by K A Young
“Absolutely not,” Lizbeth piped up, her tone laced with outrage. Way to go, Liz! She pulled off utterly insulted extremely well.
“Well, if there are then I’ll be the first to call our legal department and have you both sued for more money than you’ll ever make in your entire lives.” I was officially terrified again. “Understood?” Liz and I both nodded. “Good. Now that we have the uncomfortable part of our meeting out of the way let’s get to know the real American and Brit.” He smiled and took a seat. “It is my job to find talent and bring them into the fold. So ladies, since my head is on the chopping block next to both of yours, we better get our little story straight.”
Liz and I exchanged glances and began spilling our guts.
Lizbeth
If It Doesn’t Fit Squeeze Into It Anyway
"Well, knock me down with a feather and call me Betty. He can talk for England." Phoebe and I looked absolutely knackered after the beautiful bastard left our office. "And the other Brit wasn't even British?"
"I know, I didn't see that one coming," Phoebe exclaimed while reaching for her coffee.
"So let me get this straight. He hired them to be The American and The Brit. They weren't originally The American and The Brit, so we're in the clear? This really is too good to be true—there must be something we're missing. This is too easy, Phoebs."
"Take your serious hat off, Liz, this is our time to shine." She eyed me while I tried to figure everything out.
"So Mr. Anderson doesn't know what we look like, The American and The Brit were made up for this company, those other women don't hold any rights to the name, and the only person who knows is that scout?" Way too easy. “Wait, did he tell us who he is? I mean, we didn’t even get his name, did we?”
"No, we didn’t.” Phoebe didn’t look concerned. “We’ll ask him next time we see him. He may have mentioned it and we were too shell-shocked for it to register. Let’s just count our blessings and not worry about the little things today. I'm hungry—shall we get some lunch before we start on the emails?" The constant tick-tock drew my eyes to the round clock mounted on the wall. My ravenous hunger hadn’t even registered with me until she mentioned food, then my growling stomach agreed with her before I could answer. "I'll take that as a yes then." She smiled and we got our bags ready to leave.
"Chrissi, we're getting an early lunch and going to do a bit of shopping. Do you want anything? I asked as we came out of the office. Chrissi was busy typing away and didn't even look up as she told us she was fine. We had been pretty good over the last few weeks not going overboard with the credit card that had been burning a hole in my purse, but a night out with the boss called for a serious shopping trip and the credit card was a must. Phoebe was over-excited; she loved shopping way too much. I knew she would pick my outfit while I browsed skinny jeans and biker boots.
"I'm thinking smart casual, with a touch of bling, possibly a few frills, with a dash of color. Oh, and jewelry.”
“Jewelry?” I rolled my eyes. “Don’t you think jewelry would be an unnecessary expenditure?”
“No, I don’t. We must accessorize, Liz. And you’re not getting away with any plain Jane attire tonight.” She wrapped her arm around my shoulders. “Aren’t you glad you have me to help you out with your tired old drab wardrobe?”
“Gee, thanks, Phoebs,” I grumbled, thinking there was absolutely nothing wrong with my sense of style.
“You know what I mean. I’m going to show you how we gals in the South shop!”
“Again?” I grumbled, as Phoebe always insisted on showing me how to shop.
“Yep! To the mall we go.” Here we go. Phoebe was in shopping mode and I feared I would not win my argument about bling being awful. I also had a horrid feeling something on my body would be blinged tonight.
~ ~ ~
Phoebe hunted through the sale racks on a mission to find the perfect deal. She had gone on and on about this stupid eighty percent off sale. I stood holding all her finds while she continued the search. “Oh, yes!” she squealed, “this skirt is perfect.” She handed me the grey pencil skirt as she searched for the perfect top to match.
I glanced at the size and I raised my eyebrow. “Phoebe, this is a size two.”
She shrugged. “It was originally one hundred and forty dollars.”
“So? You can’t wear a two.” I put it back on the rack. She was out of her mind when it came to sales. It didn’t matter if she needed it or not; if it was bottom dollar pricing she bought it.
Phoebe immediately retrieved the skirt and placed it back in the pile over my arm. “It looks like it will stretch. I can make it work.” A snort was my only response since I knew well enough that arguing with her was futile. This was going to be one of those shopping trips where Phoebe would find the perfect outfit that was obviously too small for her. She’d whine and cry about being a fat cow and go on a diet for two days before she forgot about the entire incident.
“Let’s go try all this on!” Phoebe was happy as she took her clothes from me and I followed behind her with all of mine.
“I can’t believe how crowded the dressing room is.” We were only able to find one stall free. “Don’t these people need to work?”
Phoebe shut the door and began shucking her clothes. “Oh, I love this dress.” She was on cloud nine as she slipped the little number on and began admiring her reflection in the mirror. “It’s lovely, isn’t it?” I gave her a head nod before I slid into the sequined number she had forced me to try on. “Oh Liz! That one is gorgeous.” Phoebe cooed as I finally got the dress situated properly and turned to see my reflection in the mirror.
Nearly gagging I said, “You can piss right off!” I looked like a shiny red Christmas ball ornament.
“Why? It’s gorgeous.” Phoebe protested when I ripped it over my head and tossed in the discard pile.
“It’s a nightmare.” She had no eye for fashion if you ask me. I went to try on the others she’d picked out.
Phoebe was now doing her best to shimmy into the tiny pencil skirt. “Dammit. I think this must be an irregular.”
Ugh, here we go…let the madness commence. “You’re a glutton for punishment.” Phoebe was out of her mind if she thought she was going to get that skirt on. She was wiggling and jumping trying to pull it up. I had to laugh before I slid the next discarded item over my head.
“There.” I heard Phoebe say with satisfaction when she finally got the skirt on.
I burst out laughing; the skirt was busting at the seams. “That looks awful!”
Phoebe frowned. “I’m in it, aren’t I? And it's a two.” Phoebe turned to the side to check her profile. “I think it looks pretty good.”
I pointed to the back where her arse was bursting to get free. “It’s not even zipped up.”
She put her hands on her hips. “So zip it up!”
Yeah, right, just zip it up. I bent down and with all my might I began to work the screaming zipper up a fraction of an inch. “Nope, not going to go.”
She sucked in. “You’re not even trying. You don’t want me to be able to fit in a two.”
“You don’t fit in a two!” I kept trying to move the zipper up and the fabric was nearly howling audibly in protest.
“Uh! Hello, I am in a two!” She pointed to the mirror.
“Ouch.” I pulled my hand away. “I give up. It doesn’t fit you.” Excited to try on the next dress, I picked up a gorgeous little black number Phoebe had selected. I smiled. “I like this one.”
After a few grunts and groans followed by a loud exaggerated exhale of breath Phoebe began to undress. I was really feeling this dress. As I slid it over my head I heard a loud thud and then a scream that hadn’t come from Phoebe. “What the hell was that?”
When my head was finally free I saw Phoebe with that damn skirt stuck halfway down her arse. She’d fallen into the stall wall and the women in the stall next us was having a fit. Phoebe’s face was sweaty and red as she continued to fight with the
skirt. “I’m sorry,” she whimpered to the lady on the other side of the wall.
“You nearly brought the entire stall down! What the hell are you doing over there?” The women left the stall with a huff, slamming the door. “I’m getting the store manager.”
“Help me!” she wailed. “I’m stuck.” Phoebe was in a total state of panic now and one of us had to keep our head.
“Okay, just let me get this dress off.” I carefully hung it up and put it in the to buy pile, then went down on my knees and began jerking on the skirt. “I told you this was too small. Why don’t you ever listen to me?”
“I’m sorry, I really thought I could squeeze in in a two this time. I’ve been on diet and everything.” Whatever. “Can you please get this off of me before the manager comes?” Phoebe was sweating bullets and now I was working up a sweat trying to get her out of this infernal skirt.
“Wiggle your hips while I pull,” I instructed and pulled with all my might. With a big grunt I shoved the skirt down, taking her knickers down with it just as the manager unlocked the door and opened it.
“What is the meaning of this?” the old women shouted. “Call security,” she screamed to God only knows who.”
Phoebe let out a scream as her hands went over her fanjita. Mortified, I rose to my feet as the realization hit as to what the old women thought Phoebe and I were doing in here. Phoebe and I both dressed with lightning speed.
“This isn’t what it looks like. The skirt was stuck and my friend was just helping me out of it. This whole situation is a massive misunderstanding.” Phoebe and I grabbed our items and hurried out of the dressing room with the manager right on our heels.
“I don’t care what you were doing. I won’t have this sort of thing happening in my store.” This was all because Phoebe had to get into that stupid skirt.
“We’re leaving.” Phoebe threw the items aside and we hurried out of the store and out to the safety of the mall.
The second we left the store what had just happened seemed to sink in and we burst out laughing. “Only us,” I giggled, wiping tears from my face.
“We shall never speak of this again. That skirt had to have been an irregular.” Of course Phoebe would be more mortified over not fitting in that bloody skirt than of being accused of lewd acts.
~ ~ ~
We were sitting in the food court eating our salads and sipping our Diet Cokes, our purchases safely stacked on the chairs opposite us at our table. The pencil skirt incident would forever be with us both. We’d laugh about it for years to come. “You know, Phoebs, I don’t think eating a salad for lunch one day is going to do anything for us tonight by way of weight loss.” I gazed longingly at the table next to us filled with Chinese food.
“It can’t hurt. Besides, the dress I bought was a tad snug and I don’t want to gain an ounce before I shimmy my ass into it.” Phoebe had been on a shopping tear. I was exhausted by merely following behind her as she went through the sale racks, squealing at every bargain piece she found. If I’d come on my own I’d have gone to one store, grabbed one of the first dresses I found and been out of there. Not Phoebe. She drug me into nine stores—nine—before she’d let us stop for lunch. By the time we made it to Macy’s I was so worn out and ravenous that I didn’t care what I wore. Now that my blood sugar was normalizing I began to worry a bit about the dress. Phoebe had said it was to die for on me and talked me into buying it. Oh well, today was a good day. Our jobs were secure, Phoebe and I wouldn’t be carted off to jail followed by me shamefully being deported back home, and I was a size and a half smaller here in the States.
Phoebe stood to her feet after devouring her salad. “Want an ice dream?”
“You are going to get ice cream now? I thought we were watching fat and calories?” Secretly I was dying for an ice cream; eating lettuce wasn’t my thing.
“Not an ice cream—an ice dream. It’s low fat and probably good for you. I’ll be back with one for each of us.” Phoebe sauntered off and I stayed behind to man the table and keep an eye on our purchases. I wished I could be like her, I really did, but the thought of our dinner tonight with Mr. John Thomas was giving me a gut ache.
~ ~ ~
We arrived at the restaurant early, which was remarkable for me and Phoebs. She looked amazing and I looked…well, odd. I still can't believe I had allowed her to choose my clothing for tonight. It's my own fault I know, but still I felt so uncomfortable. What Phoebe had chosen was something I would never ever wear, but she made a great point—this is the new us. We can be whomever we want to be. Apparently Phoebe saw me as a high class hooker.
"Stop fidgeting, Liz—you look great and I look amazeballs." I watched in awe as Phoebe was able to climb out of Wilf in that cream Ralph Lauren scoop neck gown, while she applied lipstick and still held a conversation with me. I had trouble putting lipstick on while looking in a mirror.
"I swear, Phoebe Hawkins, if I sneeze my tits will pop right out of this dress," I said while pushing my breasts back into the strapless bra Phoebe made me buy.
"You'll be fine. Just don't bend over or you'll give a show from both ends," she snickered at me. I wondered if she got me into this short navy chiffon maxi dress just to have a laugh at my expense. Thankfully she put my mind at ease. "I'm only playing, Liz, you truly do look great. Tonight will be fun."
"We'll see," I said under my breath. Something always happens when we're out together; why should tonight be any different just because we look the part? I took a deep breath and followed Phoebe into the restaurant.
The restaurant did not disappoint with the breathtaking chandeliers that hung high from the ceiling and the tables that were beautifully laid. My fingers stroked the wallpaper; it felt like velvet and my high-heeled shoes sunk into the lush gold rug in front of the cloakroom kiosk.
"May I take your coats, ladies?" the cheerful cloakroom attendant asked while extending her arm.
"Sure," Phoebe replied while she shrugged out of her wrap. I pulled mine tighter around me. I felt more comfortable with it on. "Liz, your wrap?”
"I'll keep mine on, thanks," I said, attempting to zip it up while holding my ridiculously small clutch bag.
"No, you won't." Before I knew it Phoebe had stripped me of my comfort blanket and had handed it to the attendant. I felt naked. I realized then that this was the first time since coming to America that Phoebe and I had been out to a fancy restaurant. I'd been to plenty in the UK, but there I knew what to expect
"Phoebe Hawkins and Lizbeth Bates," Phoebe proudly announced to the host, making me jump.
"Right this way ladies, your party is already here." Party? What party? The tall, elderly gentleman dressed in a tuxedo guided us through the restaurant. Phoebe turned to me and winked. She loved this sort of thing. As we approached our table I could see Mr. John Thomas and a woman sitting next to him laughing at something the person sitting across from they had said. I could only see the back of his head despite going up on my tiptoes. Not that I would have known them. I should have been watching where I was going. Before I knew it I bumped into a waiter who was carrying a large tray of drinks. The tray went flying. It all happened so fast but seemed to be transpiring in slow motion. I watched with my mouth hanging open as the tray came down on a woman in a white dress. My head flew to Phoebe who had turned around at the commotion and her expression reflected mine. The drinks seemed to explode in all directions, covering the surrounding tables. In one fell swoop I had given at least fifteen people a champagne shower. I had no words. I just stood there like a complete idiot. Phoebe grabbed my hand and pulled me away while snapping at the waiter for being so careless. I looked back at the woman dressed in white who was now chastising the poor waiter; he glanced my way, but Phoebe yanked me so hard I didn't have time to apologize.
“Phoebe, I have to go back and apologize,” I whispered harshly to her.
“No, you don’t. We can’t afford to have a disaster tonight,” Phoebe argued, and before I could contend that I didn�
�t have a choice we were seen.
"Phoebe, Lizbeth, you're here." Mr. John Thomas stood to greet us as the mystery gent stood and turned. "You know Jake Anderson." Phoebe extended her arm as I forgot how to stop walking. I collided straight into the back of her and her hand landed on Beautiful Bastard’s chest! Mr. John Thomas couldn't have seen because he carried on talking, "And this is my fiancé Ruthie." Ruthie stood and smiled at us while staring at my boobs.
"Hi," I managed to spit out. "Would you excuse us, please?" With the biggest false smile I could muster I linked arms with Phoebe and dashed for the restrooms, not waiting for a response.
"What are you doing?" Phoebe was outraged.
"Let's just get to the restroom—we need a mini meeting before we sit down." I pushed Phoebe inside and into a vacant stall and locked the door.
"What are you playing at, you crazy mad woman?" Phoebe asked while placing her hands on her hips and banging her elbow on the side of the restroom stall. "Ouch!"
“Bang the other one.”
“What?”
“Your elbow. It’s bad luck to bang the one without the other.” Phoebe never took this type of thing seriously. I, however, knew that it was extremely important not to mess with bad juju. Bad luck was something neither of us needed.
“Stop with your superstitious crap, Liz. What’s up with you?”
"Mr. Anderson, the boss man? Did you not hear? The big beautiful bastard is Mr. Anderson, like the boss man Mr. Anderson." I was talking so fast Phoebe looked at me as if I'd gone mad.
"No, Mr. Anderson is still away. That’s the guy who recruited us, remember?" Phoebe reached a hand out to my forehead. "Are you ill? I think John said his name was Jake something."
I shrugged her hand away and assured her I wasn't. "He said Mr. Anderson. He could have come back early and he knows that we're frauds.”