(Untitled)

[wishboned]

Who: Perry Holiday (THE GENIE OF THE LAMP) & Isabelle Prescott (THE SNAKE)
What: Pulling pigtails in a playground of the rich and famous. Because really, what else are an ex-wife's friends for?
Where: Swanky Manhattan bar
When: Thursday evening
Rating: TBA, but Perry.

Comments

[wishboned]

"Uh-huh," he said, "Yes I see. Bartender? Yes, hi. I'd like another one of these," Perry rotated his beverage, "And the lady would really, really like a... martini. Dry martini." The last part was added quickly, with a point of his finger, like it was a detail he'd forgotten. That wasn't quite the case. It has a detail he couldn't fetch, yet it was hidden in the crevices of her mind, not his. He wasn't above using his power of desire discernment in the service of getting at women like Isabelle. He drove her to drink, and nothing made him happier than ordering that drink for her; he wrinkled his nose almost cutely as he added it. He finished his glass with a tilt of the wrist and set it on the bar. Then he straightened his tie.

"Sorry, you were talking. Puppies? Cars, I think? I caught the cars. But, you know, listening comprehension for lushes like myself, it's a little..." he waved his hand vaguely, indicating messiness or muddle. Instead of lowering it he swiveled the bar stool behind him, not quite sitting upon it. "You have to say it all a few times before it sinks in. 'Cause all I picked up was... difficulty appreciating."

[aesopserpent]

Isabelle was not sure what was more irritating - the fact that Perry was taking the liberty of ordering another drink for her, or just his general smug arrogance. Either way, even if a dry martini had been exactly what she wanted at that moment, there was no way she was going to let the order stand and she had to contradict him. "Make that a dirty martini. Chopin vodka, please," she quickly instructed the bartender with a disdainful glance in Perry's direction to emphasize the fact that she did not appreciate his presumption.

"For the record? Trying to play dumb really works much better when it's not already your natural state," she sneered. There were very few things that annoyed her more than being ignored or dismissed and damn if Perry didn't know how to push her buttons. And while she was attempting to maintain nonchalance, the way her shoulders were tensing and the fact that her posture was even more stiff than usual was hardly unnoticeable. When the bartender set their drinks down on the bar, Isabelle immediately picked hers up and took an overly large gulp.

[wishboned]

His absently pondered question--whether he would've preferred her amending the drink order (and getting one she didn't want as much), or her accepting it and enjoying the beverage--found an answer as she piped up to modify his instructions. He would've liked it better if she'd let his one slide. Though he should have expected her input, it somehow rankled him. Women, Perry thought: give them what they really want, and they won't really want it. No mystery why she and Reagan were so close.

"Now that's no way to treat your target demographic," he clucked as he settled upon the bar stool and accepted his own drink. Mid-thirties, self-indulgent, wrapped in thick layers of expendable income; focus groups hyperventilated over men like Perry, and he knew it, and it wasn't something to be proud of but he enjoyed it. He enjoyed her tightened shoulders and the sour bite to his present beverage. Swiveling the chair so he faced the room at large, he took a sip. "So how are you. Really. What's new in the life of Isabelle Prescott, ad director extraordinaire." One hand palm scrolled through the air between them, a grand invisible marquee, like he was putting her name in lights.

[aesopserpent]

"Oh sweetheart, the only things you're my target demographic for are erectile disfunction drugs," she replied, her voice positively dripping with condescension as she cast a meaningful glance towards his groin. Even if they both knew that was completely untrue, the obvious barb was just too hard to resist. "Although if I ever land an account for Rogaine, I'll be certain to invite you to the focus group."

But she really was not sure what to make of his apparent interest in conversation beyond their standard exchange of insults and quips. She assumed he was digging for information he could use against her at some point. Of course that was her standard assumption when it came to personal questions from anyone who was not a friend. She raised an eyebrow and took another sip of her drink before mustering up a mild degree of politeness to answer. "I'm quite well, thank you. Just as usual, convincing people to buy products they don't need. And you? Aren't you on the wrong coast?"

[wishboned]

He had to snicker at that, because the woman had a point--lots of points, actually, she was as sharp as a medieval torture device and even more polished. Still, Perry was tapped, but not wounded. There were a lot of accusations people could make about the way Perry had aged--even a battery of a workout regimen hadn't kept everything as tight as his clients, he just didn't have the genes for it--but there were also things that were in good working order. He followed her gaze downward, shameless and quizzical, and looked up with a raised eyebrow, but was too amused with the below-the-belt attention to spend words on it.

A light laugh--his job was convincing people to cast actors they shouldn't necessarily, they were both the agents of something. "There's no such thing as a wrong coast, just colder ones," he drawled. "But, you know, I thought a change of scenery would be nice." In tone, thoughtful nod, and narrow sip of alcohol, everything in this act said, My younger girlfriend left me, and I already had a killer car. There was no mistaking it.

[aesopserpent]

Oh good god, did that mean he was here to stay was the first thought that popped into Isabelle's mind at Perry's comment, but she forced herself not to dwell on it. Even if he had discovered one of her favorite bars for a quick drink after work, she rationalized that he would soon find the newest trendy club and leave her and her bar in peace. And in the meantime? Well having someone around to take out her frustrations on might not be an entirely bad thing.

Isabelle was nothing if not observant - her job demanded it, after all - and she easily picked up on the tone of dissatisfaction in Perry's voice. With someone who was normally so confident and cool, it was impossible to miss. And how could she not strike at it? "Ahh, the inevitable mid-life crisis," she replied with a slight smirk on her lips. "And here I thought, impotence aside, that you were still a bit young for that. Don't worry dear, I'm certain there are plenty of hot, young things in Manhattan who will be happy to look past your faults, provided you throw enough money at them."

[wishboned]

The quality of his scoff suggested that Isabelle was not only mistaken, it reflected poorly on her own judgment that she could be so confused. He was on this coast for Leisure, that pursuit of the gods, and maybe for his career, and to get a change of scenery. Nothing more, Perry's scoff suggested. But he took a longer drink than he might have otherwise, until he could snicker at the comment about pretty young things.

"You're probably right," he nodded, like this was a genuine and comforting consolation, and it was generous of her to offer it to him. The appreciation was only feigned. Perry did like the hot young things who periodically crossed his field of vision, but that whole scene just wasn't as satisfying as it used to be. They were uniformly hair-straightened and short-skirted and there wasn't much spark. Still, he wasn't hankering to settle down, and nothing about a real relationship appealed to him so soon after his last. So he smirked. "God bless a free market economy, eh Prescott?"

[aesopserpent]

Isabelle did not appreciate being scoffed at. Or false appreciation, even if both were tactics that she frequently resorted to herself. But she was quite well aware of and perfectly comfortable with her own hypocrisy. That still left the question of just what the real reason behind Perry's cross-country move was, a matter she pondered to herself as she drained her second drink and set the glass on the bar, signalling to the bartender for another. While she could handle her alcohol fairly well, martinis at this pace definitely fell into the "bad plan" category. If only she could be bothered to care at the moment.

"Something along those lines," she replied sarcastically with another roll of her eyes. A memory of one of his recent entries in the compendiums came to her mind, all laid out like a photograph and she tilted her head curiously. "So just hoping that the Wednesdays are better in New York then?" she asked lightly. She normally considered herself above prying into the personal matters of others, but frankly Perry tended to inspire all manner of out-of-sorts behavior in her.