Chapter Eight New

"Caviar and cigarettes, well versed in etiquette." Queen.
I was packing my suitcase the night before our flight, with James pretending to help. He was really just sitting on my mattress, his limbs splayed, playing with his new tech-y phone. I was throwing things into my suitcase haphazardly.
“Your wardrobe looks like costumes from Showgirls and Hairspray, the original, not the Disney version.” He remarked. “And your room looks like a bordello.”
He was kind of right, I had to admit. My bed was covered in a baroque black and white bedspread and scarves covered all my lamps, dimming the lighting. Clothes were scattered everywhere, thigh highs and shoes tangled on the floor.
“I have lots of sexy time.” I responded.
“Gross.” He didn’t look up from the screen.
“Pass me that thing next to your left foot.”
“It’s horrible that I even know what you mean by that. I need new friends.”
“You love us.”
“This is true. God knows why though. Marie threw food at my face today. Terrible manners from a former debutante in the social register.”
“Don’t let her hear you say that.”
“I would probably get a salad fork delicately shoved in my eye.”
“Strangled by her grandma’s pearls.” I laughed.
“Impaled by a designer stiletto.”
“Please, debs wear demure heel heights; stilettos are trashy, just like a vodka martini.”
“Jane, it’s like 80 degrees in LA, is a fur coat necessary?”
“Is any of my clothing necessary?”
“It is unless you want to register as a sex offender.”
“Shush. I mean, a sequined vintage bustier, when did I get this much extraneous shiny clothes?”
“I think Viv was involved in that purchase.”
“The point goes to you, my friend. You’re right. Viv loves shiny shit.”
“I’m going to go to bed, but have a safe flight and don’t forget to take pictures of everything for my blog.”
“You should really get Viv to do that.”
“I actually want it done, Jane.”
“Right.”