It was like watching a tennis match, only with talking heads instead of flying racquets. The histrionics were the same, of course, although Anthony was pretty sure that if he suggested such a thing to either Seth or Clay, their advanced state of heebie-jeebies would result in his head being neatly severed and presented to him on a plate. With a sprig of parsley in his mouth for garnish. Not just any parsley, mind. Belgian Endive, maybe, with the leaves attractively curled and sprayed with the zest of a lemon.
Nerves like theirs were spelled B-A-D N-E-W-S. Something had to be done. Stat.
In the meantime, though, it would do no harm to enjoy the car ride and watch the show taking place in the front seat of Clay's questionable Toyota. Anthony picked critically at the nubbly upholstery of the back seat, a fabric that he'd have thought more appropriate to a great-uncle's favorite recliner than a quote-unquote "sedan". Tartan plaid, too. Scary. Probably the Killyerdriver clan. Low roof--Anthony only aspired to five-foot-seven and the crest of his wavy blond noggin had perhaps a comfortable inch or so to spare before meeting an unfortunate maroon felt.
Seth and Clay, both standing tall and proud at six-one and six-even, respectively, had to crouch over in a blue-haired old lady style. Watching them try to bitch while crouched in on themselves reminded Anthony of two grouchy snapping turtles taking bites.
Trouble in Paradise? Oh, yes, indeedy.
Anthony wished he had popcorn.
"No. No way on the green and growing earth." Clay took what should have been a gentle left against oncoming traffic and twisted it into a hairpin turn complete with squealing tires. Anthony squinted out the window to see if Clay had left skid marks.
Oblivious to Seth's white knuckles on the Jesus handle, Clay ranted on. "What are you thinking, Seth? The woman tried to exorcize me in my sleep a few years back."
"She did not," Seth grouched. He wasn't looking at Clay. His strong chin pointed due east and his teeth were gritted in between words. "That's so like you, Clay. Always playing the drama queen."
"Excuse me?" Clay hammered on the horn. Anthony winced. The noise Clay's Toyota produced sounded like a squashed flugelhorn. "Tell me how I can over-dramatize waking up at midnight after having a glass of holy water flung in my face, and while I was sputtering like a dying fish, looking up to see a blue plastic crucifix dangling two inches from my nose? And then there's dear old Nonie Sadie--Sadistic, if you ask me--mangling Latin and exhorting the angels to bear witness." Clay carried off his huff with both style and élan. Anthony had to admire the magnificence of the man's self-righteous snit. "And that was before I 'corrupted' you. Why would you even think she'd come?"
Seth's glare could have sliced obsidian. "She was nice to me when I was a kid."
"Yeah, well, now that you're all grown up and a practicing sodomite, I think you'll find she's changed her ways."
"Fine. She's off the list. Happy?" The offer would have looked conciliatory on paper. However, in real life Anthony knew the signs. That tone of voice coupled with Seth's flexing fists said that not only was Clay not getting any that night, but that he wouldn't even be allowed the luxury of sleeping on a couch.
Anthony mentally assessed his stock of sheets and towels and minutes remaining on his cell phone for Clay to eat crow with when he came to his senses and decided he had enough for one night. Clay usually didn't take much longer than that when it came to pulling his head out of his ass.
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