The American and The Brit: Unsolicited Advice Page 5

  “Um. I’m good. Uh, maybe some water though.” Eloquent as always. I forced myself not to roll my eyes. As Phoebe took her seat, carefully smoothing her skirt she whispered, “We’re in the Twilight Zone.” I kept my eyes away from her for fear of giggling. We were getting this job.

  He then rambled on as I tried desperately to keep up. “Like I said earlier I’m only here as a temporary to help get the business on the right track. So I’m afraid when it comes to the talent scouting I’m a bit out of the loop. Not to worry though—although this is a young company it is on the fast track to success.” He gave us a reassuring smile. “I can assure you that Anderson Media is a financially stable company,” he continued with his sales pitch. “I understand that was a point of concern for the two of you.” I just nodded, unable to form sentences at the moment. “When you first arrived the receptionist thought the two of you were here for the mailroom positions. It wasn’t until she overheard the two of you talking that she realized her mistake. Please forgive the misunderstanding.” Overheard us talking? “When she called back and told us you were here I immediately came running. This company needs a dynamic duo like the two of you. Oh, your drinks.”

  He smiled, pushed the intercom button, and instructed his secretary to retrieve my coffee and a bottle of water for Phoebs. She was right; we had entered the Twilight Zone. I could almost hear the theme song now. He folded his hands on the desk and took a deep breath. “So we changed things around a bit, thought we'd freshen up our ideas, and this is what the creative team came up with: The American and The Brit. We hope you don't mind—Mr. Anderson wanted something different. Are you two okay with this change?” He sat still as a stone waiting for our response.

  Well, I was indeed British and Phoebs was extremely American. I smiled. “We are.”

  He glanced in Phoebe’s direction and she gritted her teeth in what I think was supposed to be a smile. “Yep,” was her reply. Bloody hell.

  He didn’t seem to mind, his head bobbing up and down. “Well, this is what we've come up with. It includes our title that will legally belong jointly to you and Anderson Media once you sign. Let me pull it up. I’m going to have to have you both fill out a complete work package since we lost all temporary files when the system crashed.” He clicked on his laptop and began searching for the documents. “Oh, we also will need you both to fill out the tax documents. Since the contractual offer that we emailed you previously was also lost, we’ll have to have new ones drawn up from our legal department. Truthfully, the contracts would have expired by now and we wouldn’t be able to use them. Ah, here it is.” He spun it around to show us his screen. My eyes bugged as I took in the logo. A giant American and British flag was the background with The American and The Brit Advice Column written over of the flags. Advice? We were going to advise people. I nearly shit myself. “What do you think?”

  Phoebe spoke up. “Um, it’s a lovely design.” She fiddled with her top. “This advice part—”

  “Gary…uh, Mr. Anderson is pretty solid on the title. We hope that the compromise of the two would be agreeable.”

  “Agreeable?” she squeaked. She was on the verge of freaking out. When Phoebe got nervous she broke out in hives on her chest and started scratching like a wild animal.

  “Yes. We can live with that.” I interjected as I leaned over, acted like I was picking lint off her jacket and pinched her.

  “Ouch!” she screamed and Mr. Thomas nearly jumped out of his seat. Oh hell. She beamed at him like a lunatic rebounding. “An ant bit me.” She rubbed her arm and glared at me. I made a quick hand gesture in reference to her hive issue and she dropped her hands to her lap. He opened his mouth to speak, probably to inquire about the imaginary ant when his cell trilled. It must have been something important because he forgot about Phoebe’s outburst, or at least seemed to.

  From there everything happened quickly. The secretary came in with our beverages, John Thomas stood, handed us both thick manila envelopes, and excused himself from the room, closing the door behind him. "Lizbeth, what the fuck are you getting us into? We can’t advise anyone on anything! And whoever these other women are they could sue us for assuming their identities--or worse, we could go to prison. I can’t go to prison, Liz! I’m not cut out for that lifestyle," She was nearly having a full-blown panic attack and began grabbing for her water.

  "Calm down. You heard him—they turned the job down and they've changed a lot of stuff. I'm shitting my knickers too but I don't make it so obvious. This is our chance, Phoebs! Remember how we always talked about faking it till you make it? Well, now we need to practice what we preach. We’re not going to steal anyone’s identity—we’ll enter our real names on the tax documents. Besides, he didn’t even know the other American and Brit’s names.”

  “A lot of good that will do us—we’ll be fired before they can run the background check.” She slumped back in her chair in a very unladylike fashion. “We have no idea how to even begin to do this job.”

  “Phoebe Hawkins, you will do this for me!” I glared at her. “After what you put me through with the you-know-what you owe me in a major way.”

  Phoebe’s face with the epitome of outrage. “How dare you, Lizbeth! You swore you’d never bring that up again!”

  “You’re right. It was a low blow. Sorry.” Part of me wanted to jump up and leave before John/Mr. Thomas came back, but I’d come this far. There was no turning back for me now. “Hopefully this information will tell us something before he gets back." I opened packet and peeked inside.

  “God, I hope so,” she mumbled. “I think I’m going to be sick. But I’ll do it.” She was giving in. “Oh wait.” She starting digging into her purse as I flipped through the mound of paperwork. There was so much information about the company. I was thankful that I’d been able to secure my work visa before arriving here in the US. I now was wondering the ramifications of not even being able to work a day at the company I’d had a job secured through. Surely a job was a job. Now I was starting to panic. Then I got to the salary package piece of the paperwork.

  “Oh. My God. Liz, you’ve got to see this!” Phoebe sounded more herself.

  “No, Phoebs. You’ve gotta see this!” She leaned over and glanced at the page and dropped her phone. “Right?”

  “Oh, we are so doing this!” She bent to retrieve her phone. “Now take a look at this!” I took her phone and read about the two they were planning on hiring and starting laughing. These women basically made a living making rude remarks about how people lived. And we totally had them smoked in the looks department.

  “Are you sure those are the right American and Brit?” I asked, still staring at the screen.

  “Got to be. They are the only ones to pop up under American and Brit in the search engine.” Phoebe grinned and handed me the phone so I could get a closer look. “Their name is different but they have some kind of stand-up routine, and here in their blog they speak to taking a new roles in some media company out west.”

  After I glanced up at Phoebe who was now doing a bump and grind dance around the office I commented, “If the job is anything like what these two do we’ll be terrific. We’re great at criticizing people.” I joined her in her celebration dance. “And,” I booty popped, “we’re going to be rich!”

  “Yeah, baby!” Phoebe was getting jiggy with it too.

  John Thomas walked back in and we froze. He coughed to cover his chuckle. “Would you like me to show you around?”

  “That’d be lovely,” we said in unison.

  As we walked around John Thomas explained how Gary Anderson had set up this small company and it had rocketed in just a few months. He introduced us to everyone including Dave the errand boy who could only manage a “hi”, before he headed off with his trolley of paperwork, snickering. Everyone else greeted us with a smile or a wave of their free hand while they were busy chatting to someone on the phone. They all seemed polite and friendly. "Lizbeth, Phoebe, this is Chrissi Butts, your secretary. Anythin
g you need Chrissi will assist you," Mr. Thomas proudly announced as he motioned toward a skinny girl sitting at a very tidy desk. Did he just say Butts?

  Phoebe looked utterly shocked as she looked at Chrissi and smiled a bit too brightly at her. The young big-haired blonde just grinned back at her.

  "Our secretary, Phoebe. Miss Butts is our secretary." I leaned in and spoke very slowly. I dared not look at her. I knew her expression would be very similar to mine. "It's very nice to meet you, Chrissi. I'm sure we'll have a wonderful time working together."

  "I've been so looking forward to meeting y’all. When we thought you wasn't going to be joining us I was so disappointed.” Right, so disappointed. She didn’t know the other American and Brit either. We looked nothing like them. “Can I get y’all anything? Tea for the Brit—I know y’all love your tea." She didn't come up for air. I glanced sideways, and as I thought Phoebe stood there dumbfounded with her mouth gaping open, looking like she was catching flies.

  "No, thank you, Chrissi. Contrary to popular belief not all Brits like tea. I for one am one of them." Chrissi grinned, wrinkling her nose at me. Now Phoebe was gaping at me.

  "I just love how y’all talk. Phoebe?" Now she appeared to be fidgeting nervously as she addressed a quiet Phoebe.

  Giving Phoebe a quick nudge, she managed a "Hmm?"

  "Drink, Phoebe. Chrissi is offering you a drink." I really don't know how I was holding it together. Her face was an absolute picture. If I'd had the balls I would have pulled my mobile phone out and taken a photo.

  "No, thanks, I'm good," Phoebe was just able to reply.

  "Well then, shall we carry on?” Mr. Thomas interjected before continuing the tour. “And these will be your offices." He led us to the door behind where Chrissi was positioned. "They were separate rooms but we opened them up for you. We figured you worked a lot together but there are bi-fold doors that can be closed for privacy." It didn’t escape my attention that Mr. Thomas looked extremely proud as he walked us around our offices, pointing out the amazing view from the small window in the one section. Phoebe looked like she was ready to faint. My heart was going ten to the dozen.

  "Erm, Mr. Thomas—” I began.

  “Please call me John.”

  “Uh, sure, John. Would you mind terribly if Phoebs and I had a few moments to settle in? Today had been rather exciting. You do understand." A quick glance at Phoebe confirmed my suspicion that she hadn’t heard me. She looked vacant and I knew we both needed a breather.

  "Of course, I'm sorry. When you're ready Chrissi will bring you back to reception and we'll see you Monday, right?" John looked a little embarrassed and I think he realized how overwhelming he'd been. If only he knew. He closed the door on his way out and left Phoebe and I in our new offices.

  As I held my finger up to Phoebs I whispered, "Not yet, not yet, just wait." Phoebe was clamping her mouth shut with her hand and bouncing on the spot. I ushered her into the farthest office away from prying ears. "Not yet," I squeaked. I pulled the bi-fold doors closed and turned to her. "Now!" I all but shouted. We held hands and started jumping around in a circle, both of us squealing and laughing. I paused, putting my hands in the air. "Stop! Hammer time." It was our signature dance move that we learned at a cheesy eighties and nineties bar in the UK. We impersonated MC Hammer and danced all around the office.

  "I was ready to combust." Phoebe managed to say while doing the crab dance, her skirt hitched around her thighs.

  "I saw." I laughed and I sat on the big leather office chair and swung around. After a few minutes of swiveling I stopped and blew out a breath. "Have you got it out of your system now? We need to go back out there."

  With a huge sigh and a shake of her arms Phoebe was ready. "Let's do this."

  With my hands I smoothed her hair down and straightened her jacket. "Just smile. We've got the weekend to figure this shit out. And for what they're willing to pay us we'll be ready for action come Monday morning. We just need to get to the car without causing a scene. We can do that, right?" I was desperately trying to convince myself that we could pull this off. Of course we could. We were born to be the American and the Brit. We could do this shit standing on our heads. "Ready?"

  With as much confidence as she could muster she replied with, "Ready." We strolled back through the offices smiling and nodding our heads to those who acknowledged us. We were out. We'd made it.

  On the drive back home with Wilf’s makeshift window bag slapping me in the face we talked non-stop about everything that had happened in the last few hours. When the doubts crept in we remembered all of the zeros at the end of the dollar sign on our agreed salary and we soon forgot about the shit we could be in. We arrived back at the apartment and I climbed out of Wilf while grabbing my purse "Maybe we can buy a better car next month," I managed to get out while tugging at my bag that was now somehow attached to the seatbelt.

  "Hi!" A deep voice greeted us. Phoebe and I both looked up and came face to boxes with a man balancing four big storage containers in his arms. "I'm Alex. We've just moved into the apartments. Nathan has just taken a few boxes up—he'll be back shortly." What does he look like? Two of them; one each for Phoebe and me. My mind was worked in overtime. Phoebe and I still hadn't spoken a word when Nathan approached us. "And here he is. Sorry ladies, I didn't catch your names."

  Phoebe answered while I was still trying to get a look at his face. "Hi, I'm Phoebe but everyone calls me Phoebs and this is Lizbeth. Liz for short. We live here too.” I was still standing there looking like a meerkat trying to peek around the boxes.

  "We're setting up a business together and figured we'd get our own place. Phoebe and Liz, it was nice meeting you. Maybe we can do dinner sometime, being neighbors and all?" They walked away and I still didn’t know what Alex looked like.

  "That would be great. Good luck, guys." Phoebe laughed while yanking my bag from the car before she slammed the door shut. "You okay, Liz?"

  As I watched Alex and Nathan balanced boxes over to the elevator, I muttered, "Did you see what Alex looked like? Brothers? Friends? Double dating?" I did my sinister eyebrow wiggle to Phoebe and she gasped. "What?"

  "Your eyebrows are atrocious! You'll have a unibrow if you're not careful. Come on, let's get you groomed."

  "I hate all of that girly stuff, Phoebs. Can't I grow old gracefully without being plucked, buffed and creamed up?"

  "Not while you're living with me! Come on, we have work to do before we start these jobs."

  After several days from hell the idea of being manicured, roots colored, waxed and buffed until I could see my own reflection in my legs wasn’t remotely appealing. But I knew Phoebe wouldn’t let this go. “Hey, after the torture we must do loads of research.”

  “Of course.” We exchanged glances as we headed for our apartment, taking in this surreal moment. Both of us understood our lives were about to change forever.

  Phoebe

  What’s A Fart Between Friends

  My nerves were getting the best of me. I still couldn’t believe Liz and I were actually doing this. My biggest fear was that they would find out what frauds we were and throw us out on our ears, or worse, have us arrested.

  After we loaded into Wilf both of us looked like a million bucks; me in my gorgeous, new, pale blue suit and Liz in her hot black pant suit with a red power top we sort of settled into silence. The fear of the unknown had us by the shorthairs. Yes, we read over our job descriptions and Googled our asses off but nothing could prepare us for the duties this job would entail.

  As I buckled my seatbelt and pulled out of the parking garage the lump in my throat made it nearly impossible to swallow. The closer we got to the office the more hives I could feel creeping up my neck. A quick glance in Liz’s direction confirmed my suspicion; she was as pale as the dead. At this rate neither of us was going to make it.

  “Let’s ride with the windows up today and try the air again,” Liz said as she checked her hair in the mirror on the visor.

 
Wilf hadn’t been put under this much pressure in a long time. I hope he didn’t overheat. “We can try it.” I rolled up my window as Liz fiddled with the air condition controls. The bag on the window was still flapped loudly but at least we weren’t getting windblown.

  “There.” Liz sat back with a satisfied smile as I pulled out into traffic. Nothing happened for a couple of seconds and Liz began beating on the dash. “Come on, you bastard, spit that air out!”

  As if on cue and with a few grunts of protest, Wilf he did as commanded. Heat from the bowels of hell and an accumulation of dust blasted us in the face. My eyes began to water as Liz began to panic. “I can’t see!” I wailed as horns were blaring at us from what seemed like all directions. I tried desperately to navigate through watery eyes.

  “I can’t take this!” Liz yelled and tried to turn off the blasts of heat that Satan himself must have piped in from Hades. “Roll your window back down, Phoebe! We’re going to die in here. I can’t breathe!”

  This heat was unbearable, my mascara ran down into my eyes, threatening to blind me. I pounded my hand on the button to lower the window, forgetting that I was the one driving until we were nearly sideswiped by a tractor-trailer. Liz screamed as I masterfully maneuvered us with one eye closed to the safety of the roadside.

  Wilf creaked in protest again as he slowly lowered my window. I looked over at Liz with my one good eye. Her hair had been blasted and she looked like an eighties pop star after a bender. “Great idea about the air, Liz. Brilliant way to start our first day.”

  “It isn’t my fault! It’s this stupid car!” Liz lashed out in a fit of anger and slammed her fists on the dash while kicking the glove compartment. “We really need to get some new wheels, Phoebe. Wilf is going to kill us one day!”

  I just sat back and let her get this out of her system. Wilf was used to it. He and I had experienced our own share of run-ins. After a few deep breaths she gained up enough courage to check her reflection in the mirror. Calmly she retrieved the brush from the glove compartment and went to work bringing her hair back into this decade as I did the same with my fingers. My hair wasn’t too bad; I looked okay after I wiped away the mascara from under my eyes.