FREJA AND ARIZONA ARE FUCKING

    America felt too overwhelming for the Denmarkian queen, Freja.

    Freja was used to… whatever happens in Denmark. Probably lots of pot smoking and sledding and Hamlet.

    Freja felt America was too sprawling, like that Arcade Fire song. Freja wasn’t even sure if Arcade Fire was from America. Things were that confusing for her. 

    “Maybe I should just go back to Denmark and play Claudius in Hamlet,” Freja said to Arizona as they relaxed, intertwined on the sofa.

    “No! We have our beautiful mansion here,” Arizona protested, “Plus I read Hamlet in high school and I’m pretty sure they mentioned that Claudius had bad cheekbones.”

    “Aw,” Freja responded, finding it cute that Arizona went to high school. She is so full of surprises. Like that surprise about being a pregnant lesbian.

    “I now exactly how to get you to love America,” Arizona said. She was named after a state so she felt a certain responsibility towards this country. 

******

2 days later

******

    Still laying in each others arms on the sofa, Arizona asked Freja, “Remember when you said you hated America?”

    “Zona, you make me sound militant,” Freja said. She never claimed to “hate America”.

    “Well, you are sort of militant when we play Zero Dark Thirty angry interrogator vs. sexy terrorist roleplay,” Arizona said with a sly smile.

    Freja purred at this, but the moment is interrupted by the doorbell.

    “That must be your America coach!” Arizona shrieked, excited, then ran to the door.

    Ten minutes later, after walking across FrejArizona’s palatial mansion, Arizona arrived with Freja’s new coach on all things American.

    “Freja, I’d like you to meet Lana Del Rey.”

    Lana Del Rey extended her clawed hand to Freja.

    Freja looked up at Lana and smiled.

    In an airey, distant voice, Lana cooed, “Freja, I feel responsible to bathe you in Americana.

    Freja hoped “Americana” was a brand of bubble bath. It sounded nice.

    Before Freja knew it, she was swept into the back of a black convertible.

    Lana’s clawed fingers gripped the wheel and they blasted down the highway.

    “Here,” Lana said, passing back a can of Pepsi, “Drink this.”

    Freja grabbed the open soft drink and took a sip, “It’s good,” she said.

   ”That’s what my vagina tastes like,” Lana yelled back to her.

    Freja took a bigger sip. “Pepsi is great,” Freja announced.

   ”What do you want to know about America?” Lana asked.

   ”Tell me what America means to you,” Freja requested, holding the can of Lana’s vagina and watching the American landscape pass by in a blur.

     Lana stared out towards the open road and monologued, “America is a poem of the free, written on the back of an eagle. I was a lost girl, hugging the map filled with peaks and valleys. The roads, these bright black snakes, were build by calloused men, who worked hard for their women. When they came home, they loved even harder than they worked. It was a time without rules, and I was a referee without a whistle. As I traveled, it was both the kindness and the sinister nature of man that provided me a home and cradled my overly hairsprayed Jackie-O hairdo. My pitch was not perfect- like an aging Yankee hanging onto once greatness, but the crowd didn’t care. They came to see me, not a strike. But strike we did, it was our right and we protected our right, we fought for our right, we stood up for our right, we sat down for our right and, always, we were American.”

    There was a pause in the convertible as only the wind spoke.

    “What the fuck was that?” Freja yelled up to Lana.

    “I don’t know, lets go find some black guys to make out with,” Lana suggested.

    “I’m a lesbian,” Freja pointed out.

    “No, you’re anti-American,” Lana said definitively. 

     Freja realized, as she cruised down the sunny roads of this great country with a highly cosmetically retouched pop star in the front seat, that this is why America is great; your vagina could become a beverage, your opinions didn’t have to make sense and your girlfriend will be waiting at home for you, ready to do some sexy waterboarding roleplay with you. 

***LEGAL NOTICE: THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION. NONE OF THIS SHIT REALLY HAPPENED. LANA HAS PROBABLY SAID THAT STUFF BEFORE, BUT MAYBE SHE DIDN’T, WHO KNOWS. CERTAINLY NOT ME, NOR DO I CLAIM TO KNOW****

If you liked this piece and you’d like to read my fiction manuscripts, please contact me.

Freja Beha For iPod Mini.

    “Ladies and Gentleman,” Freja called out loudly to the attendees of her Fall garden party. The models and rockstars stopped conversing and turned their attention to their hostess, “I present to you a revolutionary product that will change your life,” Freja bellowed out, her hands behind her back, a sly smile punctuating her sentence, “I bring you…” she teased for effect, “THE IPOD MINI!”

    Everyone was silent as Freja held up a scratched  upside-down iPod. Two foreign people took pictures of her doing this, just because no one has seen a fucking picture of Freja in, like, forever. Everyone else was confused. The party was packed. Saskia, Karl, Karmen Pedaru, Abbey and, regrettably, Charlottee Free were all in attendance.

     Arizona clapped amorously at her Demarkian queen and, slowly, the party followed suit.

     ”Why is she doing this?” Saskia de Brauw asked Arizona.

     Saskia had been invited to this party as a sign that there is “no hard feelings” for her taking over Chanel from Freja. Freja was happy to learn that a Saskia de Brauw was a person and not a luxury single cup coffee maker.

     Arizona continued clapping, and leaned in towards Saskia’s weird man haircut. She whispered, “Freja has a lot of free time so she’s gotten really into eBay. She’s very proud of her purchases and last month we had a garden party for a Shamwow so this is actually much better.”

     ”How did the Shamwow party go over?” Saskia asked.

      “Poorly,” Arizona said, flush with memories of Freja pouring red wine on Valentino’s white pants, then attempting to clean it up with a made for TV yellow rag.

      “This does seem better,” Saskia whispered back.

      “This iPod mini,” Freja announced, “Is the most cutting edge piece of technology that has been ever entrusted to a model.”

     ”What about when Shalom’s dress was painted by that robot at Mcqueen?” Karmen Pedaru asked.

      “Shalom was assaulted by that robot, it wasn’t entrusted to her,” Freja said, “If you all showed up and I started pelting you with iPod Mini’s, then maybe it would be comparable, but I would never do that. I respect technology too much and I don’t want to be targeted by paint machines in the future. My wardrobe is black for a reason,” Freja explained.

     ”Did Apple ask you to do this?” Wixson asked, confused by what was happening.

     ”Yes and no,” Freja responded. “After a night of heavy eBaying, I was visited in a dream by Will Gates.”

     ”I think you mean Bill Gates,” Karmen Pedaru said.

     ”Bill Gates is still alive, how could his ghost visit you?” Saskia asked.

     ”The spirit world is not governed by conventional laws of our terrestrial realm,” Abbey said distantly.

      “Exactly. Extraterrestrials created that shit and brought it to us in exchange for human lives,” Charlotte Free said, sitting at the childrens table with that 15 year old that walked for Prada and Ming Xi who would just repeat the last word of everything anyone said, then furrow her eyebrows in a vague expression that showed neither opinion nor comprehension.

      “I don’t mean to be a downer,” Mariacarla Boscono said, but everyone knew this would be a downer statement because no one has ever seen Mariacarla smile. “But I have the new iphone 5 with a gorilla glass retina display and a questionable maps program… that’s why I was late today,” Mariacarla stated matter of factly. She held up her phone and Freja marched over to inspect it.

      As Freja passed by Ming, Ming held up her iphone 3g that was surrounded in a case with little rubber cat ears, “Kitty,” Ming said. Freja continued until Mariacarla’s shiny iphone and Freja’s scratched ipod mini were next to each other.

     ”That sucks and is stupid,” Freja said, looking at the iphone 5.

     ”Ohh, an Android fangirl,” Mariacarla retorted.

     ”No, she hates androids, didn’t you hear her talk about Mcqueen?” Wixson pointed out.

     ”It looks like the perfect size to do coke off of,” Abbey added as she admired the iphone 5.

     ”It looks like like the tool of someone with penis envy,” Freja said.

     ”Penis envy,” Ming repeated, confused.

     ”I’m sorry, but that iPod came out in like 2005,” Maricarla said to Freja.

     ”And so did you,” Arizona said to Mariacarla, defending Freja’s factory refurbished purchase.

     ”Everything that can do, my phone can do,” Mariacarla snipped, becoming competitive, as iphone 5 users tend to do.

     ”Yes, but your iphone 5 accepts calls,” Freja said, “Pointless.”

     ”How is that pointless? It’s a phone.”

     ”When is the last time any of you called someone on the phone?” Freja questioned.

      The party was silent.

      “My agent called me to wake me up for this super early 2pm shoot,” Charlotte Free said and Wixson scolded her, “God hurts when you do lies.”

      “Wixson is right,” Freja confirmed.

      “Wixson right?” Ming repeated and her confusion finally seemed appropriate.

      “Yes. Lies are bad and ipod touches are the truth,” Freja declared. “They are skinny and they are beautiful,” Freja admired, holding the iPod Mini upsidedown again. “They are packed with greatness and they work for up to eight hours at a time without needing to recharge their batteries. They’re replaced by newer sleeker versions ever couple years. They don’t accept phone calls and they break easily when dropped,” Freja said, then, finally, it all became clear as Freja’s thesis was spoken, “iPod Mini’s are the fashion models of the technology world.”

       ”I am ipod,” Ming said and Freja nodded at her, “Yes you are, Ming. Yes you are.”

***NOTE THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION. NONE OF THIS EVER HAPPENED. THE IPOD MINI IS A GREAT DEVICE, BUT IT’S SERIOUSLY DATED AND I HONESTLY DON’T RECOMMEND YOU PURCHASE ONE. NEITHER DOES FREJA.***

If you liked this piece and you are a literary agent, please contact me to read my manuscripts.

FrejArizona and The Closet of the Asian Nudie Mags.

      NYFW was approaching fast. Freja had taken some time off, but she finally felt recharged. She was ready to return. Freja’s NYFW re-debut would be like soft kisses on all the mental bruises that had been caused by John leaving and those sleeves on the Balenciaga Sci-Fi sweaters.

      Since Raf had recently stolen all of Freja’s pants for his boring Dior collection, Arizona decided that she would rearrange the closet. A large amount of Freja’s wardrobe used to be pants and now they’re gone forever.

      Moving barefoot down the marble floored hallways of the opulent mansion Freja allowed Arizona to stay in, Arizona longed for her love, but she also felt content that Freja had rediscovered her passion for fashion. As she got older, Arizona realized that no one should have a cap placed on how much they can love.

      The fading summer sun angled through the window and rested on the closet door. Arizona thrust the large door open, ready to make space for a new season. Almost immediately after she did this, the door was pushed shut, from the inside. Arizona was alarmed about the door shutting. Not really because it was so sudden, but because it probably mean Raf was in the closet stealing more simple patterned garments for his new Dior show.

     “Don’t you ever knock?” an angry voice yelled from behind the shut door.

     “Why would I knock on the closet door before I opened it?” Arizona asked back. She knew that it was not an evil spirit that had slammed the door on her, but instead of beautiful spirit, it was her Denmarkian queen. “Freja,” Arizona said cautiously, “I didn’t really ever anticipate having to ask you this, but whatcha doin’ in the closet?”

      Silence.

      Arizona worried that Abby Lee might be in there with Freja and she quickly grabbed the nob, then threw the door open. Freja looked back with horror at Arizona, then lifted her arms up and attempted to block Arizona’s vision of… issues of Love?

      Freja’s protective gesture proved to be too much of a push and the magazines toppled over, spilling everywhere. Quickly dropping to the ground and splaying out her body, Freja tried to cover the pile of magazines. It was for naught. There were too many magazines and not enough Freja. She had been caught.

      “Freja!” Arizona gasped, “You’ve been hiding in the closet reading Japanese nudie mags!”

      “Have not. There is a hole in your theory. I can’t even read Japanese,” Freja shot back, “And neither can you Arizona, so, as I see it, we’re even.”

      “Freja you’re laying on a pile of naked Japanese ladies, we’re hardly even. I have never laid on a single Japanese lady.”

      “There is room for you on the magazines,” Freja offered.

      “Why are you wearing fake boobs?” Arizona asked.

      Freja looks at the silly top, “I’m cosplaying,” she explained.

      “Cosplaying what?”

      “Pretty much any girl with boobs,” Freja said.

      “I can’t believe you’ve secretly been stockpiling Japanese nudie mags,” Arizona responded, shocked Freja would do this behind her back.

      “For your information not all these are nudie mags,” Freja said, “There is definitely some yaoi in here as well.”

      “What is Yaoi?” Arizona shrieked, “Have you been watching Univision Gameshows in here while reading Asian smut?” Arizona asked, hurt at Freja’s porn party been one invite short.

      “I don’t even know Spanish,” Freja said, “So why would I watch a Spanish gameshow?”

      “The same reason you’d read these magazines.”

      “Oh. Boobies,” Freja said to herself.

      “Yes, and I’m glad we don’t have the Spanish channel, or probably don’t have the Spanish channel, I haven’t really checked because I don’t speak Spanish, but it’s clear that you have more than enough boobies in here.”

      “I could use two more,” Freja said to Arizona in a cute voice.

      Freja always knew how to melt Arizona’s cold shoulder, like Freja was the Arizona heat and Arizona was that place in Demark where Freja was from. That place is probably really cold. Who knows. It’s in Denmark.

      Arizona got down on her knees and crawled across the nudie mags. When she reached Freja, she looked into her soul mate’s eyes and asked, “What’s yaoi?”

      Freja picked up one of the books that was laying near Arizona’s hair (thankfully Az’s hair was finally growing out). Freja looked at the black and white pictures in the book, one in particular, of a man with a creepy long fingered claw-hand on a boy’s shoulder and she started explaining, “Well, as said, I don’t speak Japanese, but it’s called yaoi, which I think translates into Sandusky in American. I am not familiar with that word either. I don’t think we have a word for it in whatever Denmark language I speak,” Freja advised, “but these books seem to be a really loosely based adaption of that Indiana Jones movie where he pals around with Shia LaBeouf.”

      “So the books are about an Asian Indiana Jones?”

      “No, yaoi seems to be about an offduty Asian Indiana Jones who is hardcore gay with Shia Labeouf,” Freja corrected her love as they lay on the periodicals. “And sometimes one of the gays randomly gets preg and no one knows how or why it happened,” Freja added.

     “Understandable,” Arizona said, not questioning this part one bit.

     Arizona put one of her hands on Freja’s cosplay boob and said, “I get it, it’s nice to get away and pretend sometimes.”

     Freja thought about this for a moment and she responded, “I don’t want this to be pretend though. I want to live in a world where Shia LaBeouf has the option to be hardcore gay and Asian with a pregnant Indiana Jones.”

     “I don’t know if we’ll ever live in that world,” Arizona said softly, then she warmly hugged Freja in an effort to ease the frostbite of this cold truth.

***NOTE THIS IS FAKE. THIS IS IMAGINARY. THIS SHIT DID NOT HAPPEN****

If you’re a literary agent and you want to read any of my fiction manuscripts, please contact me.

    Freja rode in a cab through the busy streets of New York. It was Spring? Or was it Fall? In fashion it’s so hard to keep the seasons straight. That’s one of the reasons Freja stepped away for a bit. She yearned for a Brooklyn ease instead of constantly selling to the fast and impatient UES.

    Freja was away from home, one of her homes, but she was creating something new, something meaningful with Arizona. Finally, a smile found itself on Freja’s face. As quickly as it arrived, it fled as Freja looked out the window and saw a soccer mom placing fliers on cars parked on the street.

    Freja fumbled with her purse to find some money to pay for the cab, but the light was about to turn green and the cabby would be speeding away in moments. His English worse than Freja’s, he’d never understand what Freja had to do.

    “Here,” Freja said, throwing her sunglasses in the cabby’s lap, “Those will cover my fare, they’re worth more than your life,” Freja told him, then fled the cab, able to run, unshackled by those high heels she had spend so much of her life crammed in.

    The woman with the fliers was carefully lifting up windshield wipers and placing her signs which read MISSING in large red letters.

    “Zona,” Freja said out of breath, “What are you doing?”

    “It worked, you’re back! I’m amazing!” Arizona screeched and then wrapped her arms around her sex lion, Freja.

    “I was at the dentist,” Freja said, confused, but happy to accept the embrace.

    “Everyone’s been so worried,” Arizona said, letting go only to show Freja the flier. Zona’s Denmarkian dream took the glossy paper and Arizona said cheerfully, “I printed them on Vogue quality paper… the benefits of being Ms. Wintour’s bitch.”

    “Zona, this is a missing sign, for me, with my Vogue UK cover as the picture.”

    “I know, how many people can say that Testino shot their missing poster? We live a blessed life my Frejysicle. Sorry they are so small though. As I was passing the fliers out, I saw someone made a missing poster for Kate Moss and it was much bigger. They had it stuck on all those construction sites.”

    “That’s for her Supreme T-shirt. It’s not a missing sign.”

    “Oh good, I was confused how Kate could go missing anyway? It’s like if you lost a kitten, someone would scoop that little ball of cute up in a second and be like ‘HI YOU LIVE WITH ME NOW’. “

    Slightly perturbed, but agreeable to Arizona’s point, Freja looked at the flier and said, “This is a really nice gesture, but you saw me this morning.”

    “Oh, don’t think I forgot, I think I ate my weight in whipped cream. Then, after we got cleaned up, I went to (AGENCY NAME REMOVED) and everyone kept asking ‘Where is Freja?’ and ‘Why has Freja been absent from the Fashion Weeks lately?’ and ‘Did we get that girl who cut your hair banned from Manhattan yet?’ “

    “I’m sorry you have to answer for me,” Freja said, depressed that she had burdened her queen with her own personal “stuff”.

    “Oh, I didn’t know how to answer. I was just like, ‘Oh no, she’s missing? I just got this Brazilian for, like nothing?’ and that’s when I called Anna. It turns out you being missing was very serious.”

    “But you have my cell phone number, why were you wandering the city trying to find me like I’m Waldo?”

     “Who’s Waldo? Who’s he signed with? Is that one of Karl’s new boy-toys?” Arizona asked, interested.

    “He’s that guy in the red and white striped shirt and the ski hat.”

    “Ew. Is Waldo one of those Brooklyn ‘alternative’ models that can only shoot Urban and other poor people brands?”

    “Fine, it wasn’t like Waldo, but it’s just weird you were playing where in the world is Carmen Sandiego with me.”

    “Carmen Sandiego? Did I walk for them? If so we’ll have to send an apology letter.”

    Freja sighed, how did a little Denmarkian know more about American culture than a girl named after a state?

    “I’m so glad I found you,” Arizona said, grabbing the tips of Freja’s fingers.

    “I’m glad I found you too,” Freja responded.

You Don’t Fire Frejarizona, Frejarizona Fires You.

   “Today’s the day, my FrejyPop,” Arizona purred into Freja’s ear as they laid in bed, wrapped in each other.

   “Are you sure this is a good idea?” Freja asked, excited and scared in equal measure.

   “It’s  me, you and a camera. When is that ever a bad idea?” Arizona responded and then eyed the Nikon on the tripod at the end of the bed.

***

   Hand in hand, Freja and Arizona walked into the Céline offices.

   “Did you see that?” Freja asked as she held the door for Arizona.

   “You mean the frumpy lady with the stroller who had the same haircut I do?”Arizona asked.

   “No, that man in the car.”

   Arizona looked back to see a black BMW with a man whose hands were fiddling with something out of sight.

   “I think he’s a paparazzi,” Freja said.

   “No. Don’t worry, I think he’s just masturbating at us,” Arizona said and it relieved Freja. It must be nerves, Freja thought to herself. She didn’t want to let down Arizona. This was going to be an important campaign. They walked inside and immediately heard, “Girls, your here!”

   A Céline employee enthusiastically lead them back to a rack of the first looks Frejarizona would be wearing.

   “Accordion dresses?” Freja said, holding in a dry heave.

   “Yes! This is what you’ll be wearing!” the employee said and Arizona tried to smile at her, but she was looking past the lady to see if she could  find an exit so they could escape this nightmare.

   “Is this a joke?” Freja asked in disbelief.

   “No it’s our new budget line Céline by Celine Dion.”

   “This is illegal,” Arizona said, incredulous.

   “Where is Céline?” Freja asked.

   “Are you kidding?” the employee responded.

   Arizona grabbed on Freja’s arm and whispered, “Babe, Céline is dead. She was killed by the leader of her fan club.”

   “You’re thinking of Selena. The Hispanic singer,” Freja pointed out.

   “Oh, then she got shot on her doorstep.”

   “That was Versace,” Freja corrected Arizona.

   “I wish it was Celine Dion,” Arizona growled.

   “Just try the dresses on,” the Céline employee begged. Ever the professionals, Frejarizona complied.

   Looking at each other in the accordion moo moos, both women decided, “I need a cigarette.”

   Outside, Freja and Arizona puffed and paced.

  “How are we going to get out of this? Being the face of Céline by Celine Dion is like being the face of bowel cancer,” Freja ranted.

   “I’m going to think of something,” Arizona said to her love. This was the most serious, threatening moment of their entire relationship.

   They stamped out their cigarettes and Freja spotted the man from the BMW snapping away pictures. “It’s too late,” Freja said. “It’s never too late,” Arizona responded, then lead her soul mate back inside.

   “I have to go,” Arizona told the Céline employee. “You can’t,” the Céline lady declared.

   “I have to. I need medical attention. This dress gave me Accordionacitous.”

   “You just made that up,” the Céline woman responded.

   “I did not. Are you discriminating against my Accordionacitous? I’m going to sue you worse than my agents are going to sue that fake tumblr about Freja and me.”

   The Céline employee let Frejarizona go because a lawsuit of that scale would bring Céline by Céline Dion down like it was the Titanic.

   “You saved my life,” Freja said warmly to Arizona.

   “I’ll love you til the Accordionacitous takes me, my love,” Arizona responded.

***NOTE THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION. THIS DIDN’T REALLY HAPPEN***

“NEW YEARS IN BED (Doing It)”

“Freja, guess what day it is!” Arizona yelled as she ran through the hallways of the decadent mansion she shared with Freja.

“Oh no,” Freja mumbled. She realized that today must be Anna Wintour’s birthday. Freja never knew what to get Anna and the present Freja gave last year (a Cosco size box of Swiffers so that Anna could dust of her unused vagina) did not go over well. Freja felt it was a practical gift with a personal touch, but maybe Anna’s skin is too sensitive for the extra strength bleach on the pads.

Arizona continued to run through the hallways of her dreamhouse and Freja would yell, “Arizona!” then listen as Arizona’s jank walk clopped down the marble floors. “Hotter” Freja yelled as the clippy clop got louder. “Hotter!” Freja yelled as Arizona walked closer. “Hotter!” Freja yelled again when she heard the loud, uneven steps.

“Hotter,” Freja whispered as Arizona appeared in the door frame. Freja was taken by Arizona’s long legs that peeked out the slit of her flowy skirt. After all these (months? years?) of dating, Freja still wanted to “do” Arizona a bunch.

Hotter.

After their romp on the bed, when the feathers from the pillows started to float down on then her, Arizona said, “Today is New Years Eve.”

“Do we have to buy Anna something for it?” Freja asked worried.

“No. Freja, you must know what New Years Eve is.”

” ‘Zona, I’ve from Denmark. Wait! Is New Years Eve the American version of Roskilde Invasion Eve?” Freja asked excited.

“Um. No. On American New Years, we drink champagne, then talk about how disappointing the night was. That’s New Years Eve. What is… Rosskill Invasion Time, or whatever.”

“Oh, it’s this holiday in Denmark when we celebrate the period of time when the vikings arrived and raped our women and pillaged our ships.”

“Freja! Why the fuck would you celebrate that?”

“All the vikings had really good bone structure,” Freja responded warmly and Arizona thought maybe, for 2012, it was time to celebrate a different holiday- one not about spending money or getting cramped in shitty Times Square with awful Secrest.

It was time for FrejArizona to bring in 2012 celebrating the things that really matter- good cheekbones.

**NOTE THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION**

    Arizona was getting very into her yoga and even though the lessons were Freja’s idea, some days, when Arizona slid on those skin tight pants, then Freja slid her out of them and then like ten minutes later Arizona slid back into them again, sometimes Freja seemed… well… jealous.
    At first Freja would “supervise” all of  the yoga lessons, but there are only so many times you can stare at someone’s ass in the downward facing dog before you start  to wonder, “Is there more to life than just oversexualizing low impact workouts?
    During dessert that night (strawberry shortcake) (they were all out of whip cream because of the night before) Arizona started to ask Freja if there are any hobbies she had ever considered.
    “I have my music” Freja said and Arizona quickly asked, “What else?” because she didn’t want to hear Freja sing Mandy Moore again.
     “Well, there is this one thing…” Freja said, uncharacteristically shy. Arizona was intrigued.
     “Wait here,” Freja said and then scampered away from the table as Arizona watched her go and made a noise that was like, “MMMMMyeahhh”
     Ten minutes later, Freja returned with a microphone and a notebook.
     “Are you going to read your poems?” Arizona asked.
     “No, this mic is hooked  up to the stereo and the neighbors asked us to stop saying, ‘savory juices’ loudly,” Freja reminded Arizona.
      “Whatcha gonna do, baby?” Arizona asked.

       “STANDUP COMEDY,” Freja said into he mic.

      “Whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy,” Arizona said in her head.
       “Okay so, my first joke is,” Freja started out and Arizona was already like, Maybe it will start raining and this electrical equipment will kill us all. Is that a rain cloud in the sky? Maybe? Please.

       “-is,” Freja continued, “Everyone always comes up to me and is like ‘What do your tattoos mean?’ and I’m like, “I don’t know, what does your muffin top mean?’ ” Freja said and then laughs. Arizona tried to laugh, but she still had a little baby weight, even after the yoga. This was a sensitive topic.

      “Okay, the second joke,” Freja said with misplace confidence, “is, like, okay I miss Lee more than anyone, but how does that smelly bitch Lady Gaga make Mcqueen look like McDonalds?” Freja laughed at this joke, Arizona tried to giggle.

       The jokes continued, sadly, aimlessly- like a Tyra Banks photographed editorial.
       About five minutes in, Freja laid down and did an unfunny bit about people who don’t wear all black clothing.
     Arizona, grateful that there wasn’t a bit about “mom haircuts”, walked over to Freja and picked her up.

     After carrying her sad clown inside, Arizona said, “I have a joke for your act,” and Freja looked at her hopefully, “Tell it to me.”

    “Okay,” Arizona said, “The joke is… Saskia de Brauw for Chanel.”

   ***NOTE THIS IS FICTIONAL***

    Arizona was finally at the end of a wild week. She had been bouncing between shoots and fittings, then back again for the past 8 days. Arizona never really learned how many days were in a week because her mom was convinced that Sesame Street was a real place and that they were using the show to lure children there. Looking back on it, the constant conversations of “What do you do if a cookie monster approaches you?” did seem a little strange to Arizona.

    After all that work, it was finally time for Arizona to return to her love.

    Walking into their bedroom, Arizona cooed, “Hello my Danish, Danish,” then her eyes fell on Freja.

    Freja was dressed in all of the clothes Arizona was able to “borrow” from her shoots that week. She was dressed in everything… at the same time.

    “How do I look?” Freja asked.

     “Nice. Good. Nice,” Arizona said because let’s be real it’s Freja so she looked great no matter what.

    “You said this stuff would like nice on me so I tried it on,” Freja responded.

    “… have you been drinking?” Arizona asked.

    “Have you been… whatever… have you…been… WHATEVER!!!!” Freja responded, then stepped in a half full laundry basket and almost fell into a table of perfumes she had modeled for.

    Arizona had never heard Freja without a witty retort. It also was around this time that Arizona noticed the four empty bottles of Cristal on the dresser.

    Gliding across the room, then giving Freja a kiss, Arizona could taste the pure acohol that Freja was exhaling.

    “When I said the clothes would look good on you, I meant separately,” Arizona giggled to show she wasn’t being mean.

    Freja crossed her arms and looked at Arizona with her Freja-look.

    “Oh don’t give me Freja-look. It doesn’t work when you’re wearing all that stuff. You look silly.”

    “What’s that?” Freja asked, “Did you just say you hate drunk sex?”

     Arizona immediately gave up on convincing Freja to tone down the outfit because she realized the clothes would be off soon enough anyway.

*****PLEASE NOTE THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION**********

   Freja had noticed a lot of new faces at the recent shows. Arizona was very rational about it and said that the girls weren’t competition because, “no one can out-Frej, Freja.”

   Freja had no idea what this meant, but it made her feel better.

   Arizona had suggested that while she was walking in the show, Freja could distract herself by getting to know the new girls. A little shy, Freja got some props from food services; a glass of OJ and some grapes. She would share them with one of the new girls and make her feel at home. Arizona would like this plan, Freja thought to herself.

   Then Freja saw Wixson and the plan went out the window.

   “Hi Wixson,” Freja said, approaching Wixson with her food and drink in hand.

   “Hi Freja!” Wixson said, excited to meet one of the biggest names in the business, “I like how mean you looked on the runway,” Wixson said. Freja decided to take this statement as a compliment.

   “I have a question,” Freja said, coy, “Have you ever seen Speed?”

   Wixson stared off into space a moment and then said, “Once at a party Charlotte showed me a bag with-“

   “-no. The movie. Have you seen “Speed” the movie?” Freja clarified.

   “Oh. No. Momma said there was too much violence in it,” Wixson responded.

   “Okay, that’s weird, but whatever, the point is, in Speed, the bus had to keep up a certain speed or it would explode.”

   “Why?” Wixson asked.

   Freja paused. “Becau- well. They- um. Whatever, because that’s how things are.”

   “Oh,” Wixson said, regretting her monthly metro card.

   “And someone did that same thing at this show! Like in Speed,” Freja said, acting dramatic,” We’re all in trouble here!”

   “Oh no. We’re in trouble? Like the time I ate that Christmas poinsettia?” Wixson asked.

   “Worse! If someone doesn’t hold this OJ and these grapes and pretend to be a statue for the rest of the day, we’re all going to blow up.”

   Wixson’s eyes went wide.

   “I wish someone here was brave enough to do it,” Freja said.

   “Probably Arizona,” Wixson suggested.

   “No!” Freja yelped. She would never betray her desert queen.

   “Okay, I think I will do it,” Wixson said, taking the glass of OJ and the grapes.

                               +++

   Arizona bounced backstage and before next her dress change. She stopped and looked at Wixson, then looked at Freja. “Oh no. Why is Wixson pretending to be a grape tree?” Arizona asked.

   “Because Speed,” Wixson responded, deadly serious.

***Note: This is a work of fiction***