Fame (Except Not) [GxG Fanfic]

One

It's Saturday night, and I'm on the way to meet a friend at a bar for her going-away party. I'm standing on a street corner in the middle of town, waiting for the traffic lights to change so I can walk across the road.

Suddenly, from the car beside me, someone says, "Um, excuse me?"

I look. I'd kind of been not looking, because I don't know, sometimes it just gets a bad kind of attention to look at traffic, I suppose. So I'd been staring straight ahead, and ignoring the cars, but I look now, and see that a limousine is stopped beside me. And I see that the back window of the limousine is wound down, and someone is looking out at me.

Someone I know.

Someone famous.

I mean, really famous. Like anyone would have heard of her. Like, you have heard of her, I swear. Except that I can't tell you who she is, because I promised her I wouldn't. And you'll see why pretty soon. This story has to stay a secret, it absolutely has to, and when I said I wanted to write about this, she said that was fine, as long as I never breathed a word of who she is. So nothing about her name, or what she looks like, or what she's famous for, or anything else.

And I agreed. I promised.

So just to get this part out of the way, let's say she's Anna, which obviously isn't actually her name, and that she's famous, and she has dark hair and dark eyes and that's all I'm going to say.

Anyway, Anna is looking at me out the limousine window, waiting for me to say something back to her. Like hi, I suppose. Or what does she want, maybe. Anything, really, I suppose. But I don't. I'm not talking. Even though I know I should say something, I don't actually seem to be. I just stand there, a bit startled, looking back at her, speechlessly. Like a total idiot.

The moment kind of drags on.

Suddenly I realize I'm not speaking, and decide that I ought to be. And just as I realize that, but before I actually think, I somehow seem to start saying, "Oh fuck, its you."

Like an even bigger idiot.

Like a total fangirl idiotic idiot who hasn't got anything better to say.

So that probably makes it the perfect complete disaster, I think. I'm embarrassed. To say the least. My one big moment of celebrity-meeting has to be over now, after that. She must be about to drive away.

I stand there, waiting for that to happen. Oh fuck its you. Just, really.

But actually, she doesn't drive off. She stays where she is, looking at me. And actually, she's really quite nice about how weird I'm being.

"Yes," she says, smiling. "Probably it is me."

And then, she grins. She has a wonderful grin. I fall for her grin, a little. I wish I had her grin. I wish I could keep staring at her grin, too.

To be honest, I think I'm still feeling a little bit star-struck.

"So that's a nice dress," she says.

I look down, surprised and pleased. "Oh," I say. "Thank you."

I don't giggle. I want to be clear on this. At no point do I giggle. I am flattered, though. Even though yes, it is a nice dress. I mean, obviously I think it's a nice dress, that's why I'm wearing it, but I'm really glad she does too. It's sparkly and green and the kind of loose that's a good loose, all floaty and flowing as I move. And it sticks to me well, in the places it ought to stick. And its backless and short and somehow doesn't look too tacky while being those things. So actually yes, it really is a wonderful dress. I'm proud of my dress. It's one of my favourites. Which is why I'm wearing it tonight.

"Um," Anna says. "This is a weird question..."

"Okay?" I say. "Go on?"

"What size are you?"

"Size?" I say blankly.

"Dress size."

"Oh," I say, and hesitate, and then I tell her. Because why not, she's famous. Even though it seems a little odd she cares.

"Good," she says. "Same as me."

And I'm pleased by that. I'm kind of secretly flattered by it, to be honest. So I stand there, grinning at her, my brain still switched off.

I mean, I probably should be thinking it's a bit weird for a famous person to be driving around in a limo asking people their dress size, but I don't think that. Of course not. I just stand there, staring, and grinning like an idiot.

It's a wonder she doesn't just give up and drive off and leave me. It really is.

She doesn't though. She just looks at me out the window, waiting. And then seems to realize I'm not understanding why she asked. She sighs, and opens the door.

"Get in," she says. "Please?"

I look at her, a bit stunned. "What?" I say.

"Get in."

"Why?"

Next to me, the traffic lights change, and the cars behind her limo start honking. Anna glances back, and realizes why. "Just get in," she says. "Quick?"

I hesitate, thinking I shouldn't, then decide she's famous, so why not. I nod, and reach for the door, and she slides over so I can sit down.

I get in. The car drives off.

Apparently I get to find out what it's like to meet a famous person.