Kia Ford: The Hammer Girl's English Premiere Production

Reality started to settle in; Kia Ford was back in a foreign country with no goals and minimum reward points to afford basement dweller loitering during cold months.

“Peacock,” she shouted from the downstairs storage area, “what are we doing here?”

“Earning a proper placement and cash in on perfect paramount mountain climbing getaways,” the colorful promotional fowl pitched, “next year.”

“Peacock,” Kia Ford repeated finding a brown box, “we have work pending.”

Slowly opening the package, a golden goal emerged, “wow!” Kia Ford exclaimed inspecting the contents.

“Peacock,”

“What!”

“I have a goal,”

“Good,” the Peacock retorted, “Chelsea showed up, ready for some blues playing.”

Reaching the stair summit, which in the future the Peacock may use all his Cliffhanger props to ascend, Kia Ford mumbled under her breath, “I bet Chelsea has a goal,”

“She does,” the Peacock answered, “and you both are level.”

Walking slowly down the hallway, Kia Ford passed the Peacock, working diligently, fixing the bubble machine, “is that GP part working, yet?”

“Like magic,” the Peacock came out from behind the contraption, “and look you got a goal.”

Suddenly, the machine died out, “what happened?” Kia Ford stood, arms folded.

“You were offsides,” Chelsea stood there and disputed the call modeling a stunning black luring funeral ensemble outfit.

“What the Krug? What do you mean offsides?”

“No, goal,” Chelsea clarified, before performing microphone kissing, belting out another couple of selections, “would love to end the half with a duet by Neto Fernandez.”

“What about Pedro’s melody?” The Peacock requested.

“That was my first goal,” Chelsea noted, “didn’t you hear it? I can play it again?”

“Not really,” Kia Ford could feel the furnace hinting downstairs.

When Chelsea completed the scores from Neto and Fernandez, breaktime occurred, “Peacock, let’s get things straight, offsides is overrated, so I should have two goals.”

“But you only have one,” the Peacock truthfully reported.

Taking a step back Kia Ford surmised, “I have one goal and that was today, Chelsea on the other hand,”

“She is prepared for real paramount mountain climbing,”

“Peacock,” Kia Ford kept calm, “Chelsea has three.”

Returning to being audience members, the pair planted themselves comfortably, enjoying couch reserved seating. Chelsea sung two numbers with enthusiastic scores, “Caicedo and Chalabah” and honoring the choices, Peacock did the cha cha.

“I hope you are having fun Peacock,” Kia Ford showed her displeasure, “I do not know if I have any English Premiere table significance.”

Accepting Peacock loving flowers, Chelsea departed, humming taps.

All night Kia Ford tossed and turned, not knowing which direction she was headed. Upon waking the all-American star-spangled banner grabbed her cell phone and dialed Boyle Sports.

“We need to talk,” Kia Ford hesitated, “can you come over?”

Later that morning Boyle Sports arrived, welcoming the Peacock greet, “well Kia Ford glad to see you back from headlining in the states.”

“I am in big trouble,” Kia Ford sat in the kitchen clutching the coffee cup.

“Your flat has been prepaid for the whole season,” Boyle Sports reminded.

“I only had one goal all season and no points to show for it,”

“My suggestion,” Boyle Sports advised, “take a walk through the tricky tree forest, you may find a goal there, then climb out of relegation.”

“You think so?”

“I am sure,” Boyle Sports stated only to be interrupted by the Peacock carrying ropes, harnesses and helmets. “Peacock those accessories won’t be necessary, she needs hiking boots and bug spray for this scene.”