans are in the trunk, go and change while I order our pancakes." She popped the trunk before slamming the door. Before she went in though she stuck her arse out, pointed to her bling, shook it, mouthed nice and then walked off. I had to laugh. She hadn't noticed two men exiting their truck a few bays away who enjoyed her little show.
I got out, shut my door, shut the trunk, and joined my best friend in the diner.
"Nice jeans," she repeated as she thanked the hostess for showing us to our table.
"I know." I smiled and her returning smile made me laugh.
"Why have you brought your work bag? Today is Sunday."
"We have a lot to catch up on and if we're sitting around waiting to catch a glimpse of the cast we might as well do some work." It made sense to me.
"Good idea. Plus, we might get to interview them too." She grinned over the menu.
“What’ll you have?” The waitress was back and Phoebe ordered a tall stack of pancakes with bacon, coffee and juice for each of us.
“Coming right up.” She smiled and left us.
My throat went dry. "As in talk to them?"
"Why not? You heard what the bossman said. If we find celebrities we can interview them."
"You’re delusional. We aren’t going to get face time with them. We’ll be lucky if we get to see them at all. Besides, if by some miracle of God we get this imaginary interview I don’t think I can do it."
"Sure you can, it'll be fun!"
“Uh huh.”
The last time Phoebe said It'll be fun we ended up in jail. "Yay, fun." I waved my arms in the air like a lunatic as our waitress brought our coffees to the table. "Sorry," I said as she placed them in front of us.
"She has special needs." Phoebe patted my hand and the waitress looked at me with sympathy in her eyes.
She bent down with her hands resting on her knees and looked me straight in the eye. "You enjoy your coffee, dear. Would you like to do some coloring? We have pens and paper in the back."
Phoebe spat out her coffee and it sprayed me across the face. "I'm good, just hungry. Thanks." I smiled at her, hoping she would leave us alone.
She patted me on the hand. “Honey, I’ll put a rush on that order.”
"This is going to be a great day," Phoebe laughed.
Leaning forward I whispered, "Yay, great." I gave Phoebs the stink eye.
Phoebe
It Seemed Like a Great Idea At The Time...Then the Walkers Came.
Today was the day! Despite being traumatized in the pokey there was no way we were not doing this. For the last couple of years Liz and I had been chatting across the pond about The Walking Dead. It aired a day behind us there so for years we had Walking Dead Skype night. I’d prop the computer on a pillow on the sofa next to me and we’d eat popcorn and watch together. The second I heard about The Walking Dead film app on iTunes I scooped that baby up and tracked where they had been filming around the metro Atlanta area as well as the surrounding suburbs. I’d gone a few times when they were filming in Griffin, which was about an hour and a half drive from our apartment. Today they were practically in our backyard. Liz had been so jealous when I sent her pics of Daryl Dixon. She was hot for Norman Reedus just like the rest of the planet. Well, she and they could have him. I’ve always been a Rick fan myself. Andrew Lincoln is absolutely scrumptious.
“Here, wear this.” As we rolled to a stop at the red light I dug into my purse and handed Liz a lanyard that held an A&B laminated card with a giant bold PRESS printed across it. I slid mine over my neck right before the light turned green.
“What is this?” Liz stared down at the laminated card.
After I hung a lanyard around my neck I replied, “It makes us look professional. Just put it on, and you’re welcome.”
She did. “Where did you get these?”
“While you were sleeping this morning I designed them, printed them off, then took them over to Kinkos where they laminated them. Pretty good, huh? I Googled official press badges, then added our A&B bits in and voila! Official A&B press passes.”
Liz beamed. “Do you really think we’ll be able to get close enough to see anything?”
“Hell, yes! Who do you think you’re talking to? I’ve been stalking the cast since the day Andrew and I fell in love. Just leave it to me, it will be fun!” Excitement filled my veins.
We pulled down the one-way street and our giant smiles fell. Roadblocks were set up all along where Thompson and East Broad Streets meet up. Damn. They upped the security big time. There were cops everywhere. Despite the uneasiness I felt when seeing the po-po I turned Wilf around, determined to get us way closer than this. All the other people were content to peek around the barricades, but not Phoebe Hawkins. No way.
“Look at all those people, Phoebs, there is no way we are going to get close enough to see anything.” The disappointment on Liz’s face was insulting.
“Liz, I totally got this! Just trust me, okay?” She eyed me suspiciously. “Oh, come on! It was totally not my fault that the party got out of hand, you said it yourself. It was Chrissi and her Jello shots from hell that are to blame, not me.”
Liz nodded. “That’s true. Without the Jello shots we surely wouldn’t have degraded ourselves to the nth degree.”
“Of course we wouldn’t—we are successful, highly respected business women now.” After I’d circled a few blocks I finally found a parking space two streets over. I did my best parallel park, which wasn’t good. A little burp escaped my lips. “God, that bacon is really doing a number on me.” The second the last word left my lips I felt the impact of Wilf against the car behind us. “Asshole!” I shouted and got out of the car to assess the damage.
Liz was at my side a second later. “Oh no, Phoebs, did you do any damage?”
“Me!” I was incredulous. “Look at that line.” I pointed to the parking spot. “He is clearly way over into my space! This is completely his fault!” Digging my cell phone out of my purse I began snapping pictures. “He is so going to pay for the damage to our car!”
Once I was satisfied that I had documented the incident enough I put my cell back into my Coach cross body bag just as Liz clutched my arm, pinching me. “Ouch. What’s wrong with you, Liz?”
She pointed to a group of beggars st
anding with their cardboard signs at the street crossing. “Oh, them—just keep your head down and don’t make eye contact.”
“It just aggravates me to see them,” Liz said as we hurried across the street. “You can’t tell me that in this massive country there isn’t one job they are able to perform. I mean, look at that woman over there. She’s wearing designer tennis shoes.”
In an attempt to be discreet I glanced around like I was in search of road signs. Then I spied the women in question. She was about our age, not clean but not filthy either, and just as Liz had said she was wearing top-of-the-line Nikes. “I just can’t respect a woman who begs. I mean, really, if she were a prostitute at least she would be giving something back—granted probably not something anyone would want or need.”
Liz laughed, “I don’t think she’s used old crusty in years.” We both howled in laughter, then at the exact same time felt like heels. “Let’s just forget this whole conversation, okay?”
“Yep, we’re good people.” We locked arms and hurried toward the direction of the filming.
~ ~ ~
“How the hell are we going to see anything from this far away?” I protested when Liz tried to stop me from crawling over the fence a block away from where the cast was filming. We were so close to getting a front row viewing spot if she’d just let her inhibitions go.
“Think for a second, Phoebe!” Liz whispered at the top of her voice. “The sign says no trespassing!”
After I shrugged her off I blew out a breath. “That’s staged. It isn’t directed at us. Besides,” I held up my pass, “we’re the press. They want us to get up close and personal.” Liz began shaking her head vehemently. I put my hands on my hips. “How do you think people get anywhere in life—they bash down the freaking barricades, that’s how!” She still wasn’t buying it. “Listen, Liz, it’s like being at the circus and having to watch the show by peeking in through the tent.”
She shivered. “I hate the circus. The clowns really freak me out.”
“Okay, then it’s like being at an airshow and having to watch the fighter planes from a hole in the fence,” I countered.
“If we’re at an airshow can’t we just look up from wherever we are? Why are we peeking through the fence?”
Ugh. “Oh, for fucks sake!” I grumbled, rolling my eyes. “Norman Reedus is ass-naked over there.” I pointed in the direction where they were supposed to be filming. “Do you want to see the goods or not?”
“Point taken.” She crawled over the fence so fast one would think she was on fire.
I was pretty impressed with my fence scaling too; I stuck the landing with ease. We were both so giddy we could hardly stand it. “If we see them act cool.” I took a second to clean the lenses of my Ray Bans. It was ten o’clock in the morning and we were already sweating bullets.
“God, how do you stand this heat?” Liz really wasn’t used to the sweltering heat of the Deep South. She screeched and began to slap her arms. “These mosquitoes are awful!”
“Yeah, it’s because they have haven’t mowed here in a while, and that standing water over there is a breeding ground for the bloodsuckers. I should have remembered the repellent.”
Liz and I stealthily walked through the brush and scanned the area for any sign of the cast. We’d been walking for about ten minutes when we finally made it to an opening where it looked like they were filming a walker scene. Liz grinned with excitement.
“See, I told you just leave it to me.” Full of myself, I began to snap a few shots with my cell. “Oh God!” I giggled and pointed. “Look over there, Liz! It’s Maggie and Glen.”
“Oh!” Liz shouted, forgetting herself as she took off in the direction of the filming. She was going to blow our cover.
“Liz, wait up.” I hauled ass to catch up with her. That’s when we heard the sound of the walkers and the film crew shouting. “Oh shit! We’re going to be in so much trouble now!”
Liz and I looked around frantically for a place to hide. “Over there!” Liz whispered and took off toward an abandoned car that was probably staged for the show. I hurried after her and we dove in through the passenger side and crouched down to not be seen.
“Do you see the film crew anywhere?” I whispered as the stifling heat inside the old Monte Carlo made breathing difficult.
“No.” Liz was as freaked out as I was. “Trust you, you said! Now look at us, Phoebe Hawkins—we’re trapped inside a car, walkers all around us, getting eating alive by mosquitoes!” Her face was beet red. “And dammit, I’m melting in this death trap.”
We heard a loud, “Action.” We both went dead silent. I was both freaked and a little excited to be this close to our favorite show.
I pointed to the window and signaled should we take a look? Liz nodded, and we both, as bravely and as stealthily as possible, peeked out the window. They were filming right in front of us! Liz opened her mouth and screamed without a sound as she spied Norman Reedus with his bow shooting the fake walkers. My God, all this looked so real! The walkers were superb! I almost felt scared. I grinned broadly at Liz, who in turn gave me a congratulatory pat on the back for my masterfully executed genius plan. Damn, I was good.
The shooting went on for what felt like hours around us. The idiotic actors kept screwing up and having to do the whole stupid scene over again. God, if I’d known it took this long to shoot one measly scene I’d have stayed at home. This was getting ridiculous. I felt sick to my stomach and my head began to swim. As I glanced at Liz, all the excitement had left her face as well. Her hair and face were soaked with sweat.
“I’m so thirsty!” I mouthed while I rested my head on the nasty back seat.
“Me too!” Liz silently yelled back. “I’m not having fun anymore.”
Just then the passenger door opened and a very British accent said, “There are two homeless women in this motor.” I froze. It was him, the love of my life. I’d know that voice anywhere. I’d watched every YouTube interview with the man since the very first episode aired. Liz looked as if she was about to cry and I felt the urge to vomit. “You two are going to have to come out of there.”
“You talk to him, Liz,” I whispered in a quivering voice.
“Me! This was all your idea. You talk to him.” Liz face was as red as mine.
“But he’s British,” I whispered.
“And?” she whispered back.
“You’re British, don’t you have some secret code or some shit?” She gave me that you idiot look. “I don’t feel well.” I really didn’t, but Liz thought I was lying and nodded for me to go with that.
“We can hear you out here.” The love of my life spoke again. My head started spinning and I literally felt ill. My head started to pound, then the worst thing imaginable happened right in front of my lover. I vomited all over Liz. And not just once--it wouldn’t stop. I was hurling over and over again with the force of a freight train. Then it came out of my nose in giant chunks. Oh dear God, take me now. I was beyond thankful when everything went dark.
American and Brit
Hello American and Brit,
First of all, let me state that I’m a voracious reader and love to keep my evenings free to devote time to my books. My friends have been hassling me about having imaginary relationships with unattainable men to avoid the real thing. They say this behavior could prove disastrous. Is there any validity to their claim?
Thanks for your help,
Hopelessly in love with book boyfriends from the US
Dear Hopelessly in love with book boyfriends,
First of all, we can’t help who we fall in love with. There is absolutely nothing wrong with you. Your friends are idiots. P.S. Stay away from Jamie Fraser from Outlander. He’s taken.
Sincerely,
The American and The Brit
Lizbeth
Licking Distance From Our Future Husbands And It All Goes Tits Up
Lost for words and trying desperately not to gag in front of Rick Grimes, I managed an
apologetic smile. He waved at someone and shouted something I couldn't quite understand. Then I turned to see who he was talking to, and that’s when I saw him…Daryl, my Daryl as he walked toward the car. Oh shit! He leaned on the passenger door and rested his arms on the top of the car. His body was pressed against the glass; only that thin pane kept us from touching. I grabbed for the handle but it wasn't there. I tried to open the window, but it was electric and of course wouldn't work. Phoebe groaned at my side and I felt bad that I wasn't attending to my friend.
"Phoebe," I whisper-shouted, giving her a quick nudge. "Stop pretending." She groaned again.
"You're a Brit then?" Jumping at the sound of Rick’s voice, my eyes shot to his. He made a face and took a step back. The fumes from Phoebe were so bad that I was starting to gag. Mortified, I extricated myself from the car—it was even worse than Wilf. Someone handed me a towel and I went to work cleaning myself as best I could.
"Rick."
"Well, in the show, yes, but not in..." I didn't give him time to finish.
"I know, I'm sorry. A little star-struck over here." Flashing lights headed our way, thankfully only an ambulance and not the police again. "I am truly sorry. Please don’t have us arrested. We didn’t trespass. We were, um, just…we’re press." I shoved my laminated badge in his general direction. Not that it would do any good. Didn’t press get arrested all the time in this country? Damn.
"You’re not going to be arrested.” Phew. “A&B." He bent down to get a better look at the badge. "The American and The Brit?"
Totally ashamed of myself, I grunted and effectively sounded like a complete idiot as I replied with a totally childish "Yep, that’s us! Phoebe and I are here for an interview. Nothing more."
Cast members, crew, and dozens of zombies chatting away to each other now surrounded the car. Thankfully someone was dragging in a hose to do clean up. Someone else shouted "Clear out," and tried to open the door, but it was jammed shut. The back door was opened with a crow bar and Phoebe was pulled out and laid on a stretcher before being carried to the ambulance. Andrew Lincoln was talking to someone I didn't recognize from the show, and there was no sign of Norman Reedus anywhere. I worked furiously with the towel again while the car was being hosed out. The smell was horrific and the mosquitoes were having a field day with me.
