Original Airdate: Tuesday, June 23rd, 2009
Starring: "Miranda", "Dave", "Mark"
Notes: Miranda goes shopping with Dave and finds more than underwear; Mark is delusional about his past with his ex-wife.
EXT — VICTORIA'S SECRET — DAY
Remember when Miranda said she was going to go shopping?
Welcome to Victoria's Secret.
"…You really don't have to follow me in here…" Miranda looks skeptically over her shoulder as she pushes her way into the famous lingerie store off the street. The never-ending Slusho, Ultra Ultra Super-sized to the Max, is still clutched in her hand; by this point, it's nothing blue sugar water that may or may not be radioactive. The pigtailed thirty-almost-fortysomething sips through the oversized red straw as she holds the door open.
Yes. Welcome to Victoria's Secret.
Dave? Dave is high. He smoked one on the way over, and come to find when they were going to go into THIS shop, oh boy was he on board. Stroll around Victoria's Secret with Miranda blazed? Ooooh yeah. He's got his own Slusho in hand, which he casually drinks from as he strolls into the shop. "Besides, you need an outside opinion. What better opinion that that of a guy's?"
Miranda takes her time wandering into the store. The sheer scale and variety of lingerie displays is overwhelming to the lady senses. "I think I've got it under control," she distractedly answers Dave around the straw of her drink. Her eyes are on the merchandize. Squinting faintly into the depths of Victoria's Secret, she starts to make a beeline to a rack of short chiffon nightgowns that look mysteriously a lot like the dress she's wearing right this second.
"If you say so, but when you ask me about something I'm gonna say I told you so," Dave says, taking another sip of his Slusho. As Miranda makes a beeline towards some weird nightgown looking stuff (i.e., the lame stuff), Dave takes a random left turn, heading off to some deeper part of the store.
Hark. Who goes there? It's kind of hard to tell, considering that the door to the fitting room has been closed. Unfortunately, though, it isn't as locked as it should be. Because the slamming around that's coming from the other side of that door is loosening the hastily slid lock out of place with each passing moment. Until, well, suddenly the door swings open and out falls the overly busty, scantily clad, sales woman with legs that are made for more than walking… and Mark. And we all know that Mark Israel Long.
Get it?
Anyway! The unceremoniously found out non-couple are in the middle of getting it on when they realize they are no longer in the fitting room. Mark looks up from his very compromising position on top of Haley Jade (she has a name?! Wow!) and doesn't really seem to be too worried about what's going on. At least he still has his shirt on. The tie is off somewhere else. (Don't ask.)
"Uh." A glance around at the eyes on him. "Shit."
Miranda opens her mouth to say something to Dave, but, as happens often with speaking to Dave, she finds herself lacking words. Instead, she just stares after him for a moment and shakes her head, actually chuckling under her breath while she tugs at a little white nightie. Casually browsing, she starts to wander along— every so often glancing around as she hears the noises. Curiosity, plus the fact that there's some damn nice push-up bras near the noisy fitting rooms, draws her in that direction.
Mark's ex-wife happens to own some of the eyes who are on him and … his friend. On the one hand, she could hide. Bastard. On the other hand, she could mock. Guess which one wins? She she ambles closer so that her legs are at Mark's face-level. "Classy. I should get you arrested for public indecency."
"Randi, Randi," Dave says suddenly from somewhere off to the left, popping into view. "Check it out— I'm a slut." He's wearing a short kimono that is clearly made of silk, and considering it has extra room in it (for whatever reason), he's managed to slip it over himself. So, to sum up: he's wear sandals, khaki shorts, a green t-shirt, a pair of sunglasses pushed up on his forehead, and a sexy lingerie kimono. That's about when he spots Mark, and he stares at him for a long time, before looking up at Miranda. "… isn't that your ex-husband? Now that's the kind of service I'm talking about."
Standing so close to Mark with a short dress on? Not a good idea. Because he's immediately turning his head to look up and he smirks. "Miranda. You missed a spot." And that's what he has for a retort, as he's quite content with it and he plants his hands on the ample breasts of his current partner, to push himself up to his feet. He doesn't even assist her in getting up, as he's focused on straightening out his clothes. "Haley? This is the bane of my existence, Miranda. Miranda, this is Haley 'More Woman Than You' Jade." Grinning at his own running commentary of mockery, he studies Miranda's expression to make sure she's getting ticked off. At least a little. "Here to spend some more of my money?" And that's when Mark's eyes follow the sound of a male voice calling his ex-wife's nickname. He looks at Dave… what he's wearing… and then just breaks out into another grin. "Oh, this is priceless. What's wrong with your new boyfriend? He a little…" He makes that 'funny' motion with his hand. "…confused? Can't blame him, though. I mean…" And then he's making the 'flat as a board' universal gesture.
Haley Jade adjusts her Weapons of Mass Destruction and giggles.
Miranda entertains the notion of kicking Mark, but she's wearing flip-flops. Fuck. Instead, she takes a step back and tugs the hem of her dress down, stretching the fabric tightly against her thighs in defense, not that there's any point. With a cynical smirk on her lips and a rather dead glare, she rolls her eyes at Mark and "Haley" before chancing a glance at Dave (the slut). "…Oh, fuck, Dave. For the love of Christ. Don't spill anything on that." One thing at a time. She turns to Mark's giggling retail whore and leans in, lifting a hand (and Slusho cup) to her mouth for an over-the-top conspiratorial whisper. "I wouldn't waste any time going to the doctor, honey." She gestures at Mark's Long and grimaces. "You know. Highly contagious. Trust me. I'd know."
Pulling the kimono off of himself and tossing it onto a nearby rack (he doesn't like the color), Dave looks down at Mark. "Hey, now," he says, glancing over at Miranda, "she's not my girlfriend. And really? They're not THAT bad. And besides, who the hell are you to say? Banging some blowup doll with fake tits in the dressing room of a Victoria's Secret who goes by the name of Haley Jade? Sounds like a stage name. Manly. Real manly." Rolling his eyes, he takes a sip of Slusho and turns to Miranda. "I'm going over to that section— I think I saw one of those chicks with the wings, and boy, they are /HOT./" With that, he moseys on his way to find Lady With Wings, but he's probably still sticking close.
"That was… pointless. You could do so much better, Miranda. I hear the pool boy's voice finally changed. You still have his number, don't you?" Mark is glaring off in the direction that Dave went, but his focal point is Miranda. Dusting himself off, he turns to Haley Jade and sends her off to clean up the fitting room and get back to work, while he takes care of business. Family Business. Crossing his arms, he stands his ground, not really worried about whatever's going to come out of Randi's mouth next, since he's about to fire off with his own witty retort. "Still can't get enough of me, huh? I'd be willing to give you another chance if you let me buy you some tits for our New Honeymoon. I can get them real cheap. Kinda' like I got you." Snap.
Did Dave just defend her and her boobs? It happens again, that moment where Miranda tries to reply and is left with nothing, staring after her very stoned, well-meaning, and easily distracted friend with wide-eyed perplexity. She'll thank him later. Now, she folds her arms with a slosh from her Slusho cup and proceeds to look completely and utterly unimpressed by her ex-husband. "I've had my fill, thanks, but I see you can't get enough of the bimbos. Apparently nothing's changed," she says drably. "Now, can I shop in peace or are you going to stalk me through the bras?"
"You can do whatever you want to do, Miranda. I stopped caring around the same time you tried to extort money from me." Mark's tone is a bit more bitter than usual, which probably means something else that doesn't really need to get talked about in this moment. Not right now, anyway. Not in public. "Just, if you're going to be taking food out of my kids' mouths to try and buy yourself something to make you look like a Penis Guy Trap, maybe you shouldn't bring along some random bum you met on the street? That's frowned upon here in civilized society."
"If you call supporting your children extorting money," Miranda counters a touch hotly. "I have a job, you know, I can afford to buy underwear. And Dave isn't a— " The woman looks in the direction Dave wandered off in search of Victoria's Secret angels. " —well, he… he is kind of a bum, but he's my friend." Taking a sip from her diminished drink, she turns around and pretends to be interested in some frilly underwear on a table. "Look at you, talking about civilized society like you know what that is."
"A friend? A friend that comes to Victoria's Secret to try on the underwear? God, I hope you haven't let him into your house." Mark's eyes are rolling, even as he kind of looks off in the direction that Dave went to chase down those foolish girls in wings. If they were even really wearing wings. "I know more than you know. How do you think we got to where we were? It wasn't because of your ability to pop your legs open at the snap of a finger." And he, to prove his point, snaps his fingers at her! Annoyed!
Miranda is suddenly thankful that her back is turned, because she can't quite hide the cringe and the increasing desire to slink down at a few of Mark's barbs. Not the latter, 'cause, well, that one was actually kind of true (at least back in the day). Of all things, it's Mark's comment about Dave that she'd rather not reply to. She picks up a pair of underwear, eyes it distractedly, refolds it and puts it back down. "Do you have a point, or…are you just. Going to make me guess."
Mark is not trying to cause a scene, but he's Mark. Scenes just kind of happen. He takes a step to get closer to Miranda and reaches out to grab at her arm and spin her around. "Look. You don't need to do this. You don't have to try and be… whatever it is you're trying to be. I'll give you another chance." Poor Delusional Mark. "You made a mistake. I can forgive and forget. Come home."
Then, out of nowhere, is Dave. "I'll be in the car," he says, suddenly walking by Miranda. He tosses Mark a look, rolls his eyes again with a shake of his head, and then hurries to the exit of the store, disappearing out onto the street.
About ten seconds later, a giggling Victoria's Secret model follows him out. And yes, she has wings.
Miranda's eyes are so brown and wide-eyed that they could be considered doe-eyed, if only they were more innocent. Caught off guard (though she shouldn't be) as she's whirled around, she stares incredulously at Mark, dropping a pair of black-and-purple underwear on the display table. "Forgive— you," she repeats in disbelief, pausing long enough to stare in more disbelief after Dave and the model. How did he ever manage to— anyway, more important things… "Are you fucking high?" Her bitterness is tempered strangely by a laugh. "Can you actually see yourself? Look… whatever. This isn't the time or place."
Mark just stares after Dave for a long while, not really registering whatever it is that Miranda is being all incredulous about or what not. "You let him in your car? What the hell?" Mark is more upset that it seems she's chosen someone that doesn't look as good as him. Not that he's the best looking man in the world, btu he thinks he's better than this fool! Finally, a shake of his head turns him back towards Miranda. "All I'm saying is that you don't have to keep playing the pride game. I won't hold it over your head for more than a couple years." A joke, that's serious. "Whatever job you're working can't be worth picking up bums on the street to befriend. Don't you miss it? The infamy?"
"The … infamy?" Miranda speaks slowly, squinting at Mark as if he's suddenly speaking an alien language or, at the very least, Spanish. "He's an accountant. I don't… I can't…" She lifts her slushie-toting hand and presses her forearm against her head for a moment. "I have to pick up Michelle from…garage… band… practice."
Neutral Tone that turns into a Fatherly Tone commences, "Michelle's in a band?" He sounds almost like he wants to be proud or something. There's just a hint of 'miss her' in his voice, but he's not really figuring it'll do anything and thus the fact that he's coughing and clearing his throat to turn himself back into The Asshole. "Listen. Just have dinner with me. Okay? I just want to show you—" There's the phone ringing. Mark frowns but immediately holds up a finger to Miranda. The phone is brought to his ear, "What he say? Does he want my man or what?" Oh god.
The range of Miranda's sentiments are transparently visible: at first she almost smiles at the question about Michelle, then she looks entirely skeptical and unsure but visibly starts to consider the offer of dinner, and then she rolls her eyes. Typical. As familiar frustration builds up, she breezes past Mark, shaking her pigtailed head. "You'll never get it!" she calls back as she heads for the door. And she didn't even get a chance to buy any underwear. Damnit.
"What?! He what?!" Mark is semi-torn between the phone conversation and trying to save what's left of the relationship with his ex-wife. The phone wins, thanks to the good news. "YES! That's what the fuck I'm talking about! I knew you wouldn't let me down, E! You may be less of a pussy by the end of the week. Haha. See you guy's tonight at Entourage." All smiles and facial expressions of relief, Mark hangs up the phone and turns to look at where Randi was just standing. "… Randi?" Ah shit.
(END)
