Actual conversation between actual authors #4:
areyoukiddingmedude: I don't know why you think nights are days, Amber. That's pretty dumb.
areyoukiddingmedude: You there, bro? I don't really think you're dumb...obviously. That was me responding to something I wrote...as you.
AmberZ10: Ha. Sorry. Overslept because I'm lazy AF.
aykmd: OMG YOU'RE ALIIIIIVE. For a minute I thought our virtual collaboration was DONE because I called you dumb.
AZ10: No, no I can't fault you there. I am dumb. All the time. I couldn't even manage to write out "As F*ck".
aykmd: Man, I'm like absurdly relieved.
As Harley followed Pam into the trees, she paused to pick up first one discarded emerald green shoe, then the other, feeling like an even lamer version of Prince Charming.
And then she saw her. Christ, it was like Pamela Isley had her own lighting crew that just followed her around everywhere, illuminating her perfectly no matter what the time of day or night. Harley actually glanced up for a second, looking for a boom mic, before she approached the vision that was Pam in the moonlight.
The redhead was leaning against a tree, arms crossed tightly around her middle. Her back was to Harley, and Harley thought she saw those flawless shoulders shaking with rage. "Hey," she said gently, making her presence known, and Pam whirled around, a hand to her chest, breathing heavily in surprise.
"I got your shoes," Harley said lamely, holding them up.
"Thank you," said Pam reflexively. "Are you enjoying the party?" Then she groaned and sank to the ground, her back against the tree, her knees pulled up against her chest.
"You know, the first two minutes or so were pretty awesome," Harley said with a shy smile, stepping closer. "But then I saw my bio tutor making out with another girl."
"What an odd coincidence," said Pam, her voice muffled because her face was now resting on her knees. "I made out with another girl. That must mean I'm your biology tutor." She raised her head a little and looked at Harley, squinting one eye, looking like an adorable mess. "Is that tequila?"
"Yep," Harley said. She tentatively sat down beside her, keeping the tequila on her far side, not knowing how much Pam had already had or what her tolerance level was, hating the reasons why she knew to think that way.
Pam shifted to face her, leaning sideways against the tree now. Harley mirrored her position. "Can I tell you something?" Pam said, reaching out as if she were going to touch Harley's face, then letting her hand fall so it just flopped against Harley's leg on its descent. Harley shrugged.
"You're so pretty," Pam said, looking earnestly into her eyes in that way only drunk people have, and Harley knew it was the alcohol talking, knew it didn't mean anything, but god it made a little shiver run down her spine. "So, so pretty. Like, your face? It's just so . . . pretty."
Harley grinned at her, charmed despite herself. "Pretty sure you'd find a shrubbery attractive right now, Cyrano. But can I ask you something?"
Pam nodded, keeping her gaze locked on the blue eyes in front of her.
Harley wasn't quite sure how to phrase it, wasn't quite sure why she cared, but she just had to know. "Have you and Selina…have you kissed before?"
Pam's eyes dropped then and focused on her hand resting on Harley's leg. "Yeah."
There was a sense of defeat in her tone that broke Harley's heart for some reason.
"Lotsa times," the redhead continued, slurring slightly. "Selina's the only person I've ever kissed. You know how long we've known each other?"
"How long?" Harley prompted.
"Since we were four years old." She held up the appropriate number of fingers to illustrate. "She said we should practice, before high school, you know?"
"Kissing?" Harley's hand- seemingly of its own accord- moved to cover the other girl's where it rested on her leg.
"And other stuff…" Pam trailed off when she noticed the bottle as if for the first time. "Is that tequila?"
"Yep," Harley said again. When Pam held out her hand for it, Harley put it behind her back. "I think you've had enough," she said.
"Fuck you, I can count to 'enough,'" said Pam without any anger. "I have a fucking PhD."
"Oh really, Doctor?" Harley said, grinning widely at this new side of Pam. "In what, pray tell?"
"In . . . plants," said Pam, gesturing wildly at the trees around them. "Plants and shit. That's my jam." She craned her neck a little, trying to look around Harley at the bottle of tequila, but Harley fixed her in place with a look. Pam sighed, leaning the side of her face against the tree again, then winced as her ear rubbed against the rough bark. "I yelled at Bruce," she said.
"Why?" Harley asked.
"For using too much toilet paper." Harley burst out laughing at that, and Pam got offended. "Hey! It's not envirornly – envimently – it's not good for the plants," she said haughtily, and Harley laughed even harder.
"Pamela Isley, environmental crusader," she said, wiping tears from her eyes. Pam smiled at that, and they looked at each other for a minute in the moonlight.
Now Pam did raise her hand to Harley's face, stroking her cheek gently. Harley fought her instinct to close her eyes, to lean into the warm touch. "I was right," Pam murmured. "You are a winter."
Harley blushed. "Thank you for the makeup, by the way," she said. "Now, if I promise to recycle this bottle, will you let me take you home? Or –" a thought occurred to her and her gut twisted once more – "are you sleeping here?"
"Sposed to," mumbled Pam, "but I don't feel like it tonight." She held out a hand to Harley. "Load me up on your handlebars, pretty girl."
Harley got to her feet, dusting off her backside, and helped Pam up. She stumbled against Harley, and for a minute they were frozen in time. Only a few inches of air hung, heavy, between their lips.
Then Harley remembered the state Pam was in and gently kissed her on the cheek. "Come on, drunky," she said, putting an arm around Pam and dangling her shoes from one finger, carefully gripping the tequila bottle so she could dump the rest and recycle it.
"I'm not drunk!" Pam caviled. "I am mother nature's chosen protector!"
The look on Harley's face proved to have a sobering effect.
"OK, so it's possible I'm slightly inebriated…"
/
Everything hurt. Pamela's entire existence was pain. She slammed her arm on her nightstand, aiming for a nonexistent alarm clock, and rolled over with a groan. She pried one eye open and instantly regretted every decision she'd made in her life that had somehow culminated in this hell. She suddenly hated sunlight despite its providing the means for most of what made this planet inhabitable.
It took a moment- OK, it took a few moments- but her eyes eventually did adjust to the cruel light of day. And when she turned she found a note on the other pillow in handwriting that reminded Pamela of a medical doctor's for its sloppiness, although in this particular instance she found it endearing.
Hey, "Mother Nature's Chosen Protector",
You're going to need to drink water. Probably a lot of it. And take some ibuprofen. If you're serious about that tutoring session on Sunday, then I'm totally in. I'll brush up on Diffusion and all that even though it sounds super boring. Alec was really nice when he drove me home. You should tip him or something! I would, but I'm afraid the only thing I own of any value is makeup, and I'm not sure he'd appreciate that gift the way I did.
XOXO,
Harley
Pam had to read it over eight times to truly comprehend the language, complex as it was. She didn't want to misunderstand any of Harley's words. Miscommunication is the basis of nearly every sitcom and Pamela was rarely a fan of those. She wondered if Harley had actually meant "hugs and kisses" by "XO", or if she was simply using the letters to fill space on the paper.
With a smile that severely contradicted her current physical state, Pam grabbed her phone off the nightstand to confirm the Sunday tutoring session with Harley. Her home screen was brimming with notifications, twitter, namely. Oh no…Pamela hadn't been around to hide Selina's phone from her and everyone's twitter feed had suffered for it.
10:18pm: "In case you're wondering, PLIsley 's mouth tastes like peppermint candy and repression"
10:33pm: "Seriously? fuck her. Like, I ain't a plant. She don't know me."
11:08pm: "Ok, my boyfriend has mad mommy issues. Like DUUUDDDEEEE, you OK, bro?"
11:54pm: "Diana make it look like she went shopping at K-Mart for a PLIsley with that #DiscountRedhead"
11:58pm: "K, nevermind. Got a closer look. She's probably like a Macy's level PLIsley"
12:13am: "None of these fuckers wanna help me plan a heist. Whatever, losers."
12:42am: "Dog people- you on blast. Fuck you guys. Seriously. Get a cat. Cat's are where it's at."
12:45am: " SillyKyle TRUE DAT, PARTY CAT!"
12:46am: "oh shit, just tweeted myself. Oops. Bahahaha. It's true tho. And who dat party cat? It's me. #IAmAPartyCat"
1:04am: "WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU GET OUT OF MY HOUSE"
Pamela locked her phone after that, unable to read any more. She knew exactly how their fight would play out. Selina would be slightly less verbally abusive to her for a few days, Pam would accept her apology, and they'd be fine like they always had. Pamela wasn't worried about that, she remembered what happened with Selina. It was Harley that she wasn't sure about. Pam remembered bit and pieces, little snippets from their conversation by the tree and in the car and had Harley been here? She must have, she left the note…and Alec had driven her home. Good. Well, judging from the note which stated that Harley did, in fact, want to see her again, Pamela hadn't made a complete ass of herself in front of her biology pupil. So…good. A weight lifted off of Pam's shoulders and she once again focused on her phone, opening a blank text message to "Crotch Rocket."
I consider myself to be environmentally conscious, but I don't presume to be mother nature's chosen protector. Although I do appreciate the compliment.
She grinned when she felt her phone vibrate in response almost immediately.
your words, not mine J
Ah. So it seemed Pamela had embarrassed herself. And here I thought I'd survived the evening without incident.
sorry. There were a lot of incidents.
The redhead was just beginning her shame spiral when her phone vibrated once more.
it was cute, though.
Pam grinned and began to type her response when Harley sent another.
I don't mean I think you're cute
Pam's heart sunk. She almost didn't want to read the follow up when it came, but was glad she did.
no! I mean you are. I do. Duh. Everybody does. Sorry, does Sunday still work? Sunday is tomorrow.
The redhead smirked as she wrote her reply. I may not know what I said last night, but I'm certainly aware Sunday comes after Saturday. She waited a moment before sending the next message. Let's plan on 3pm this time. Perhaps we'll delve into more complex concepts.
She smiled at Harley's reply, although the salutation did confuse her a little:
perhaps, Dr. Isley. perhaps indeed.