They finish getting ready, Sawyer cycling through a few different shoe options before settling on some flat, pointed pumps that mean that she doesn’t tower over Natasha too much. When she’s done, Sawyer calls a cab, “I’ll pay, I’m just grateful you would come with me. It will probably be a snooze fest.”
Natasha twists the long sleeve of her dress around her fingers.
“I’m sure I’ll enjoy it,” she lies. “Hey- I made some business cards.” Natasha hands Sawyer the paper rectangles she’s filled in, and Sawyer shuffles through them.
“Trish Thompson, Junkie Hairdresser…Natasha is that a cooking up spoon that also turns into a comb?”
Natasha just laughs.
“Natasha, this one is really scary. The one that says Realtor, and Exorcist. Can I keep one of these in my wallet? To remind me that I’m head over heels with a complete whack-job.”
"Well, it would be a useful service! What if you bought a haunted house and couldn't get to a priest in time! She sells you the house, gets rid of the ghosts. Bada bing bada boom."
Sawyer picks up the Realtor, and Exorcist card, strokes her finger over the pentagram that Natasha has scribbled on the self-portrait.
"Oh, I can't choose. I kind of want the Babushka one as well," Sawyer tucks both into her wallet.
"You know I've got your little professional biography from the first show I came to see in mine?"
"No, I didn't know that!" Sawyer exclaims. "Maybe I should give you a little picture instead, just so everyone knows you're mine."
Natasha asks, “Because I'm always flashing the inside of my wallet to everyone?"
Sawyer reasons, "Well, you're always rummaging around for loyalty cards when we get coffee, and I've seen at least three baristas give you the wink."
Natasha rolls her eyes, and Sawyer shuffles over to the window, peers outside at the dark, quiet street. Her movements are hampered by her dress, and Natasha is sure that if she could, she would be pacing.
"This taxi is taking ages," Sawyer announces. She shuffles back over to Natasha, muttering under her breath, "Kuz- Kuznes -Netsov,"
"Sawyer, are you having some sort of episode? Why are you just saying bits of my surname?"
"I'm practicing.”
Natasha huffs, anxiety rising at the thought of awkward introductions, "It's actually quite simple, I don't know why Americans have such a problem with it."
"Well its’ so much easy Zhaagawaamikong, then. Or Midewiwin," Sawyer says with a raised eyebrow.
"Okay, point taken. You usually get it right, just remember that it's a long o sound, and a silent I.”
Sawyer gets a call from the cab driver, and they make their way downstairs.
The three of them are silent for the first part of the drive. Natasha stares out of the window and thinks about all the ways she could mortify Sawyer tonight, while Sawyer massages over the thin bones in Natasha's wrists.
"So, girls, are you two sisters?" The driver's voice comes through the speaker into the back of the cab.
Sawyer giggles, "I'm afraid not, no."
"It's not often I get two gorgeous natural blondes in my cab."
Sawyer makes eye contact with Natasha, widening her eyes to communicate, oh, here we go. She smirks, and Natasha gets a sinking feeling in her stomach.
"You two meeting your boyfriends at this hotel then?"
"Nope," says Sawyer, popping the p.
Natasha wants to just put the man out of his misery. Watching Sawyer is like watching a cat play with a mouse. Usually it's Natasha that ends up leaning through the gap of the two front seats, putting her hands through to gesticulate. Ordinarily by now she'd be schooling their driver in why the presumption of a boyfriend can be considered offensive. Her scatter gun reasoning is usually effective at persuading and her manner enough of a 'harmless eccentric' to disarm all but the most aggressive.
Sawyer reclines in her seat, sitting on her hip and flexing one arm along the back of the seat, running behind Natasha's neck. Sawyer cups her hand around the side of Natasha's head, brings her head close to her and starts nibbling on her ear.
There's a silence, and the driver speaks again, "Why?"
Sawyer asks, "Why what?"
The driver laughs again, "Just why? I don't get it. Two beautiful girls like you."
"Why not?" Sawyer's eyebrow quirks up. Natasha's stomach suddenly feels like she's chugged a glass of gone-off milk. She thinks of all the things that could go wrong: He could say something that upsets Sawyer and ruins her evening, when it should be special; he could throw them out of the taxi and they'll miss the awards and the rain will ruin Sawyer's hair; he could kill them both horribly.
"I just don't know why you need to muscle in, I guess. It seems like everything needs to change to fit in around you. Things used to be bad, granted, but the balance has swung too far the other way now," the driver says.
"Well, with this idiot in charge, it seems like you might get a bit of a swing in your favor now," Sawyer starts, she starts to sit up in her seat.
The driver interrupts, "Ah, man, I don't want to start a fight now..." He makes eye contact with them in the mirror and shrugs.
Natasha jumps in, "That's the thing, really, everyone is entitled to their own
