"Christ, my head hurts. . ." Seth pulled himself up off of the kitchen floor and scanned the collection of alcohol bottles he'd been working on emptying to keep his mind off of who was in the house with him. Guess what? That didn't work either. . .
"Fuck, Seth!" She shrieked as she walked into the kitchen in a silk bathrobe with oriental designs on it. Although it was pulled tight, it seemed to be all she was wearing. "Did you pass out down here? Aren't you good for anything?" She walked over to the fridge, looking for something non alcoholic to drink.
"Yeah, I'm good for robbing banks, I'm good for shooting people that get in my fucking way, and I'm good at stealing cars and making my "great escape" in them." He pulled himself into a chair with great effort and after many attempts. There's also one or two other things I'm pretty good at, if you even remember after all that prison time. Drunk as he was, he wasn't drunk enough to say that one out loud. Yet.
Vivian poured herself a glass of what was left of the orange juice and set a glass of water in front of Seth. "Sober up. We have to be in New York tonight."
"Fuck, Viv, I hate New York. You know that." He sniffed at the water, only then realizing it wasn't Vodka. Barf.
"Well, you're just gonna have to get over that, aren't you? This isn't about our likes and dislikes anymore. Now, this isn't a rental house, is it?"
Seth put the glass down. "So you know."
"It wasn't hard to figure out, Seth, you're clothes are in the dresser and closet. What few pictures of you have are scattered all over. Plus, they have this invention called television now. We even get to watch it in prison. I know Richie's dead."
Seth drank the water and tried to get rid of his cottonmouth. "I bought the place a couple years back under a false business we set up for our holdings. Thought it'd be good to have a hidey hole for when things go bad again. Neighborhood's quiet. People don't ask questions or bother you. Plus, it's close to the highway. Can bolt out of state pretty quick if I have to."
"And you hooked up with a stripper."
You were the one who filed for divorce, he thought. "Feature dancer."
"How's that?"
"Feature dancer. They take dance classes. Create elaborate shows. Travel around the country. . ."
"But they take off their clothes for money?"
". . .yeah. . ."
"Stripper." Vivian took her victories where she could when she was feeling vindictive. "Plus, she left a bunch of her costumes here. Where is she, if I might ask?" She was sitting at the table now, drinking her oj with both hands to hide her smirk.
"Went back home to St. Louis. Got a job tending bar somewhere. That's all I know. Why do you care?" He finished the water and went back to the fridge to refill it.
"Just asking." She said, as she heard a text come in on her phone in the other room. Getting up, she continued, "Clean yourself up, Seth, we really have to get ready for our flight." She walked into the bedroom thinking: If he thinks I'm wearing that french maid costume, he's nuts.
Seth's only thoughts were Damn, she'd look good in that maid costume, quickly followed by Damn, I hate New York.
