Junk and Other Stories

Upon Meeting Sandra Dee

(WARNING: I had this idea earlier today. I've read a lot of fanfics where the leading female meets her favourite Beatle and they bone straight after meeting. I decided to put a personal (and more sensible) spin on it. Also, my love of Grease comes into play here. Enjoy!)

Hi - my name is Paul, and I'm considered quite a catch. By that, I mean girls practically faint at my feet and beg me to be their true love. It's a wonderful life having all the gorgeous women I want, and they always go along with whatever I say. Maybe that has something to do with the fact that I'm a famous musician... or maybe I'm just too drop-dead gorgeous for the world to handle. I may never know.

Anyway, I have never come across a girl who didn't want me to love them. When one did, however, I didn't know what to do or what to think. I was so shocked that I could barely even speak.

I was hanging around outside of a bar, scoping out the scene for beautiful birds. My other mates had left several minutes earlier to go to a movie that was screen a few streets away. I had told them I'd catch up later, but that wasn't entirely true. I didn't want to see some couple making out on a movie screen. I wanted to be involved in the real thing.

I spotted a girl standing by the bar, drinking a glass of what appeared to be orange juice. She had long, silky blonde hair pushed back with a silky headband, beautiful blue eyes and a dazzling smile. I fell head over heels for her. I wanted her to be mine for the evening.

After smoothing down my hair and checking my teeth in the reflective front window, I wandered over to this stunning young woman. She looked lonely, maybe even a little bit sad. I was about to change all that.

"Hello there," I said suavely, placing my elbow on the bar counter and grinning at her.

"Hello," the girl replied. "Can I help you?"

"Yes, actually, you can. Tell me, do you have any English in you."

The girl shook her head.

I waggled my eyebrows at her. "Would you like some?"

I expected her to giggle and blush, then maybe she would ask me to join her for drinks. I got the shock of my life when her eyebrows knitted together. Her entire expression changed from happy to deeply unamused. When she spoke, it was in a slow, cross voice. It reminded me an awful lot of a teacher I had in primary school, and her speaking tone always made me cringe.

"Was that meant to be a pick up line, sir?" the girl asked.

I winced. "Yes. Apparently."

"Hmm." The girl took a long sip of her orange juice and set the glass down on the counter. "And, by the way, I don't have any English in me. I'm not from here."

"You aren't?" I said, slightly surprised. "Where are you from?"

"New Zealand, and we don't flirt with girls in such blunt ways over there."

I suddenly felt like the biggest jerk in the world, but I wasn't going to be fazed. If this New Zealand girl wanted to get anywhere in England, she was going to have to accept the way we flirted over here. I decided to shake it off and try again.

I reached into my pocket and produced a small cardboard box. "Cigarette?" I said, offering her the box.

"No, thank you," said the girl, wrinkling her nose. "I don't smoke."

"You don't? Why not?"

The girl shrugged. "What's so appealing about inhaling tar and other chemicals?"

Not only had she shot down my attempt at flirtation, she had also made a point! I shut the packets of ciggies with a snap and shoved them back in my pocket. By this point, I was feeling rather disheartened. What was it going to take to get this pretty little girl to come home with me?