Carter and Newkirk Confer About A Worrisome Problem

by 96 Hubbles

Carter meandered into the room where Newkirk was working on a French maid's uniform. "Newkirk?"

"Yeah?" Newkirk mumbled distractedly around a needle stuck in his mouth. He was ripping some bad stitching out. Bloody light down here… one of those silly birds from the future couldn't have brought back some fancy light bulbs with her?

"You got a minute?"

"Aren't you supposed to be taking photographs for our visiting ladies contingent?"

"Yeah, but nobody's come down yet. Well, except for that young one who kiss-"

Newkirk whipped the needle out of his mouth and pointed it at his friend. "Don't you bloody say it! And you can wipe that flipping smirk off your face while you're at it!"

"Touchy, touchy," Carter said while he turned over a spare crate and sat down. He leaned over. "Newkirk, do you think we're on this show Miss Linda and Miss… I forget her real name…you know, Jessica, the one they were telling the Colonel about?

"I don't know Carter. Whatcha wanna know that for?" Newkirk asked, not really caring.

Carter straightened up on his seat. "No special reason," he said too quickly. "I'm just curious, is all."

Newkirk smiled to himself and put down his sewing. After all these months of working together, he could tell when Carter was hiding something. Learning to read Carter, in fact, had only required about a day and half. "What's the matter Carter? 'Fraid you'll 'ave been left out and won't have no pretty birds begging for your autograph?"

"No!" Carter said emphatically, which surprised Newkirk. However the Englishman smiled again as he watched this idea cross his friend's face. He suddenly had no doubt that fame and pretty girls were occurring to Carter for the first time.

"Well," Carter started to fidget, "it's only that I'm not sure I want to be on this…uh, television show," he said, after needing a second to remember the word.

"Why ever not? I should think it'd be only fair if we were all on it too." Obviously the Colonel was going to be on it, Newkirk considered. Even if their unexpected visitors hadn't told them such, Newkirk knew how it went. Mavis had written him only last week about the latest American war movie she'd been to with the bloke she'd been seeing. Blimey, Peter, it would've made you sick. You'd think they were winning the whole thing by themselves, she'd written.

Newkirk felt resentful all of sudden. The Colonel was the only important one. Hollywood probably wouldn't worry itself about putting two foreigners in, so that'd be him and Lebeau out. Kinch was a Negro; from some of the things Carter had told him it was easy to figure they'd drop his part. Or make it out like he was a white man, Newkirk thought ruefully. Carter now, they might put Carter in. If for nothing more than to give the leading man someone to save or buck up when the scene called for inspiring words. Or maybe they'd consider him too inconsequential and use some anonymous bloke who'd get killed in the end.

"Yeah, I guess so," Carter replied. "But Newkirk, how do we know what they're going to do to us?"

"Whatcha mean?" Newkirk asked, his mind turning to his own pick pocketing skills and how his past might be exaggerated. Bloody hell, he thought, I was hoping everyone would be forgetting about that.

"They could make up whatever they wanted, Newkirk!" Carter leaned in again and whispered worriedly, "Do you know what some of these girls are writing about us?"

"No," Newkirk said. His face grew wary; he wasn't sure if he wanted to hear the answer.

"Tuttle was telling me…" Newkirk raised an eyebrow at Carter's hesitation. "Tuttle said," Carter continued even more softly, "that there's a story where we…well, where we…kiss!"

Newkirk burst off laughing. "Bloody hell, Carter! Is that what's got you worried?"

"Newkirk! There's someone out there in the future making up lies about us! Don't you care?"

Truth be told, he did care. The idea of a bunch of silly girls with nothing better to do but make up stories while using his good name to do it, did most certainly not sit well with him. But this? He laughed again, remembering the shocked and offended look on his friend's face when he'd hissed out the word "kiss". Newkirk slapped the other man on the knee. "Carter, Carter, Carter. She's playing you for a fool, mate!"

"But - "

"Nice ladies don't read that sort of thing, you silly berk! Let alone write it. That Tuttle's just pulling your leg, mate."

"Gee, Newkirk, I don't know…"

"Trust me Andrew. That one's got a mischievous streak and no mistake. She's just having you on."

Carter looked at him a little sideways, still unsure.

"Honestly Carter, the things you fall for. No one in their right mind is going to believe something like that," Newkirk chuckled. "Now you'd best be back to your lab to take those pictures like the guv'nor asked."

Carter stood up but didn't go to leave. "You really think so?"

"I'd stake me life on it! Now go, before someone drops an author on you."

Carter's eyes widened, remembering what had happened to Lebeau. His head shot upwards, the immediate result of which was that he walked right into the door frame.

Newkirk shook his head. "Shouldn't 'ave bloody said anything."

He picked up his sewing again. "Hunh, little girls and grown ladies writing about men kissing…"