Falice: Overboard

2

The following day was boiling hot, and FP glanced at Mrs. Cooper lounging on the deck, wearing the smallest thong bikini he ever saw. 

She was on the phone with someone speaking in French, and he caught just enough of her conversation to hear that she was bidding on some artwork--a one million dollar bid, which made him practically lose his lunch at the thought of it. 

He decided to take a short break and pulled his shirt off, grabbing some of the dainty finger sandwiches the butler, Andrew, had left for him. He'd have to eat the whole damn tray to even feel slightly full, but he could care less. He just wanted to get the job done and get the hell out of there.

FP hears the door open, and Alice saunters through. She pauses in front of him for a split second, and he catches her staring at him, but she quickly turns her head and pretends she wasn't.

"Will you be finished soon?" she hisses.

He gazes in her direction, nodding, "Yeah--trust me, I don't wanna be here any longer than you want me here," he says sarcastically.

Alice rolls her eyes, grabbing her sunglasses and walking past him to go back onto the deck. FP notices she has a strawberry shaped birth mark high on her left butt cheek. He's not trying to stare at her, but jeez, when the woman was walking around in a thong it was pretty hard to keep his eyes from wandering. 

*

The next afternoon, he finally finishes her closet. FP couldn't be happier to be finished with the damn thing. 

Hal was on the deck, once again, busy with target practice. Alice was sitting on her chaise, waiting for her nails to dry.

"These gnats keep landing on my wet nail polish. I guess I'm supposed to walk around with their little corpses stuck to my fingers, is that it?!" she rants. 

Hal gives an irritated glance in her direction, "Alice, please--"

"--that's easy for you to say! You don't have to sit out here in the humidity with your hair frizzing into oblivion!"

FP caught the tail end of the conversation and shakes his head. He was glad he wasn't rich. He could never be that shallow.

"Why don't you go inside, muffin?" Hal offers.

Alice sighs in frustration, "Because that hillbilly mountain man is still working on my closet! Sweating all over the place."

FP tosses his hammer into the toolbox in frustration. "Shit, just get the money and leave..." he mutters to himself, just as Alice comes around the corner.

He jumps at seeing her so suddenly, "Oh--I, uh, it's finished."

She scans the closet, her brows knit together tightly, "What is this?"

"Your closet. I even added this," he pauses, to turn the crank that brought a new row of shoes forward, "You save a ton of space and when you want different shoes, all you gotta do is turn this handle--"

"What is it made out of?"

FP folds his arms over his chest and sighs, "Well this, is called wood. People in the biz would refer to it as oak."

She glares at him, "Oak? Why not cedar? Everyone in the civilized world knows that closets are made out of cedar, because it keeps the moths away."

"Okay, well I don't know how big of a moth problem you'd have in the middle of the pacific ocean, but that's--that's fine, I can redo it, but I will tell you that is going to more than double the cost," FP fumes, while trying to maintain his composure. 

"I am not paying for your mistake!" Alice snaps.

FP can hardly believe it. "You may have wanted cedar but you did not ask for cedar. You know what--just pay me the six hundred bucks you owe me and I'll be gone."

"No! The job was not done to my satisfaction!" she rants, exiting the room, and heading back up to the deck, FP hot on her heels, not letting her get away with treating him like this any longer.

"I got news for you lady--no job will ever be done to your satisfaction!" he barks.

Alice plops back down on her chaise, "That's quite enough, just get out!"

FP squats down next to her, steam practically coming out of his ears, "You know what your problem is? Huh? Your so goddamn bored you have to invent things to bitch about. You haven't got a single thing to do on this earth besides your hair. Your closet was fine! You just needed something to take up your useless, empty, nail-polishing, toe-polishing, suntanning, rich bitch days!"

The look on her face is pure shock. FP doubts anyone has ever spoken to her in that way, but he doesn't care one bit.

"GET OUT!" she yells at him, standing up to get away from him.

He follows her, leaning against the side of the yacht, "Hell no! Not until you pay me the goddamn money you owe me!"

In a matter of seconds, he feels two hands push against his shoulders, causing him to loose his balance and plummet down into the icy cold water. 

"Damn you!" he yells, gasping for air. 

She glares at him from above, his tool box in hand, ready to toss it in as well. 

"No--no! Not my tool--"

The box crashes into the water before he can even finish his sentence. His tool belt follows shortly after. 

"I'LL GET YOU FOR THIS!" FP shouts as the yacht slowly gets further and further away. 

"My life is not empty! Everyone wants to be me!" Alice huffs, swiftly turning around, her heels clicking against the deck as she goes. 

When she reaches the mini bar, she's surprised that tears are stinging in her eyes. Why did she care what some sweaty carpenter thought of her anyway?