THE WRITER | glass onion : knives out

JEALOUSY, JEALOUSY

Iris bit down on her tongue, catching Whiskey’s eyes, who was subtly shaking her head ‘no’, telling her not to bite. The brunette took another moment, but decided to follow the smarter instructions, pulling her lips into a strained smile and nodding over at Miles. “You’re right.”

“Of course, I am,” the man laughed, Birdie and Peg quickly joining in with a small bit of relief.

“Now, I can handle the Matisse in the bathroom,” Mr. Blanc announced himself, walking out of the restroom right next to the veranda and heading towards a machine that sat on a counter, a fax coming through on it. “But is, uh… Is that a fax machine?”

Birdie chuckled from her position close to Miles’ side. “Miles doesn’t even have a phone.”

“It’s really convenient,” Miles immediately started to defend himself, Birdie moving her legs from his lap and following Mr. Blanc over to the two yellow sunbeds on the opposite side of the deck. “I have one number, goes to all my fax machines all over the world. There’s something about analog that’s—”

“Oh!” Birdie exclaimed, cutting across the man and Iris snorted from behind her book. When she glanced up, she watched Whiskey give her another warning glance, and she rolled her eyes, focusing herself back on the pages. “Look at this blast from my past. Look, everybody. Look.” They all turned to see Birdie was holding up one of her old magazines, one that Mr. Blanc seemed to have picked up. “Miles, you’re so funny, having this around.”

Iris looked up from her book once again, biting her cheek when she saw Whiskey taking the same seat Birdie once had, her legs laying over Miles’ lap. The man smiled smugly, patting his hand down her thigh, and Iris pointedly stared anywhere else in disgust.

“May I ask, if it isn’t too presumptuous of me, what first drew you all together?” Mr. Blanc questioned as he looked in between each person under the veranda. “You’re such an eclectic bunch.”

“I think disruptors recognize each other,” Miles said with the most amount of bullshit Iris thought she had ever heard.

“Yes,” Birdie immediately agreed, passing her magazine back.

“Now you’ve used that word before, ‘disruptors’,” Mr. Blanc noticed, growing increasingly uncomfortable as Birdie threw her legs up onto his lap just as Whiskey was doing to Miles. “What does that mean?”

“Some people think Birdie’s disruptive every time she opens her mouth,” Miles shrugged, trying the right words to explain his idiocy. Iris decided to put down her book as some of the others joined them under the veranda, Duke sitting beside her and putting his arm behind her seat while Lionel and Claire took to the opposite yellow sunbeds. “I mean, just because she says what everyone’s thinking, but no one’s got the nerve to say.”

“It’s true. I say it like I see it,” Birdie agreed, making Iris want to throw herself off the side of the island. She had never agreed with a single thing the woman had said online, most of it being highly discriminatory and offensive.

“No. But seriously, you know about Sweetie Pants, right?” Miles leaned forwards.

“I’m— I’m going to embarrass myself here,” Mr. Blanc chuckled to himself, touching his chest with genuinity. “I adore Sweetie Pants. I live in mine—”

“You’re sitting next to Birdie Jay. She was a fashion icon,” Miles argued, and Whiskey averted her eyes as her legs slid off his lap. She then caught the sight of Duke with his arm around Iris, bile creeping up her throat uncomfortably. “And then the youngest editor ever of She She Magazine. Right? Establishment BS, on top of the world, but then…” He pointed for her to continue.