Page 322 of Vicious Saint
Enter a pissed off Victor Lavell.
“Saint!” he booms. “We spoke about this.”
He spoke about this.
I took the liberty of ignoring it.
The same way I am right now.
Listen, I’m not saying the stepmother is a horrible bitch, she’s not.
And in a world where she doesn’t hate me for being in love with her daughter, I may even say she’s good for my dad.
But shedoeshate that I’m in love with Hendrix.
I’ve got the scowls to prove it.
Therefore I refuse to like his new wife till she falls in line.
Hendrix grips my hand under the table, something she’s able to do since I dragged her chair over five feet to sit at my side, then gives me a grateful, but stern look telling me to chill.
I keep a sharp glare on the mother, who’s got an even sharper one on me, but do what my girl asks for her exhaustion’s sake.
I wouldn’t be me without a little pettiness, though.
With my lip curled into a “fuck you” grin, I lift Hendrix’s knuckles to my lips, kissing them before resting our hands on the table.
“So, sissy, do you know which pieces you’ll be showing Daddy’s friend Mike?” Theory asks Hendrix with a desperate keep it movin’ smile.
“I’ve got some sketches, comical skits,” she responds, unbothered by the pissing match taking place between me and her mom.
“Oh, can I see?”
Hendrix wrinkles her nose. “Close to the chest, sorry.”
Fuck, she isn’t kidding. Not even I’m allowed to see them.
And I’ve seen pretty much all of her artwork by now.
Theory scoffs, faking offense, but doesn’t push the issue.
Probably because she’s aware of the truth bomb spilled on Hendrix last night, and how she’s clearly still recovering from it.
“Well, I have no doubt Mike will be impressed,” my father reassures her.
When Hendrix smiles this time, it’s a lot brighter. “I really hope so…this is my unicorn university.”
“Why on earth would you have any doubt?” Hendrix’s mother pulls her attention from me. “You know how amazing you are.”
“I’m not saying I don’t believe in myself, it’s just…” She casts a wary glance at my dad, who interprets her worries immediately.
“Listen, kiddo,” he says, tone serious. “I promise if things go well at your interview on Saturday, it will have nothing to do with me and everything to do with your level of talent. Mike’s already been told how to base his judgment.”
You’d think my father just handed Hendrix the keys to Bromwell by how much relief washes over her face. “Good because I want to earn my acceptance.”
He holds two hands up in front of him. “Absolutely, kiddo, and I respect you for it.”
“We’ll all be proud of you regardless of the outcome, Hendrix,” her aunt states with certainty.
