FicWad

A/N I know I promised I wouldn't beg for reviews. But I'm concerned about this story, my dialogue in specific. Is it choppy, is it hard to understand, is the narration style awkward? I would really appreciate some input. I'm not going to threaten stuff, no one's going to die, the story will stay the same. But I'd appreciate a little help.

Thanks!

ssketchator
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Lexi's POV


"Do you have it? Do you have it?!" I'm bouncing around like a kid on Christmas as Lucy opens her front door.
"Yes, crazy lady, I have it. Them, actually. Here's yours."
I squeal and rip it from her hands, struggling to pull off the cellophane. "I will never understand why they shrinkwrap advance copies."
"Clearly so people can watch you gnaw on the case. When you're finished plastic-wrestling over there, check out the song titles. You'll get a kick out of some of them."
"Hmm. Dark alley... psh. Such wannabe gangsters. Atavan Halen, huh?"
"Yeah, I noticed that too. Go grab some beers, let's get this party started."


The next few hours are filled with the repeat button and empty beer cans, with the occassional comment from the peanut gallery ("such good fashion sense, my ass").
The third time through, Lucy turns to me in the middle of Summer Song. "Was this on the copy they sent you for Valentine's Day?"
"Nope. I've never heard it before. It kind of makes me think about what Patrick said about Pete's OD, how he felt like he should've known? Come to think of it, the next track wasn't on my cd either, and I got seventeen tracks in all."
"This is the first I've heard of it too. Think they're new?"
"Joe did say Pete wrote a song last-minute, after the whole thing went down."
"Huh."

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"No honey, you listen. It is a lot easier to take a name off of a guest list than it is to put one on. Get me the shots, or he's out. I'm not sending kids to these shows for free here." Anna pokes her head in the door and I wave her in. "I really don't care. You've had almost three weeks. For God's sake, it's twenty fucking pictures. This is the third time this kid has tried to dick me over. Get me something, anything, by tomorrow. Thank you."
I flip my phone shut and groan.
"Work troubles?"
"You have no idea. I'm trying to run this department with no office and virtually no staff, because I'm not making anybody relocate until I've got somewhere for them to work. And I'm trying to keep tabs on like a billion teenies who think that street teaming involves getting handed merch and going to shows for free. You have no idea how much I am looking forward to today. I am turning my phone off, I am busting my credit card out, we are leaving."
The cd release party is only a few days away, and like the procrastinator I am, I still have nothing to wear. The guys are really pulling out all the stops on this party, going totally formal, and god knows I haven't purchased anything that's even mildly presentable since my senior prom. So Anna and I are going shopping. It's going to be nice spending the day with her. I'd almost forgotten how much fun being a girl could be.


"So what's Tom wearing?"
"All black, red tie. Classic but sharp, as he described it. Patrick?"
"He bought a double-breasted, pinstriped suit with a matching fedora. I swear, he thinks he's Frank effing Sinatra here. Then he went on to tell me that the pinstripes are slimming, as if any normal man would know such a thing."
"Well, Patrick is a far cry from normal."
She scoffs. "Tell me about it. Oh. My. God." She holds up a hideous, puffy sleeved, red-sequined... thing, and we both laugh.
"Maybe we should try somewhere else."

A few hours later, I'm afraid I'm going to wind up looking like a scene from The Sweetest Thing when she holds it up. My dress. Black, backless, halter top, neckline to the belly button and a slit straight to the hip. I gasp. "It's perfect!" I squeal and run to the dressing room, spending five minutes gawking at myself before finally opening the door so Anna can see.
"Damn, Lex. That boyfriend of yours won't know what hit him."
"Hell, I don't know what hit me. I love you forever and a day for finding this. And he's not my boyfriend. I mean, he's a boy, and my friend. But not /boyfriend/. More like boy-dot-friend. I don't relationship."
"Why not?"
"Clearly, Pete hasn't told you the horror story that is my dating history. I'm no good as a girlfriend. Tom and I have fun, we're doing really well, why label it and risk a nasty breakup later?"
"Interesting. Well, are you at least getting some from this boy-dot-friend of yours?"
"Yes, thank god. I was worried I'd be celibate forever. Just don't tell Patrick."
She eyes me suspiciously. "Why?"
"Because he'll tell Pete, who in turn will tell everyone he's ever met that Alexis Andrews and Thomas Conrad are fucking, all thanks to him. I'll never live it down. I do not want to feed that stupid matchmaker complex of his."
She laughs. "Is that all? Hell, I wouldn't feed Pete gossip if he paid me."

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Later that night, I'm pouring myself some cereal when I get a call from an 847 number. Who do I know in the suburbs?
"Hello?"
"Alexis Andrews, please."
"Uhm, speaking."
"Miss Andrews," uh oh. "Are you related to a Maureen Andrews, of 251 Dawson Street in Arlington Heights?"
"My mother's name is Maureen. I don't know about the address, I haven't spoken to her in years. How did you get this number?"
"We checked her medical records for an emergency contacts, then looked up your most recent information. Miss Andrews, about your mother..."
"Yes?"
"Two days ago, she suffered a massive heart attack. I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but... she passed away."
The room gets foggy. "What?"
"Your mother. Well, your mother is dead."
Fade to black.

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Chapter title from "Stolen" by Dashboard Confessional.

PS I own that dress. It is glorious.