“Pretty sure you’ve always wanted to see me naked,"Freja said to Arizona.

    Arizona nodded enthusiastically.

    "Well…” Freja purred, “I’m feeling pretty adventurous today so go to frejarizona(dot)com (switch [dot] with .) then sign up and find my profile under the username ‘lolsummer69’.”

    “Where did LOLsummer69 come from?” Arizona asked.

    “It came from us 69ing all summer long, remember?”

    “Of course I remember,” Arizona said and then she went back to 69ing with Freja because she had temporarily been distracted from the task.

     “I hid my face in the pictures. but I want you to guess who I am and then hit me up on Facebook lol. Good luck,” Freja said.

      This felt like a very personal message, meant for only Arizona, so she cherished it like a diamond.

   Freja had noticed a lot of new faces at the recent shows. Arizona was very rational about it and said that the girls weren’t competition because, “no one can out-Frej, Freja.”

   Freja had no idea what this meant, but it made her feel better.

   Arizona had suggested that while she was walking in the show, Freja could distract herself by getting to know the new girls. A little shy, Freja got some props from food services; a glass of OJ and some grapes. She would share them with one of the new girls and make her feel at home. Arizona would like this plan, Freja thought to herself.

   Then Freja saw Wixson and the plan went out the window.

   “Hi Wixson,” Freja said, approaching Wixson with her food and drink in hand.

   “Hi Freja!” Wixson said, excited to meet one of the biggest names in the business, “I like how mean you looked on the runway,” Wixson said. Freja decided to take this statement as a compliment.

   “I have a question,” Freja said, coy, “Have you ever seen Speed?”

   Wixson stared off into space a moment and then said, “Once at a party Charlotte showed me a bag with-”

   “-no. The movie. Have you seen "Speed” the movie?“ Freja clarified.

   "Oh. No. Momma said there was too much violence in it,” Wixson responded.

   “Okay, that’s weird, but whatever, the point is, in Speed, the bus had to keep up a certain speed or it would explode.”

   “Why?” Wixson asked.

   Freja paused. “Becau- well. They- um. Whatever, because that’s how things are.”

   “Oh,” Wixson said, regretting her monthly metro card.

   “And someone did that same thing at this show! Like in Speed,” Freja said, acting dramatic,“ We’re all in trouble here!”

   “Oh no. We’re in trouble? Like the time I ate that Christmas poinsettia?” Wixson asked.

   “Worse! If someone doesn’t hold this OJ and these grapes and pretend to be a statue for the rest of the day, we’re all going to blow up.”

   Wixson’s eyes went wide.

   “I wish someone here was brave enough to do it,” Freja said.

   “Probably Arizona,” Wixson suggested.

   “No!” Freja yelped. She would never betray her desert queen.

   “Okay, I think I will do it,” Wixson said, taking the glass of OJ and the grapes.


   Arizona bounced backstage and before next her dress change. She stopped and looked at Wixson, then looked at Freja. “Oh no. Why is Wixson pretending to be a grape tree?” Arizona asked.

   “Because Speed,” Wixson responded, deadly serious.

***Note: This is a work of fiction***

“‘Zona, have you been trying on my clothes again? My pants are all too big.” Freja asked as she slid on her favorite booger colored jacket. It reminded her of the first time she met Nico, in which he put his dried nasal mucus all over he Isabel Marant jeans.

“Yes! I found this new miracle food,” Arizona replied replies from bed, then reached over to the nightstand and opened a drawer, retrieving a box of Twinkies. “I hear that the only things that would be left after a nuclear blast would be roaches and Twinkies,” Arizona comments, marveling at the indestructible dessert cake.

Freja seemed angered by this so Arizona continued adding things to the list, hoping to making things right, “ Cockroaches… Twinkies and…Stam?” While Freja was sure that Stam’s plastic would remain, this was not the answer she was looking for. “Our love,” Freja said quietly, pinching at the loose band on her shorts. “Yes! Totally,” Arizona agreed, “Even without arms, I’ll still want to wrap you in my arms!”

This romantic post-apoctalypic vision made Freja smile and she sauntered over to the bed asking, “How many of those have you eaten, Momma Muse?”

“Um…just a couple,” Arizona said, a little ashamed, “I promise it was no more than the two boxes Wixson ate last time Cfree tricked her into getting high!” (In which Charlotte told the chubby cheeked Witchita native that it was a new way to light scented candles. Wixson was intrigued by fire because her father never let her play with it as a kid. After the Great Cornfires of 2007, matches had been outlawed in Kansas and everyone had to switch to smokeless tabacco).

“I haven’t had a Twinkie in a while because of the bad memories,” Arizona said, sad, as she brushed the crinkley plastic wrapper off the bed.

Freja quickly climbed back into bed and held Arizona’s hand, crumbs filling the slight indention made with Freja’s braceleted arm. “What happened?” she asked delicately.

“Before I met you…” Arizona started explaining. “Before I met you, I was up for a Twinkie modeling job. All the other girls were disqualified because they started grabbing their tummies and sobbing when they saw the plate of Twinkies. In the end, it turned out to be a bust…they chose to go with a different model.”

“Which model?” Freja asked, knowing she won’t recognize the name of a Twinkie girl. “Some stupid cartoon animal that didn’t even have three demensions. Why does he even need the job? He’s a cartoon. He doesn’t have a baby to feed. Or, like, I don’t know, he could just draw the baby some food if he does. But don’t worry, my Danish lesbian. I won’t get fat like Daphne. Last time I shot with Terry, he taught me a new exercise called Kegels!”


    Freja locked the door. 

    Normally not one to cause a big scene, Freja felt challanged by what was happening around her.

    She also felt cold.

    She was not wearing pants.

    No one was.

    Someone had stolen the pants.

    All of the pants.


    A group of five girls- Arizona, Abbeybaby, Wixson, Karmen Pedaru and Freja all were not wearing pants.

   This moment played out differently in Freja’s fantasy file.

    It was definately warmer and there were more candles in the fantasy. There were at tops 5 candles in this room and it was cold as balls.

    Karmen Pedaru looked at Arizona in the good eyebrows and said, “I think… that someone here is a pants thief.”

    “I think that someone here is an Esotian bitch,” Arizona said, springing forward, pantless, but confident. 

     "In Estonia, we have a name for your haircut,“ Karmen Pedaru responded.

     "What’s her haircut named in foreign?” Wixson asked interested.

      Karmen Pedaru smiled at Wixson and said, “Arizona’s hair is called,” then there was a pause, then Karmen Pedaru made noises like she was vomiting.

     Wixson marveled, “Ohh exotic and primal!" 

     Freja stepped in to defend her love and she said, "Wixson can’t not have pants. This is illegal.”

    “Yes. Wixson you have to wear this tablecloth,” Abbey said, yanking the fabric off a table and a thousand diet coke cans went all over the floor. 
     Lindsey put the tablecloth on her head.

     "As a dress,“ Abbey clarified.

     Wixy took the tablecloth off her head and wrapped it around her hips.

    "Freja, you could design for fashions!” Wixson said, sashaying in her new dress.

    “Did she just say design for fashions?” Abbey whispered to Karmen Pedaru.

    “I’m from Estonia and even I know that’s grammatically incorrect,” Karmen Pedaru whispered back.

     "Okay, back to business, someone has all our pants,“ Arizona says.

     "How do we know it’s not you?” Abbeybaby asks Zona. There is a moment of tension between the two that turned Freja on.

     "Maybe we should take off our tops!“ Freja suggested, taken by the moment.

     The girls all look at Freja, and, uncomfortable, Freja tried to recover from the statement, "Take off our tops… as a sacrifice… to… the pants………monster?”

     Wixson’s eyes go wide and she takes refuge under the table that her dress used to cover.

     "Great, now you scared Wixson, are you happy?“ Karmen Pedaru asked.

     "Wixson, I’m sure there is a perfectly normal, non-supernatural reason for why we all have no pants,” Arizona said, crouching down to get eye level with Wixson.

     "Please don’t crouch without pants,“ Wixson requested in a small voice. Arizona complied. 


****PLEASE NOTE. THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION. THIS DIDN’T REALLY HAPPEN. EVERYONE STILL HAS THEIR PANTS***** (But if you’re a literary agent who wants to represent my novels and you aren’t someone who wants to sue me, please e-mail me.)

    Arizona was getting very into her yoga and even though the lessons were Freja’s idea, some days, when Arizona slid on those skin tight pants, then Freja slid her out of them and then like ten minutes later Arizona slid back into them again, sometimes Freja seemed… well… jealous.
    At first Freja would “supervise” all of  the yoga lessons, but there are only so many times you can stare at someone’s ass in the downward facing dog before you start  to wonder, “Is there more to life than just oversexualizing low impact workouts?
    During dessert that night (strawberry shortcake) (they were all out of whip cream because of the night before) Arizona started to ask Freja if there are any hobbies she had ever considered.
    "I have my music” Freja said and Arizona quickly asked, “What else?” because she didn’t want to hear Freja sing Mandy Moore again.
     “Well, there is this one thing…” Freja said, uncharacteristically shy. Arizona was intrigued.
     “Wait here,” Freja said and then scampered away from the table as Arizona watched her go and made a noise that was like, “MMMMMyeahhh”
     Ten minutes later, Freja returned with a microphone and a notebook.
     “Are you going to read your poems?” Arizona asked.
     “No, this mic is hooked  up to the stereo and the neighbors asked us to stop saying, ‘savory juices’ loudly,” Freja reminded Arizona.
      “Whatcha gonna do, baby?” Arizona asked.

       “STANDUP COMEDY,” Freja said into he mic.

      “Whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy,” Arizona said in her head.
       “Okay so, my first joke is,” Freja started out and Arizona was already like, Maybe it will start raining and this electrical equipment will kill us all. Is that a rain cloud in the sky? Maybe? Please.

       “-is,” Freja continued, “Everyone always comes up to me and is like 'What do your tattoos mean?’ and I’m like, "I don’t know, what does your muffin top mean?’ ” Freja said and then laughs. Arizona tried to laugh, but she still had a little baby weight, even after the yoga. This was a sensitive topic.

      “Okay, the second joke,” Freja said with misplace confidence, “is, like, okay I miss Lee more than anyone, but how does that smelly bitch Lady Gaga make Mcqueen look like McDonalds?” Freja laughed at this joke, Arizona tried to giggle.

       The jokes continued, sadly, aimlessly- like a Tyra Banks photographed editorial.
       About five minutes in, Freja laid down and did an unfunny bit about people who don’t wear all black clothing.
     Arizona, grateful that there wasn’t a bit about “mom haircuts”, walked over to Freja and picked her up.

     After carrying her sad clown inside, Arizona said, “I have a joke for your act,” and Freja looked at her hopefully, “Tell it to me.”

    “Okay,” Arizona said, “The joke is… Saskia de Brauw for Chanel.”


You Don’t Fire Frejarizona, Frejarizona Fires You.

   “Today’s the day, my FrejyPop,” Arizona purred into Freja’s ear as they laid in bed, wrapped in each other.

   “Are you sure this is a good idea?” Freja asked, excited and scared in equal measure.

   “It's  me, you and a camera. When is that ever a bad idea?” Arizona responded and then eyed the Nikon on the tripod at the end of the bed.


   Hand in hand, Freja and Arizona walked into the Céline offices.

   “Did you see that?” Freja asked as she held the door for Arizona.

   “You mean the frumpy lady with the stroller who had the same haircut I do?"Arizona asked.

   "No, that man in the car.”

   Arizona looked back to see a black BMW with a man whose hands were fiddling with something out of sight.

   “I think he’s a paparazzi,” Freja said.

   “No. Don’t worry, I think he’s just masturbating at us,” Arizona said and it relieved Freja. It must be nerves, Freja thought to herself. She didn’t want to let down Arizona. This was going to be an important campaign. They walked inside and immediately heard, “Girls, your here!”

   A Céline employee enthusiastically lead them back to a rack of the first looks Frejarizona would be wearing.

   “Accordion dresses?” Freja said, holding in a dry heave.

   “Yes! This is what you’ll be wearing!” the employee said and Arizona tried to smile at her, but she was looking past the lady to see if she could  find an exit so they could escape this nightmare.

   “Is this a joke?” Freja asked in disbelief.

   “No it’s our new budget line Céline by Celine Dion.

   “This is illegal,” Arizona said, incredulous.

   “Where is Céline?” Freja asked.

   “Are you kidding?” the employee responded.

   Arizona grabbed on Freja’s arm and whispered, “Babe, Céline is dead. She was killed by the leader of her fan club.”

   “You’re thinking of Selena. The Hispanic singer,” Freja pointed out.

   “Oh, then she got shot on her doorstep.”

   “That was Versace,” Freja corrected Arizona.

   “I wish it was Celine Dion,” Arizona growled.

   “Just try the dresses on,” the Céline employee begged. Ever the professionals, Frejarizona complied.

   Looking at each other in the accordion moo moos, both women decided, “I need a cigarette.”

   Outside, Freja and Arizona puffed and paced.

  “How are we going to get out of this? Being the face of Céline by Celine Dion is like being the face of bowel cancer,” Freja ranted.

   “I’m going to think of something,” Arizona said to her love. This was the most serious, threatening moment of their entire relationship.

   They stamped out their cigarettes and Freja spotted the man from the BMW snapping away pictures. “It’s too late,” Freja said. “It’s never too late,” Arizona responded, then lead her soul mate back inside.

   “I have to go,” Arizona told the Céline employee. “You can’t,” the Céline lady declared.

   “I have to. I need medical attention. This dress gave me Accordionacitous.”

   “You just made that up,” the Céline woman responded.

   “I did not. Are you discriminating against my Accordionacitous? I’m going to sue you worse than my agents are going to sue that fake tumblr about Freja and me.”

   The Céline employee let Frejarizona go because a lawsuit of that scale would bring Céline by Céline Dion down like it was the Titanic.

   “You saved my life,” Freja said warmly to Arizona.

   “I’ll love you til the Accordionacitous takes me, my love,” Arizona responded.


Agents of F.R.E.J.A.R.I.Z.O.N.A

    Freja and Arizona had run out of strawberries so they left the bedroom and walked into the kitchen. 

    Sitting at the kitchen table, wearing a very Rick Owens black outfit, was a man wearing an eyepatch.

    In a wavering voice, Arizona asked, “Who are you?”

    The man turned to the beautiful models, and Freja eeked out a joyous welcome, “It’s Laurence Fishburne! I loved your superbowl commercial!”

     "I’m the other black guy,“ Laurence Fishburne said.

      "Urkel?” Arizona responded.

      “No. Nick Fury,” the man said.

       "Oh. Right. You’re in the Avengers,“ Arizona said, less excited about this guy who wasn’t Urkel or Morpheus. 

       "Actually, I’m in S.H.I.E.L.D,” Nick fury said.

       "That show sucks dick,“ Freja said.

       "Well, I’m not on the show,” Nick responded.

       "Aw, I know how it feels to be replaced. I used to be the face of Chanel then it got as shitty as your TV show,“ Freja said.

       Nick Fury stood up and declared, "That’s why I’m here.”

       "Are you Karl’s new boytoy? You’re a little old, but the eyepatch is very Karl,“ Arizona said.

       "I want you to walk Louis Vuitton,” Nick Fury said, staring directly at Arizona out of his non-patched eye.

       "Aw, Arizona that’s amazing!“ Freja celebrated.

       "Wait, this one is Arizona?” Nick asked, pointing at the world’s Muse.

       Arizona nodded to confirm her identity.

       Nick Fury then turned his back to Arizona and said to Freja, “I want you to walk Louis Vuitton.”

       "You want both me and ‘zona to walk LV? This is sounding very Céline.“

       "Just you,” Nick Fury clarified to Freja.

       "Did you just Chanel-drop my desert princess?“ Freja asked.

       Arizona finally understood how Freja felt when she thought she was replaced with a coffee maker. She looked at Nick Fury, then said, "I don’t think we’re seeing eye to eyepatch here.”

      “Very funny,” Nick Fury said, but he was not laughing which means he was being sassy and did not find this observation funny. 

     Freja, to keep things civil, asked Nick, “How come the Hulk was super uncontrollable when he was on that S.H.I.E.L.D. plane chasing after Scarjo- not that I blame him, I would hulk out too if I had the chance to bobble those boobs- but anyway, once you got the Hulk out in the middle of New York City, you could totally control his actions and he didn’t go after Scarjo at all. I mean, that’s shitty characterization, even by Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D standards.”

     "I’ll be happy to answer all your questions when you agree to walk Vuitton,“ Nick Fury said. It was obvious he had no explanation for this lazy writing. 

     "I’m retired,” Freja said.

     "We need you. We can’t just replace you every year with someone new like you’re the guy playing Bruce Banner,“ Nick Fury said.

      "I’m sorry but we stopped trusting bald people when Bruce Willis went back in time to keep lesbians from having children. Maybe you bald people should have been a little more accepting of two women raising Josefien Rodermans Muse Beha Erichsen.”

      “I honestly have no clue what you are saying to me,” Nick Fury admitted. 

      “What’s the eyepatch from?” Freja asked.

      Nick Fury let our a deep sigh, but he was desperate to earn Freja’s trust so he admitted, “I needed to get Naomi to walk Vuitton that year with the carousel. I was admittedly being a little pushy and well…”

      “She threw her cell phone at your eye, didn’t she,” Arizona said.

      “Yes. Naomi threw her cell phone at my eye. It was one of those Marc Jacobs cases with the ears on the top of the case and it totally destroyed my vision,” Nick admitted, and he was probably crying behind his eyepatch thinking about this.

      “It seems like an honest mistake. Naomi was probably just trying to get that awful Marc Jacobs phone case out of her hand as fast as possible and you got in the way,” Freja said.

     "There are no honest mistakes when it comes to Naomi Campbell,“ Nick Fury said gravely. 

     "I forgive her,” Arizona decided.

     "You can’t forgive someone for removing my eyesight!“ Nick yelled.

     "Seems like she just did,” Freja observed.

     "Okay. Fine. I will forgive Naomi if you walk Louis Vuitton,“ Nick said reluctantly. 

    "How about I walk Chanel? We’re low on groceries,” Freja said.

    “No. It’s Louis Vuitton or nothing,” Nick declared.

    “We could walk literally any show we want to,” Arizona accurately pointed out.

    “Valid observation,” Nick Fury said meekly.

     Seeing Nick defeated, as though he had just seen the latest episode of S.H.I.E.L.D. and realized it was a shitpile, Arizona tried to cheer him up by taking his side, “Freja, maybe he’s right. Maybe people need to go back to what made them great? I mean, look at Robert Downey Jr. He was doing all sorts of self destructive things like freebasing, and driving drunk, and sleeping with Sarah Jessica Parker, but then Laurence Fishburne came and turned Robert’s life around. Now RDJ is back doing what he loves the most… well… what he loves the second-most after free basing.”

     "Are you saying you’re going to RDJ me?“ Freja asked.

     "No,” Arizona said, “We’re going to put the Denmarkian queen back on her throne.”

    “'Zona don’t say 'throne’ around Nick. It sounds like you’re saying "thrown” and poor Mr. Fury is one projectile Marc Jacobs case away from being as blind as Daredevil.“

**Writers note*** ALL OF THIS WAS MADE UP (except for the part about Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. sucking). If you liked this piece, please consider buying my full length novel- T/James Reagan’s "Famous For Nothing” here for $4. 

FrejArizona- Tropico Coming Soon

   Arizona opened the door and felt immediate disappointment.

    Lana Del Rey had returned.

    “Hi Lana,” Arizona said begrudgingly.

    “Hello. I, ah, was wondering if Freja was here?” Lana said nervously.

    “She’s busy,” Arizona responded. She had been holding a grudge ever since Lana abducted Freja and forced her to tour America in a classic convertible.

    “Busy doin’ what?” Lana asked in her airy voice.

    “Freja is busy sitting topless in the window, eating fruit,” Arizona said, making it clear that there would not be another kidnapping.

    “That certainly does sound like Freja,” Lana responded with a little giggle.

    After a short beat, Arizona said, “I’ll tell her you stopped by.”

    Lana nodded solemnly, then said, “Before I go, I have a question.”

    “I really should be getting this top off so I can go feed Freja strawberries,” Arizona said, pointing back towards the bedroom.

    “Arizona, have you ever put your heart into something beautiful, then it becomes so perfect that you refuse to share it with the world?” Lana asked.

    The question caught Arizona off guard, but she instantly knew the answer, “Yes. I have,” Arizona said.

    “What did you do about it?” Lana asked.

    “I think… I hid her. Maybe it was wrong, but it was something I had to do, so, I guess… I didn’t care if it was wrong,” Arizona said, averting her eyes to a fixed point, past Lana.

    “You wanted to protect her, right?”

    “No,” Arizona said, moving her head back and forth. “No, that’s not it. I think, in the end, I tarnished that beautiful thing by not sharing it. That’s not protection. That’s… something else.”

    “So you’re telling me I should release Tropico and I’ll feel better?” Lana asked.

    “Hm,” Arizona pondered, “I saw paparazzi pics from the set and you look kinda fat in the so you probably won’t feel better if you release it.”

    Lana nodded at this. It’s hard to be called fat, but it helps when the critique comes from a beautiful bisexual fashion model, and not another fat person. “It takes one to know one,” Lana thought. Arizona isn’t fat. She’s not even Daphne G. in late 2012 “alleged” fat. Arizona is skinny, so fat to her is like sex tape Kim Kardashian instead of most people’s standard of fat- present day Kim Kardasian.

    Despite the critique, Lana pressed on. “Tropico is just everything I wanted and-”

    “-it doesn’t have one of those fucking ten minute interludes where you just say a bunch of shit that sounds like a mix between Native American proverbs, a high school senior’s tumblr text posts, and Haruki Murakami’s retarded cousin’s livejournal does it?”

    Lana became immediately silent, “Of course not,” Lana cooed.

    “How long is Tropico?” Arizona asked.

    “About 40 minutes.”

    “Oh fuck off, you’re telling me that there are no monologues in there?” Arizona said, calling Lana out, unwilling to sit and watch another self indulgent fartfest like the “Ride” video.

    Lana had to think fast. She was already scheduling re-shoots so that she could eliminate the 15 monologues in Tropico.

    “I thought so,” Arizona said, interrupting Lana’s silence.

    “There aren’t any!” Lana squeaked. “No monologues. Promise.”

    “Then what takes up the forty minutes?” Arizona asked, then arched a perfect eyebrow.

    Lana took a deep breath then started listing things, “Albinos. Strippers. Angels. Wizards. Dwarves. Little people who find the term ‘dwarf’ offensive, but are friends with the self-identifying dwarves. Oh, and some of it might take place in the garden of Eden… and South Central LA.”

    “At no time did I feel any of those thing you just listed are justified or necessary for the type of video your music demands,” Arizona said, almost impressed at how off course Lana had gotten.

    “Oh,” Lana responded, then touched her lips to calm herself. She  tried to explain, “When I was writing it-”

    “-Oh no,” Arizona sighed, then rested her head on the door frame.

    Lana continued, “I was girl far away, yet so close. Home was always mutating, the walls changing colors, and the doorway was a kind stranger’s open arms. The camera was my eyes, the script was my lips, the film was my heart. Some of the film was unusable- too full with holes. Pieces were missing. The editing process was me paring everything down and slicing away at my very being until all that was left is Tropico.”

     “Lana you just went into into a pointless monologue about how there are no pointless monologues in Tropico.”

    “I was… getting it out of my system?” Lana said. Arizona stared at her. “Like an engine being suffocated by water I attempted to push out the poison from my iro-”

    “-Lana! Stop it. Stop. Stop. Stop. You’re like Ginsberg if he was interested in press on nails instead of little boys.”

    All of the yelling made Freja leave her post at the window and she walked into the room, holding a plate of strawberries.

   Lana realized that this was a sign she had to go. “You’re right, it’s useless. Tropico is going to stay hidden.”

    “No,” Freja said, and the room went silent.

      Freja let the silence hang, then finally said, “Don’t give up your art. Take it from someone who is constantly revolting against their God given purpose in life, once you start hiding pieces of yourself, you start forgetting where you left them.”

    Arizona and Lana stared at Freja for a long time.

    The grunge girl princess had paused for a moment and wondered what life would have been like if she never gave up her crown.

    “Know what?” Lana responded, “You’re right.”

    “You’re going to release Tropico?” Freja asked.

    Lana pressed her puffy lips together and nodded.

    “When?” Arizona asked.

   “Soon,” Lana said, then Arizona slammed the door in her face.


If you liked this piece please buy my book Famous For Nothing by T/James Reagan.