What More Is You Lookin’ For?
A limo pulls up in front of the new aquarium.
In the backseat, Nick’s mother straightens out her cocktail dress. Nick’s earbuds are blasting some thudding trash. She leans over to straighten his tie. He slaps her hands away, flipping her off as he crawls out the door.
He shoves his way past old rich hags in diamonds and elbows a photographer in the stomach.
His dad is CEO of Bex Oil. Nick doesn’t know what CEO stands for. He does know something about the beach. His dad is killing the beach, destroying the earth, collapsing the universe. Or whatever. His biology teacher gave him nervous looks when they did papers on environmental issues. Every kid in class talked about Nick’s father. But Nick knows his dad is an asshole. He heard the aquarium is some bone to throw at green people.
He snags booze and sniffs out an intern with shaggy hair who’s most likely holding.
On a catwalk over a massive tank, Nick is stoned right into the floor and guzzling Dom Perignon. The intern is babbling about selling out, Greenpeace, college girls... Nick lies on his stomach and leans over the water. There are tiger sharks in there, and manta rays, and other freaky creatures. There are also stone statue things covered with barnacles and shells. Nick blinks into the depths. He can’t even see the bottom. There’s something in the corner of his eye…
He squints. Can’t see it straight on. Something out of sight… Boobs?
He sees boobs. Almost. But he can’t quite look at them. Weird? Boy, is he high.
He hears a whisper and since he feels like he’s floating anyway, he pushes himself off the cat walk and into the blue as the whisper becomes a water logged scream.
It’s three o’clock in the morning and their impossible, no doubt rehab-bound son is vamoose. The mother growls obscenities and frowns into the manta ray tank, thinking that an ugly as hell little stone formation shouldn’t be blocking the pretty coral. What dumbass put that there?