somewhere || George Russell

six

"Hi," Laurel answered the phone, and George smiled, settling down on the airport seat, "are you ready to leave America?" she cheerfully asked, knowing that is important and exciting for him to dive into another race week, "Omg, jerk!" she shouted.

"Almost," he frowned, "are you busy?" he asked, slowly. Did she just called me jerk? So American.

"Sorry, I'm driving," she apologized. He giggled. "I'm popping out of a photoshoot for Vogue."

"Are you one of those screaming drivers?" he teased. "I'm sure it's hazardous to get in your way."

"I'm sorry to break it to you, but I am a really bad driver," she admitted and sighed. She has never been good to drive, much less in New York city's streets with so much traffic. But she also refuses to hire a chauffeur. Laurel is too stubborn to admit she's bad at anything.

Probably George is the first person to hear her saying that she is a bad driver, but he doesn't know that yet.

"That's disappointing," he chuckled and shook her head, even though he knows she can't see him.

"That's why I dedicate myself to theatre, not driving," she made clear. "OH, and guess what," she remembered, "I found out there is a direct flight from New York to Abu Dhabi."

"Already searching for flights?" he smirked.

"Of course, I am committed," she said, cheekily. Suddenly George heard the sound of a claxon. "Sorry, that wasn't me. I might yell but I never honk the claxon."

"Above everything you are polite," he smiled. She snorted and continue driving. George stretched his body and smiled, enjoying hearing Laurel's voice again. She's got a voice like no other, not sweet, but strong and authoritative. Different. "I have a question," he curiously asked, changing the subject.

"Go ahead."

"Why is your name Laurel?"

"The guy from the registration misspelled it," she muttered, "mine and Iray's. I was going to be named Lauren and she was going to be Iran."

"That's ridiculous," he laughed.

"But it's true. That guy misspelled it."

"What was his problem with the n?"

"I have no idea," she said, annoyed, but laughing. "Now you made me angry."

"I'm sorry, I'm sure that's not a nice story to remember," he laughed again.

"It's not," she chuckled, "But I have a better and much more embarrassing story: Emilio was supposed to be a girl."

They both laughed at the same time with that one.

"What?" he yelled, "and what was his name going to be?"

"I don't know, my parents have never told us that. But I'm pretty sure it was Emilia," she shrugged. "The doctor misread the ultrasound and thought we were going to be three girls. My parents and my brother Rafael were really disappointed when we turned out to be two girls and a boy."

George laughed breathlessly and straightened his back. In front of him, Alex was staring at him, raising an eyebrow. Laurel groaned and that made George to put his attention back to the phone.

"Are you already home?"

"I'm outside the hotel, waiting for a bellboy to come and take my car to the underground parking lot."

"Why don't you do that yourself?"

"I'm so tired," she groaned slightly. "Photoshoots turn out to be exhausting."

"Especially if they are for Vogue," he said. She giggled, with a goofy smile on her face.

Alex started to make signals, giving George to understand that they were about to board the flight. He lost track of time while talking to Laurel.

"Great, he's here," Laurel said cheerfully.

"Perfect timing, my flight is about to board."

"What can I say? I perspire perfection," she showed off.

"True, for the record."

●●●

"You are insane," Laurel said, frowning. She let Gemma enter her penthouse. "I am not going anywhere."

"You stopped going to swimming lessons two weeks ago," Gemma reminded, and they took a seat on the sofa, "you need to exercise."

"Don't you think we exercise enough while rehearsing?" Laurel sighed. "I already had a tiring day with the whole Vogue thing."

"Next week we have the photoshoot for the New York Magazine," Gemma reminded.

Laurel groaned and rolled her eyes. "Too much publicity."

"Anyway, you are going to that class with me," Gemma repeated, and Laurel shook her head.

Two hours ago, Laurel was seating comfortably on her sofa watching her telenovela when Gemma called her to tell her that she signed them up in a pole dance class, and Laurel refused to go since that moment.

"No, why are you so insistent?"

"Because I had to sign a friend up to get a discount," Gemma explained.

"Why don't you just pay for it?"

"Because I don't have the money you have."

Laurel realized what she said and felt bad about it. She sighed once again and decided to give in, hoping not to regret it later. "Fine, let's go," she gave up, and stood up from the sofa.

Gemma put a smile on her face and waited patiently for Laurel to come in her closet room. She chose a blue sports set and her pair of running shoes. She took a track jacket and came out, to see Gemma smiling widely.

"We are going in your car, of course," Gemma said.

Laurel tilted her head, disapproving that. Gemma stood up from the sofa and Laurel entered her room to put some things in her backpack. The two girls left the penthouse and walked down the carpeted floor, reaching for the elevator. Laurel called the front desk to ask for her car to get ready.

The elevator took a while to arrive and she chuckled, remembering that was in a spot like that where she met George on Saturday.