making a bigger mistake.
Arrested Development.
Michael. Maeby. Old movies and last minute costumes.
Yeah, yeah; no need to tell me how depraved I am. I already know, my friends. I already know.
She smells nice - a light, flowery perfume with a hint of oranges, he thinks - and it's a soothing, comforting scent. Similar to what Tracy used to wear. Maybe that's what's drawing him to her in the first place. Nevermind that he's not even sure what her name is. Something that starts with an E.
Michael takes another sip of his drink before something registers in his brain. Tracy didn't wear perfume like that. Hers was more muted, musky - the one she favored most often was called 'Beachcomber.' George, Sr. had a different name for it. Something along the lines of 'Gold-Digging Drop-Out Whore Trying To Steal the Family Fortune and Turn Mikey Against Us.'
It didn't have quite the same ring to it that 'Beachcomber' did.
He furrows his brow, hazily trying to sort through his memories, to figure out exactly where he knows this fragrance from. The woman - Elizabeth? Emily? - is laughing, touching his arm, indicating she wants him to buy her another drink.
The instant he realizes just who her perfume reminds him of, he throws a twenty on the counter and storms out of the bar.
By the time he reaches the model home, what little that remained of his buzz is completely gone, thanks to both the long walk and the surprisingly cool night air. Maeby's alone in the living room when he walks in, eating peanut butter out of the jar and watching an old vampire movie on television.
"I can't believe this garbage even made it to pre-production," she's muttering to herself, licking her spoon viciously and frowning. He drapes his suit jacket over his arm and quietly shuts the door behind him before she even realizes he's there.
"Oh, hi." She twists back around, turning her attention back to the movie.
"Hi, Maeby." He glances around, scratching the side of his neck. Stalling. "Where is everybody?"
"My mom went to a party down at some singles bar, and I'm pretty sure my dad followed her. So, no worries there if you're trying to avoid them."
He nods, not needing to ask where George-Michael went. His son still had enough pity left in him to be dragged along to ridiculous causes he had no interest in, and Egg still had enough Christian left in her to start a picket against trick-or-treating. Maybe she thought Halloween was beginning to overshadow Easter.
He's ready to climb the stairs, collapse into his bed, and call it a night when he notices Maeby still watching him. She waits for a moment, biting her lip, before she speaks.
"Hey. Apparently there's some stupid karaoke contest down at the boardwalk tonight. It's couple's night, or something. You wear--" insert air quotes here "--spooky costumes and, uh. Get free drinks." He stares at her, and she quickly adds, "Of soda!"
She pauses.
"First prize is a brand-new Miata convertible. A red one, I think." She smiles at him, standing and smoothing the wrinkles from her blouse before he even says yes.
He begins searching his pockets for the keys to the staircar, catching a faint whiff of oranges and jasmine as she passes him to find a jacket and something else to throw together for a last minute costume.
He's making a huge mistake.
Michael. Maeby. Old movies and last minute costumes.
Yeah, yeah; no need to tell me how depraved I am. I already know, my friends. I already know.
She smells nice - a light, flowery perfume with a hint of oranges, he thinks - and it's a soothing, comforting scent. Similar to what Tracy used to wear. Maybe that's what's drawing him to her in the first place. Nevermind that he's not even sure what her name is. Something that starts with an E.
Michael takes another sip of his drink before something registers in his brain. Tracy didn't wear perfume like that. Hers was more muted, musky - the one she favored most often was called 'Beachcomber.' George, Sr. had a different name for it. Something along the lines of 'Gold-Digging Drop-Out Whore Trying To Steal the Family Fortune and Turn Mikey Against Us.'
It didn't have quite the same ring to it that 'Beachcomber' did.
He furrows his brow, hazily trying to sort through his memories, to figure out exactly where he knows this fragrance from. The woman - Elizabeth? Emily? - is laughing, touching his arm, indicating she wants him to buy her another drink.
The instant he realizes just who her perfume reminds him of, he throws a twenty on the counter and storms out of the bar.
By the time he reaches the model home, what little that remained of his buzz is completely gone, thanks to both the long walk and the surprisingly cool night air. Maeby's alone in the living room when he walks in, eating peanut butter out of the jar and watching an old vampire movie on television.
"I can't believe this garbage even made it to pre-production," she's muttering to herself, licking her spoon viciously and frowning. He drapes his suit jacket over his arm and quietly shuts the door behind him before she even realizes he's there.
"Oh, hi." She twists back around, turning her attention back to the movie.
"Hi, Maeby." He glances around, scratching the side of his neck. Stalling. "Where is everybody?"
"My mom went to a party down at some singles bar, and I'm pretty sure my dad followed her. So, no worries there if you're trying to avoid them."
He nods, not needing to ask where George-Michael went. His son still had enough pity left in him to be dragged along to ridiculous causes he had no interest in, and Egg still had enough Christian left in her to start a picket against trick-or-treating. Maybe she thought Halloween was beginning to overshadow Easter.
He's ready to climb the stairs, collapse into his bed, and call it a night when he notices Maeby still watching him. She waits for a moment, biting her lip, before she speaks.
"Hey. Apparently there's some stupid karaoke contest down at the boardwalk tonight. It's couple's night, or something. You wear--" insert air quotes here "--spooky costumes and, uh. Get free drinks." He stares at her, and she quickly adds, "Of soda!"
She pauses.
"First prize is a brand-new Miata convertible. A red one, I think." She smiles at him, standing and smoothing the wrinkles from her blouse before he even says yes.
He begins searching his pockets for the keys to the staircar, catching a faint whiff of oranges and jasmine as she passes him to find a jacket and something else to throw together for a last minute costume.
He's making a huge mistake.