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.

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.

“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**