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The words “Hey, Stevie?” don’t come out of Alexis Rose’s mouth sounding like actual words, so much as they sound like what a bird would sound like if it were crying while trying to sing a song specifically designed to annoy Stevie and alert people nearby to a fire.
In other words, Alexis Rose has a very high voice, and Stevie doesn’t have much patience. It’s far from a winning combination, to say the least.
But Stevie is on the clock, and she works in the hospitality industry, technically, which means she has to be hospitable. Professional. Tolerant.
“What’s up?” she asks.
Alexis flops down on the couch across from the desk. “I’m bored,” she says, not looking up from her phone.
Jesus fucking christ.
Stevie can see the resemblances between David and his sister sometimes—the way they’re demanding, oblivious, and so clearly spoiled—but at least David has some self-awareness. All the Roses have some obnoxious trait that only rich people have, and it goes: John treats every conversation like it’s a negotiation game where only he knows the rules, Moira treats every day like she’s preparing to have a breakdown just in case TMZ shows up in Schitt’s Creek and she becomes relevant again, David is pretentious and cynical even by Stevie’s standards, and Alexis is just… vapid. Stevie’s personal Rose ranking is David, obviously, followed by Moira, then John, then finally, in dead last, Alexis.
It’s not that Stevie even thinks Alexis is terrible, but it’s just very obvious that Alexis thinks Stevie is the human equivalent of gum on the bottom of her shoe. Probably because Alexis is younger and hotter—and taller, not that Stevie actually cares about that—and the categories where Stevie’s got her beat, like being a smart and not-terrible person, don’t matter to girls like Alexis.
But she’s her best friend’s sister. She’s also a customer. This might not be Stevie’s dream job, but she’s still going to be good at it.
“I’m sorry?” she tries.
Alexis lifts her head at that, and, after a beat, pouts. “David went out to try and meet randos again, and took the face mask that I was gonna steal for my girls’ night.”
“You’re having a girls’ night?” Stevie says, ignoring the tiny and humiliating pang of jealousy in her stomach. It’s dumb. Stevie’s a grown-ass woman, she has no reason to have issues left over from the slumber parties she wasn’t invited to in middle school. She turned out fine without girls’ nights.
“Well,” Alexis says, sitting up straight. “More like… a one girl’s night. Self care, with, like, a glass of wine, maybe a bubble bath, candles, a movie, whatever.”
“Sounds like a blast,” Stevie deadpans.
“I was super excited about it,” Alexis says.
That’s the thing about Alexis that Stevie always forgets— for someone without a genuine bone in her body, she’s a really terrible liar.
“What movie?” Stevie asks.
“I don’t know,” Alexis says, looking every bit like the daughter of a soap opera star. “Something that’s, like, full of emotion, I think. Like, Titanic, except without any of the stuff about that old lady, or the scientists, or the boat sinking.”
“And that leaves…”
“Like, the best parts of the movie?” Alexis says. “The necklace? The drawing? The car?”
Stevie shrugs. “I’ve never seen it.”
“What?” Alexis says, with a level of shock that Stevie doesn’t really think the revelation deserves. “Never? It’s the best movie.”
“It’s a movie about a sinking boat, and you don’t like the part where the boat sinks,” Stevie says.
Alexis does this giggle that’s ever bit as confusing as it is annoying. “Stevie, babe, there is so much more to it—” Her eyes go wide. “Oh my god, okay, new plan is that you and me are going to watch Titanic, even the boring part with the sinking boat, because I know you like stuff like that.”
“Oh, yeah, I love watching… people freeze to death in the ocean.”
Alexis stands up, walks over to the desk, and gives Stevie a look like she’s— appraising her, or something. She’s wearing heels, too, which means she’s towering over Stevie even more than usual. Maybe that’s why hot girls wear heels, to tower over girls like Stevie.
“I love how you really managed to hold onto this whole grungey-goth thing. Like, a refined, grown-up version of it,” she says, her eyes lingering somewhere around Stevie’s collarbone, and Stevie suddenly wants to fix her shirt. She doesn’t, because it feels like that’s what Alexis wants her to do, which means that doing it would be like letting Alexis win. Stevie’s not sure what this game is, really; she’s not sure of anything right now, except for the fact that she’s blushing.
It’s definitely a backhanded compliment. Stevie doesn’t know why it sounds more sincere than anything Alexis has ever said to her before. She doesn’t think she’s seen Alexis look like this, except for maybe that one time at the tailgate ages ago, when she’d kissed Mutt then walked away and Stevie had only happened to catch a glimpse.
“You said you had wine?” Stevie says, her throat suddenly a little dry.
“Hope you like Chardonnay,” Alexis says.
Stevie sometimes thinks about what it must be like, to live the way girls like Alexis live. It seems like they spend most of their time just maintaining their image— shopping and doing makeup and worrying about food and exercise, and having to look perky and energized despite all that. Girls like Alexis never look exhausted; at worst, they cozy up in sweats and tie their aggressively manageable hair up in a ‘messy’ bun that doesn’t actually tangle. They have to look cute all the time, and Stevie’s never envied them for it, especially since they have to go to great lengths to conceal any semblance of a personality or else they risk losing Instagram followers, but—
Right now, she’s sort of fascinated, and buzzing a little at the thought of seeing the inner workings of Alexis Rose.