Page 36 of Corporate Escapades

When Vic arrived home, Paris was on the couch icing her neck and head.

“I hear you had another accident. This has got to be a record of some kind, don’t you think?” he asked.

“Most definitely. I really hate this job,” she replied. “If it weren’t for my grandfather, I don’t think I’d be able to tolerate it.”

“Maybe you need to be more careful,” replied Vic.

“Maybe you need to keep your mouth shut. You think I don’t already feel crummy enough?” she snapped. “For the life of me, I cannot figure out how I end up in these predicaments.”

“Maybe you just suck at life,” Vic responded angrily.

The conversation escalated until they were both yelling and throwing jabs at one another. The evening concluded when Vic and Paris each marched to their own bedrooms, slamming the doors behind them.

Paris cried herself to sleep. She was miserable, and she wished she could talk to her sister or a friend, but in reality, she had no one. She alienated all of her friends, and there was no one left in her corner. Not even Vic, who was in the same crummy situation as her. She wished she could fall asleep and never wake up.

Vic laid awake most of the night thinking about how he could improve his situation and get Paris out of his home, but there was no viable answer. He was stuck. He couldn’t kick her out. How was he supposed to have an intimate relationship with anyone when Paris was always home? He fell asleep thinking about how he could remedy his intimacy issues.

As the week progressed, Paris had several minor mishaps, but nothing that sent her back to medical. Despite hating the job, she continued to work hard. She rarely worked alongside Vic anymore. Burt realized the two didn’t get along and sent them to different sections of the building to avoid any conflict.

Vic did his job with ease, despite disliking it intensely. His only motivation was to do well so he could move to a better job in the near future. Paris felt a similar motivation but hoped her clumsiness didn’t stand in the way. They were both thankful for the distance between them.

Before they knew it, Friday evening had arrived. The pair waltzed into their apartment, ready to relax. Opening the fridge, Vic grabbed two beers and handed one to Paris as a peace treaty. Trudging into the living room, he flopped down on the couchand she on the loveseat. Neither spoke a word for over an hour. Vic got up once and replaced their empty beers with full ones.

“Are you hungry?” asked Paris.

“Starved. The weekend’s here. Why don’t we order a pizza?”

“Sure, if that’s what you want,” she replied.

“It’s easy, and I don’t feel like going anywhere or cooking. Lord knows you’re a terrible cook,” he said.

“Hey, I resent that,” replied Paris. “I’m not a bad cook. You’re just highly critical.”

“Well, I am a food critic,” he replied matter-of-factly. “I also have a chef's background, so there’s that.”

“Exactly, so how could I possibly live up to your high standards?”

“Come now,” he said, “burnt toast is well below most human standards.”

“That was one time!” she protested.

“Let’s not fight,” he said with a sigh. “It’s time to relax. We’ve had a long week. Let’s order our food and enjoy our beers. Why don’t you pick out a movie while I call and order?”

Two hours later, Vic and Paris were relaxed from the alcohol and contented by their full bellies as the movie came to a close.

Turning off the television, Vic turned toward Paris. “Tell me something,” he requested. “Why do you steal? What’s the purpose behind it?”

“Direct, huh? I don’t know. I guess stealing makes me feel alive. Why do you have such a bad temper and sleep with anything that moves?” she countered.

“I don’t sleep with anything that moves,” he shot back. “I haven’t slept with anyone in over a week.”

“Oh, wow, a week,” replied Paris. “I can’t imagine how you’re able to survive.”

“Funny.”

Shaking her head at him, she asked, “But honestly, why?”

“Probably for the same reasons you steal and previously popped pills.”

---