This was written for The Red Dress Club, a virtual writer's society.
Concrit is always welcomed and appreciated! This is a work of fiction.
In the middle of the night, you get an urgent call from a friend you haven’t talked to in years. Something terrible has happened. What is it and why is he/she calling you?
Word limit: 700 My count: 700 exactly!
George tops off my champagne and pulls his chair in close.
I smile coyly. “Why, Mr. Clooney, I believe you're going to kiss me!”
He leans in, bringing his lips to mine… “SWEET CAROLINE! BAH! BAH! BAH!” rings in my ears and George is gone.
The soft glow of my bedside clock informs me that it's 3:17 am, and I can't find the source of the noise, my phone.
I finally locate it and answer, rubbing sleep out of my eyes as I do. “Hullow?”
No one speaks, and as I'm about to hang up, I hear someone laughing. They aren't speaking into the phone, but in the same room, definitely. There's some rustling noises and I hear a familiar voice speaking.
“No, you guys! This iss SUCH a great idea! Serioushly!” Even though we haven't really spoken since we graduated, I'd be able to pick the drunken babble of my best friend, Sabrina, anywhere.
“Hey, Bean! What's up?” Now that I've confirmed the person on the other end, I'm perking up more by the moment, and I'm now almost completely coherent, as I greet this phone call from my past.
There's still no direct response to my opening line, just more rustling sounds and laughter. And then it dawns on me.
I've been butt dialed.
Fully awake now, and invested in what's happening at the other end of the line, I sit up in bed and turn on my bedside lamp.
“No you guyss! Come on! It'll be FUN! Iss VAY-GASS baby!” What is she doing in Vegas? It sounds like there are several people in the room. Probably a hotel room.
More rustling. “Hang on, hang on guyss!” More rustling, and then stillness. “Jashon. I mean, Jason Sullivan. Will you marry me?”
I want to scream. My best friend, Sabrina Louise MacLean, has just proposed to the biggest ass on the planet, her on again/off-again ex-or-maybe-current-boyfriend, Jason. I can't sit by silently, a thousand miles away, while this happens.
“BEAN!” I yell into the phone as loud as I can without waking the baby. “BEAN! Pick up the PHONE! SABRINA!”
The sounds from the hotel room in Vegas tell me that Jason has accepted, and there is applause and people are calling for a toast.
“SABRINA! PICK! UP! THE! PHONE! NOW! SABRINA!”
“Hang on you guys! Didja hear that?” My voice has made it across the miles and out of the purse.
Crossing my fingers, I try one more time. “Sabrina! Your phone – I'm on the phone!”
The familiar rustling finally ends, and my old friend is on the line. “Hello? Who is this?”
“Hey Chickie-la!” I revert to my old nickname for her. “What's going on?”
“Desi? Omigod! It's so great to hear from you… wait. Did you call me?”
“No, Sabrina… you butt dialed me. How's it going?”
“Awesome! I'm getting married!” She sounds excited enough, but I can't help but want better for her.
“Wow, that's great! When's the wedding?”
“Umm… what time is it now? The wedding's at five I think? It's kind of a spur of the moment thing.”
I sense my opening. “Where are you? Can you hold off until tomorrow? I'll fly wherever you are… I can't miss my best friend's wedding… You should wait until tomorrow morning at least… so, umm…” Racking my brain to come up with a legitimate reason for her to postpone. “So you get your whole wedding day! Get married now, and you'll go home to bed, and your day is over! Do it in the morning instead! It'll be great!”
“Ooh good call, D. Hey Jas… let's do this tomorrow instead, kay? I'm so sleepy, and want to be pretty for my wedding!”
“Yeah, baby! And I want you fresh for our wedding night.” The slap he delivers to her backside reverberates through the phone, making me wince. Jerk.
Sabrina turns back to me on the phone. “Yeah, maybe we'll wait til tomorrow. Love you, Desi-poo! We should talk more soon!”
“Love you too, Bean. Sleep tight.” We disconnect and I lay back down in the dark, surprisingly exhausted. I drift off to sleep eventually, to my waiting George. He's even kept my champagne cold.