Vivien: “I see that you are sweating. Are you finally ready to admit that you want me more than anything in the world?”
Marlon: “Nope, that’s not it. Some drunk guy on Bourbon Street threw his beer at me.”
Vivien: “Oh, so that’s the game you’re playing. Making up stories about airborne beverages instead of accepting the fact that you are smitten with my neurotic coyness.”
Marlon: “How are you coming up with that? I just want to change my shirt and go finish my shift at the fish market.”
Vivien: “Fish market? How crude of you to use such an analogy.”
Marlon: “What? Look, I don’t know what’s wrong with you, but I don’t have time for it. I’m gonna hop in the shower and then go somewhere that you are not.” Marlon stomps into the bathroom, slamming the door but not realizing that it doesn’t stay closed because somebody has jacked with the jamb, and then he proceeds to fiddle with the hot water faucet. Steam quickly fills the small room.
Vivien whips out her cellphone and sends a quick text. “Thanks 4 throwing beer. Plan in motion. Sending fee to Paypal account.” Then Vivien smiles.
Categories: Past Imperfect