Disclaimer: Just so you know, I don't own Bridget Jones. Camille, Grace, Pamela, Will, and Alex are completely false and made-up by ME. And yes, those ARE all of my favorite bands and Moulin Rouge IS my favorite movie.
Thursday, January 7
Home
Jesus Christ. I completely forgot.
Winter formal is next Friday.
SHIT.
Pamela and Mum are out dress shopping. Dad has a case to work on. So I'm here, home alone, staring at my ceiling. Thankfully, I'm listening to Garbage, so it's all good.
So I'm just sitting here, staring at the ceiling, playing with my bellybutton ring, picking at my black nail polish.
Now I'm standing up, looking at myself in my mirror. I look alright. I got my uniform on. Crappy school colors: Red and gold.
What a crappy day. Alex wouldn't stop FOLLOWING ME! "Cami, do you know where this class is?" "Cami, do you know how to do problem 18?" GRRR! I could seriously kill him.
My room's nice. It has posters of all my favorite bands (The Thrills, The Clash, The Ramones, Blondie, The Killers, Death Cab For Cutie, Dashboard Confessional, Garbage, The White Stripes, The Von Bondies... I could go on.) There's a bulletin board filled with pictures of me, my mates, my family, and Goldie Darcy (our golden retriever doggie) and there's a movie poster of Moulin Rouge on the back of my door. I love that fucking movie. Not Dad though. He thinks I'll go off and become a slut. Like I said, you already have a slut. (cough cough PAMELA.)
The view from my window is nice too. If I stick my head out and look down, I can spit on people and slip back in without them knowing how spit on them. But if I squint, I just barely see Big Ben.
My phone is ringing. It's...Alex?
WHAT IN THE BLOODY HELL IS HE DOING CALLING MY HOUSE! I have no choice but to pick up.
15 Minutes Later
I am SUCH a bitch.
OK, Alex calls and I pick up. "What the bloody hell do you want?"
"Um. I just needed to ask you a question."
"Well, hurry up, I have to walk out the door."
"Do you know if Grace has a date to winter formal?"
I almost drop the phone. "I don't think she does."
"Oh. OK. Good."
"Why?"
"No reason."
"Bullcrap. You call her best friend to see if she's not taken for the formal. Explain. Now."
"Well, I really wanna go with her."
"That's all you needed to say. I have to go."
"OK. See ya."
Click.
DAMN IT.
Suddenly, Grace calls.
"Hey!" she says in a perky tone.
"Hey, um, you know what just happened?"
"What?"
"Alex called me. He wanted to know if you had a date to winter formal."
I had to pull the phone away from my ear because Grace squeals, "OH MY GOSH, REALLY!"
"No, he wants to shag my brains out."
"No sarcasm, please."
In a happy, Martha Stewart tone, I answer, "But sarcasm is what makes me Cami."
"If I was there with you, I'd slap you square across the face."
"I love you too, Gracie."
"Now, Camille Alicia Darcy, tell me now, was he being serious?"
I roll my eyes. "Grace Kelly Schlegel, of course!" After I tell her this, I know she is doing a "happy dance" after I tell her this. So I reply, "I'll let you dance, see you."
Immediately after this, the doorbell rings. So I go up to the door and there's some guy standing there, like he just got off work. He's decked out in a business suit, but no jacket, tie loosened, and sleeves rolled up.
"Who the hell are you?" I ask.
"Daniel Cleaver," the man responds.
"Aren't you Will Cleaver's dad?" I question, my eyes wide.
"Yes, I am. Why?"
"I go to school with your son. I'm in his grade."
Daniel nods. He then looks up and asks, "Is your mother home?"
"No. Why?"
He doesn't answer.
"Why?" I repeat, getting really irritated now.
"I just wanted to see how she was, that's all," he replies.
"She's fine and happily married, thanks," I answer in a cold tone. "Now get the hell off our property before I call the bobbies."
Mum and Pam pull up in the driveway. Mum is fuming. She stomps over, slaps him across the face, and demands, "What the hell are you doing here!"
Me? I'm cheering Mum on. "Nice job, Bridget!"
Daniel, while holding his cheek, asks in disgust, "She calls you by your first name? How lower class."
"Hey buddy, that is her name. Bite me," I respond.
Mum says to me, "Not now," gets this look in her eyes, like she's going to strangle him. "You get off my property right now."
He walks away, looking back at Mum every once in a while. I'm tempted to flick the bastard off.
Mum storms inside while Pamela and I are watching, like it's all an addicting teen soap opera. Mum calls Dad, the whole time whispering "Pick up, pick up, pick up."
Finally Dad picks up and Mum starts screaming. "Mark! Do you know who was just here, talking to Cami? Daniel Cleaver! Mark, Cami's a strong girl, she was telling him off the best she could. Yes, of course, I slapped him!" At this point, I knew Dad said "That's my girl," because then Mum blushes and goes, "Aw, thank you, sweetie."
Pamela hollers, "Who the hell is Daniel Cleaver?"
Mum tells her to hang on while I tell her, "Do you know who Will Cleaver is?"
Mum gasps, "Oh my God, he has a son? No, Mark, Daniel has a son. I know! He finally screwed up. You're on your way home? OK sweetie. Love you."
Pamela, not fazed by Mum, replies, "Yeah, that little Hugh Hefner wannabe?"
I nod. "That's his dad."
Mum slams the phone down as I repeat Pam's earlier question, "Who the hell is Daniel Cleaver?"
Mum sighs and replies, "He used to be my boss...and my ex-boyfriend. But that was before I went out with your father. Actually, your father was married to another woman and Daniel, who used to be his best friend, stole him from him."
"But then Dad married you, right?" Pam asks.
Mum gives her the look I give Grace whenever she asks a stupid question. "No, Pamela, you and your sister are just love children."
I shrug. "Cool. I don't mind that."
Mum just shakes her head. Fifteen minutes later, Dad barges in and goes straight to me.
"Did you talk to him?" he asks.
I nod.
"What did he want?"
"He asked how Mum was and I said fine and told him to get the hell off our property."
Dad gives me a 100 pound bill and a pat on the shoulder. "Good girl."
I smile and walk away. Daniel Cleaver should pester Mom more often.