The American and The Brit: Unsolicited Advice

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The American and The Brit: Unsolicited Advice Page 10

by K A Young


  Sincerely laughing,

  The American and The Brit

  Lizbeth

  Shake What Your Momma Gave You

  Phoebe and I were on our way up to the brothers’ apartment looking fab and ready for some serious partying. We’d been so focused on work and managing to get through everyday life that we were overdue for some fun.

  Phoebe knocked on the door and a bout of butterflies settled in my midsection. Every time I’d been around those two blokes, which was only a handful of times, they’d been friendly and polite but the nerves always set in. We’d been meaning to invite them around for dinner one evening but it never happened. Tonight we would make up for that. Perhaps being around them a bit more my nerves would settle.

  Alex answered the door wearing only sweat shorts and my jaw dropped. His thick, messed-up dark hair was just the right length to grab while in the hot throes of...my mind was working overtime again. I really needed to get me some. Phoebe and I needed to get some dates like now.

  “Hi Phoebs, Liz, what are you two up to?” Alex smiled and leaned against the doorframe.

  “Liz and I are on our way out and thought we’d just pop in to ask if you and Nathan would like to join us.” Phoebe gave him her one hundred watt smile. She had one of those personalities that everyone was attracted to. I was reminded of this by the way Alex was nearly falling over to lean down closer to her. He wasn’t an extremely tall guy, but Phoebe was a petite little thing so he was almost hunched over.

  “Um—” Alex ran his hand through his hair and looked back into the apartment. He didn’t ask us in, which I thought was a bit rude. “We were supposed to have a few guys over to watch the game and have a few beers but your idea sounds better. Just let me just run this by Nathan. He’s been working round the clock on this new project.”

  “Hey, no big deal.” Phoebe went on, “If you guys already have plans we—”

  “No. This sounds like more fun to me.” Phoebe and I grinned. He must really like us if he was willing to give up a night of sports and drinking.

  “Okay, you guys can meet up with us later at Shout when you get free,” Phoebe smiled sweetly.

  “Yeah, that sounds good.” Alex returned her smile. Damn, he was sexy.

  “See ya.” Phoebe gave him a little wave before we both started back toward the elevator.

  She poked me after the door closed. “Why are you always so quiet around Alex and Nathan? You never say two words.”

  “Because I’ve got a filthy mind and I’m worried I’ll say the wrong thing.” I rolled my eyes as we waited for the elevator. “So, tell me about Shout. Can we get our jiggy on there?” I started to bump and grind around Phoebe while squeaking some horrible tune I’d made up.

  “Hey girls.” I swung around to find Alex in the hallway and Phoebe laughed. “Nathan is game. We’ll meet you there in an hour.”

  “Great,” Phoebe answered with a smile and I nearly fainted.

  “And Liz?” Alex asked, staring straight at me.

  I replied with a “Huh?”

  “Save a dance for me.” He winked. “See ya soon, ladies.” He disappeared back into his apartment.

  “Bye,” Phoebe replied before the door closed.

  “Toodle pip,” I whispered after the door was already shut.

  “You’ll catch flies, you know, if you don’t close your mouth.” Phoebe pushed me into the elevator and I finally exhaled.

  ~ ~ ~

  The aromas wafting through the parking lot were making my mouth water and I picked up my pace. The place was buzzing with waitresses dodging patrons while balancing plates of food high in the air. Laughter filled the large space and I could tell I was going to like it here. My second credit card was about to take a beating, but with a job secured I’d be able to pay it back in no time at all. Phoebe weaved us through the crowds until we stopped at the end of the bar and we attempted to get the bartender's attention.

  “My mouth is as dry as a desert.” Phoebe opened her mouth to show me the evidence.

  “I believe you, thousands wouldn’t.” At that the bartender approached us and before he could ask for our order Phoebe jumped in.

  “Hiya, we’ll have four lemon drop martinis, stirred not shaken.” He nodded and proceeded to pour various concoctions into cocktail shakers.

  “Why did you get four? My God, it’s like an oven in here.” I asked, handing her my credit card.

  “It just saves us coming back up here for a while, and with all these bodies it’s going to be hot. I would have ordered more but then we’d get looks.”

  “Good point. Well-made as usual, Miss Hawkins.” I bowed in front of her.

  “I know. Now get up, you basket case.” She turned to pay for our drinks as I looked around. The club was different than the ones back home. I liked the vibe; Americans were so loud and energetic. Especially all these Southerners. One of the things that took some getting used to was that complete strangers would stop and have a chat with me at the oddest moments, like at the grocery store while Phoebe and I were buying toilet paper. I liked the friendliness of things, but being British did make it difficult for me to ignore any of them. Phoebe didn’t have that problem and was always hauling me away from random vagrants asking for handouts like they had been outside in the parking lot here.

  After I turned I noticed that besides the bar area and restaurant part there was also a small dance floor where a DJ was setting up his equipment. It was only eight in the evening and this place was almost full. I spotted a table and ran for it without telling Phoebe. I got there just in time before three large women took up residence. Smiling, I put my blue Coach bag on one of the chairs before sitting. I began fanning myself. They needed to do something about the lack of air flow in here.

  “How rude,” one of the woman remarked before turning on her heels followed by her groupies. I’d actually forgotten they were still standing there, distracted by this heat. The weather here was different this time of year than it was in England. Atlanta was heating up to summer temps and it was only spring.

  “Jog on,” I ushered before turning my attention to Phoebe who was making her way toward me carrying all four drinks, balancing them like a pro.

  “Great, you got us a table. Bottoms up,” She shoved two glasses my direction. “I can feel a pajama day coming on tomorrow,” Phoebe said while placing her second empty martini glass on the table and shucking off her jacket. “Any prospects?” she asked while taking a seat and scanning the area for eligible bachelors.

  “Not really,” I said, finishing my second drink. They were incredibly strong. “Oh, look over there at those smokin’ hot pieces at the bar.” I laughed. When Phoebe and I went on the prowl we sometimes took on the persona of frat boys. We preferred to be the ones that did all the stalking. Saves time that way.

  “Oh, let’s play the looks game!” Phoebs was adjusting her top, then went to her clutch to retrieve and slap on a little extra gloss.

  “Okay! But I’m going first this time. That’s why you won the last two times we played.” I hopped off the chair and smoothed my hair.

  “Fine,” Phoebe reluctantly agreed.

  As I started for the bar I began looking past the targets as if they didn’t even exist. It was my best move. Ignore them and they will come is my motto. I did a nice little circle around the bar as if I were looking for someone and then made my way back to Phoebe. “How many?” I grinned and by the look on her face I knew I did well.

  “Four,” she grumbled.

  I did a little dance. “Oh, all but one wanted some of this.” She didn’t stand a chance; this game was mine. I sat back down and smirked. “Your turn.”

  Phoebe was surveying the area where the blokes sat. A second later she had the determined look again. Uh oh. What was she planning? Phoebe hated to lose. Before I could caution her away from whatever she was plotting she was on her way over. She was stealing my move! The next thing I knew Phoebe pretended to trip and fell forward right into the middle of
all five guys! They were all over her, two of them laughing as she got to her feet. She spent a few minutes there chatting them up before returning to our table with an arrogant look.

  “All five! Booyah! I win!” She was so smug.

  “No, you didn’t! You’re disqualified for pulling that little stunt!” I leaned over the table as she took a seat. “You couldn’t play fair for once and let me win even when I won fair and square.” I folded my arms, making a mental note to never trust her again.

  “Whatever! Nowhere in the rules is it stated that I couldn’t do that.” She folded her arms across her chest as two drinks were brought to our table.

  “Compliments of the gentlemen in the corner there,” the waiter said as he sat them down.

  Phoebe and I gave a little wave of thanks in their direction. After I finished my drink I turned back to Phoebe. “Admit it or I’m never playing the looks or any other game with you again.”

  “Liz!” Now I had her. “Fine, I’m disqualified and you win.”

  “That’s better.” Now that that was settled I could focus on the fact I was so hungry my stomach thought my throat had been cut. “Well, if I don’t eat something soon I’ll collapse and there is no way I’ll be able to get my groove on without food.”

  “I’ve ordered us some appetizers—chicken fingers with the trimmings and mile-high nachos.”

  My eyes widened. “That’s a lot of food, Phoebe. We don’t want to look like pigs.”

  “No worries, I thought about that.” She looked at her watch. “We should be done by the time the boys get here.” Phoebe waved to the waitress and ordered us a pitcher of margaritas and we sat back and watched the comings and goings of the crowds before our food arrived.

  ~ ~ ~

  Throwing the napkin into the empty basket I rubbed my stomach; it growled a satisfied response as if thanking me. Phoebe was doing the exact same thing. “I should have worn different pants.” My jeans were nearly cutting me in two.

  “I wore a pair with three percent spandex just to be on the safe side,” Phoebe said just as the DJ started playing. “So what do you think?”

  “Hmm.” I took in the crowd on the dance floor. Only a few skinny bitches were on the floor strutting their stuff and that made Phoebe and me quite happy. “We got most of them beat.” We hated competing with the chicks that starved themselves. It just wasn’t fair. I looked at my watch and noticed that it was nearly nine. Alex and Nathan would be here soon. I hoped.

  “Shall we have a dance and work off some calories then?” Phoebe asked before taking a huge swig of her cocktail. “We’ll go to the bar on the way back.”

  “Sure, I’m all for testing out these new boots.” As we stood the room swirled a little and I laughed to myself. Tonight was going to be great.

  Just as Phoebe and I were throwing some shapes and shaking what our mommas gave us, someone pushed Phoebe and she went headfirst into a group of girls who screamed as she collided with them. I looked over for the culprit and expected to find some drunk chick but was shocked to see Sandra from the office staring at my best friend, giving her the evil eye.

  “You stupid bitch!” Sandra pointed at Phoebe. “How dare you air something publicly that you have no part in?” Our Facebook idea had one fatal flaw; that others might possibly react to our advice with violence. Shit, it seemed like a great idea at the time. Phoebe and I glanced at each other, the picture of innocence. We’d fake it! It works for us normally. “Oh please—A&B? Like that isn’t you two idiots! You cost me my best friends and now you’re going to pay for it!”

  God, I cringed as Phoebe composed herself and dove toward Sandra who was waiting. The crowd cleared a space for whatever was coming next and some even started clapping. Security guards were starting to make their way over to us. I grabbed for Phoebe but was too late; she had shoved Sandra into a table, knocking over several drinks in the process. “Filthy whore!” Sandra screamed as she scrambled up to make another leap at Phoebs. A man held her from behind and tried to calm her down.

  “I think you’re confusing me with yourself! I’m not the one who slept with my bestie’s man and left my nasty thongs behind to be used as evidence.” Damn, Phoebe was fired up.

  Before Sandra could respond everything went quiet and I joined my friend in the center of the dance floor. The DJ started up with another song but there was absolutely no movement on the floor at all. “What is everyone waiting for?” I asked Phoebe as I looked around at all of the faces staring at us.

  “Haven’t a clue, but if that bitch doesn’t get the hell out of here I’ll throw her through a window.” Phoebe was drunk and majorly pissed off, a disastrous combination.

  “Let settle this Twist and Shout style,” the DJ boomed through the microphone and the crowd cheered.

  “What the fuck is Twist and Shout style?” I whispered to Phoebe.

  “Don’t know, don’t care.” Phoebe always got a little gangster when she was hammered. Then she looked as if the light came on. “But now that I think about it…twist and shout, like the dance.”

  As Phoebe’s best friend one of my duties was to try and lighten the mood whenever she got like she was tonight. I added, “Right, I’ve had a little to drink and the ole brain is working slower than usual. I wonder, are they going to pull out a pool full of jelly and make you wrestle?” I laughed into Phoebe’s ear, glad that it had worked and she’d calmed down a little.

  “I think we’re about to find out. But whatever it is, that former? Clique chick is going down.” Phoebe’s eyes were filled with determination. I’d seen that look before and knew she wouldn’t let up until she’d won. She’s lost one game tonight and she wasn’t about to lose another, especially to Sandra.

  At that the crowd edged back, making more space before clapping to the beat of the song the DJ had put on. Sandra knew what was up as came up to us smirking. “I have awards and medals—you two don’t stand a chance.” Then she popped her chest at us, making us jump back a step before she started egging the crowd on by running around the circle clapping their outstretched hands.

  “Awards and medals in sluttery,” Phoebe barked and I laughed. “Bring it on, hobag,” Phoebe shouted and I braced myself for the fight.

  In complete disbelief in what I was witnessing I stood there dumbfounded, watching Sandra dance in front of us. The look on Phoebe’s face mirrored mine and then understanding struck me. “Dance off!” Phoebe nodded and squealed. “Come on, Phoebs, we’ve totally got this. UK 2011 nightclub, remember?” Phoebe laughed and we prepared to blow this dance off out of the water.

  A reenactment of Ross and Monica’s dance from an old episode of Friends was what we had in the bag. It was absolutely hilarious and the crowd was loving it. Sandra didn’t stand a chance. We owned that dance floor and she knew it.

  “This is not over!” she pointed at us before storming out of Shout just as the crowd joined us in waving goodbye to her. Phoebe was waving the double bird gangster style.

  “That. Was. Epic!” Phoebe screamed and the crowd cheered again before they continued with their evening. We headed back to our table ready for another drink, receiving pats on the back of congratulations from the other patrons. We really were superstars—well, sort of. Out of the crowd emerged Alex and Nathan, clapping their hands and I almost died.

  “Nice moves. Couldn’t you wait for us?” Nathan asked, laughing with us, not at us, which was a good sign.

  “You know how we roll, in for a penny, in for a pound,” I replied, straight-laced as I took my seat, no longer feeling uncomfortable around these guys, which was a relief. That’s when I spied Mickey coming toward us. I attempted to be discreet and nudge Phoebe and was doing quite well until Phoebe began gawking in his direction.

  “Derrick, glad you could make it, man.” Nathan shook hands with Mickey.

  “Hope you girls don’t mind—we invited Derrick to tag along since he didn’t have any other plans.” Phoebe and I shook our heads to say we didn’t. Oh God, a night with
Mickey.

  “Hello, ladies,” Mickey squeaked and Phoebe, to use her phrase, drunker than Cooter Brown, giggled. Thankfully no one seemed to pay her any attention.

  “I think you two deserve a drink.” Alex smiled and headed for the bar. I bumped shoulders with Phoebe, knowing we were in for a great night despite Mickey.

  ~ ~ ~

  "When do you think they'll know?" Phoebe asked me as she drove Wilf to the office Monday morning. "With everything being online I'm sure they'll have a good idea pretty soon if we're a hit."

  "Of course we'll be a hit, we're great." That was my new philosophy; no more dwelling on the negatives. Focus on the positives and always put your best foot forward. We had scraped through our first week at Anderson Media with only a few minor mishaps and we seemed to fit in pretty well. Phoebs and I had a long chat last night and finally agreed that we deserved this job, that we were perfect to do this, and that this week would be about getting to know the office staff better. Last week we were too busy keeping our heads down in case we were rumbled and thrown from the building headfirst. "You know, we've had pastries from the trolley every morning and we don't even know the girl’s name."

  "Yeah, I feel a bit bad about that. We’ll remedy that first thing." Phoebe looked so serious, like asking a girl’s name was a massive thing and this was a mission in itself. "I just hope she has a normal name."

  "Huh?" I looked at her as if she'd gone mad.

  "You know, a normal name like Sarah or Kendall. If it's Gertrude or Fatima I predict we will burst out laughing and then we'll be screwed for our free breakfast. I take my pastries seriously."

  "Now look what you've done, you've planted that seed and we will probably laugh before she's even told us her name." I was stifling a giggle as we rounded the corner and Anderson Media came into sight.

  We arrived at the office early to avoid anyone seeing us clamber out of Wilf. As we approached the entrance we could see pastry girl and the trolley. "Will you do this one and I'll do the next?" Phoebe asked me with her lip pouting and her hands pressed together like she was at church.

 

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