Sidekicks Unite

by Betsy Fast

As sidekick to one of the busiest superheroes in the business, my spare time is limited. Sure, Paul the Intern and I hang out outside the Studio Apartment of Justice every once in a while, and I've got my other NYC friends; I just mean that I don't have all that much time to travel (by foot, BG, by foot).

Good thing I've got friends in cool places. This past week, I traveled (vicariously) to Wilmington, NC with my dear friend Abby (an old acting class bud), on a mission to see my other favorite sidekick, Pacey of Dawson's Creek. (As Dawson's is filmed in Wilmington, I realized that this was my big chance to hurl my feminine wiles at the Pacenator...)

I will have you all know that I am by no means starstruck. Pacey and I actually have a lot in common. We're both adorable, thoughtful, and can usually be found by the sides of our charming and attractive other halves (in Pacey's case, Dawson; in mine, good ol' BG). Also, I would never had thought of trekking down to Wilmington last season when Andie was in the picture (BG's "No Poaching" rule, yadda yadda), but this season, and last week to be more specific, was my big chance. I reminded dear friend Abby that Pacey (Joshua Jackson) had turned 21 last June (11, but who's counting? Certainly not I) and told her to select a spot for our rendezvous accordingly.

Abby suggested the Rhinoceros Club in the Historic District. I, or rather my spirit (as I was busy packing BG's hockey bag), could hobnob with Pacey while Abby could meet and mingle with other fine, young Wilmingtonites. Perfect.

My vision blurred by the bag-borne haze of sweat and patchouli, I asked Abby to set the stage.

"Oh, Bets," said Abby. "You've never seen anything quite like this place."

I looked around the Studio Apartment of Justice. (Now, BG has VERY good taste, but I could still sense that Abby was right.)

"Tell me about it," I said, reaching for BG's helmet.

"It's like a movie set, Bets! Very swank. Very Out Of Africa. The booths are mahogany; there are these enormous mirrors everywhere, and they have palm leaf fans like you would picture in Casablanca! It's very sexy."

I remembered why I was friends with Abby.

"You'd be quite pleased with the clientele, too, Bets," Abby continued. "Seems very artsy. I mean, there's a bookshelf to my right with beautifully bound books of poetry, and..."

"What kind of poetry?" I interrupted.

"Oh, I don't know. Probably Emerson," she continued.

I rolled my eyes. "Anyway, on Thursday nights, they open the floor to local directors to show off their work. And they have poetry readings, too..." Not Emerson, I hoped. "There's a really nice mix of people here too, Bets, though I do seem to detect a few wannabe theater-types to my left."

"Berets?" I shuddered.

"No, but close," Abby said.

Abby ordered us two glasses of wine, and we waited. (Could it have been more perfect that she picked a spot with great mirrors? She could see Pacey walk in from any angle.)

She drank her glass of wine. We waited. She drank mine. We waited some more.

No Pacey.

Then, I heard something. Pacey? Was Dawson's mother back in town?

"Eeuw, Bets! Spit out my mouthguard!" said BG as she came in the front door.

Whoops. I really had myself convinced for a second that I was reading Browning while sipping a glass of Cabernet at the Rhinoceros Club. Instead, I was knee-deep in hockey gear sucking on my boss' mouthguard. Gross.

"Yikes! Sorry, BG," I replied, mouth now empty.

It was getting late. BG and I had a big day tomorrow. I -- or, rather, Abby -- could wait for Pacey no longer. I sadly gave Abby permission to leave the bar.

She thanked me but declined as she, having taken advantage of those good-for-scoping mirrors, was having too much fun to leave.

"It's not Pacey, is it?" I whimpered.

"Of course not, silly," assured Abby. "I know BG's rule, No Poaching."

I fell asleep on the floor of the Studio Apartment of Justice while Abby probably stayed up late reading bad poetry with Dawson. Alas. Maybe BG'll fly me over to Wilmington on my next day off...

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