30 ROCK
Of Course
Liz Lemon was surprised when Jack had asked her to attend another event with him, given how the last one had ended so badly (she still had scratches where Bianca had brushed the broken bottle up against her arm before Jack finally stepped in), and against her better judgement, she had agreed. She didn't believe that she'd come across his ex-wife again (ex-lovers, though, were very possible, she thought), so there was a fairly good chance of her coming from back home alive.
Of course he would show up at her door early, she thought, cursing mentally when she saw him on the surveillance camera screen by the door. Of course he'd brush past her the very moment the door opened, before she actually invited him in (not that she would). Of course he'd make comments about her living arrangements and the pieces of clothing and newspaper scattered across the carpet. Of course.
"I'm not ready yet, so you're going to have to wait," she told him, watching him poke through one of the week old newspapers.
"I should hope not. I can't imagine going anywhere with you dressed like you're going for a jog."
She ignored him and retreated to her bedroom closet.
-
"Seriously, though, which one?" she asked him, lifting each of the dresses in turn as she spoke, "Red? Or Black?" She couldn't believe she was asking him this.
He inhaled deeply as he often did when he was thinking about something, "Black. The stain won't be as obvious when you drop your pasta on your lap at dinner," he said matter-of-factly, straightening his cufflinks.
"Wow, thank you," she said, drawing the word 'wow' out to several syllables more than it needed to be. She huffed in a very obvious sort of way and threw the red dress haphazardly upon her treadmill before slinking off to her bedroom to change.
-
She wrestled with the zipper on her dress for a good few minutes, unable to get a good grip on it. It was beginning to become more exercise than she wanted it to be, as she was beginning to work up a bit of a sweat (not exactly something she wanted to be doing at that particular moment).
She cursed under her breath for the second time within the hour. Of course she'd have to get Jack to help her, her life was never allowed to be anything less than difficult. She made sure that everything on her body was covered before she exited her bedroom and entered the living room where Jack was flipping through her latest copy of Weekly World News.
"Can you give me a hand, here?" she said, turning her back to him to illustrate what she wanted him to do. She was sure to act like it didn't bother her at all; she knew that her nervousness would only fuel his stupid attacks on her. The sound of the fake tabloid hitting her coffee table reached her ears, and she felt his hand on her back, holding the dress in place as he moved the zipper up her spine. He did it so damned slowly, for some reason. She hated it when he did things like that. Of course he was always going to find new ways to make her feel incredibly uncomfortable.
She didn't thank him, and went back to her bedroom a third time.
-
"Aw blerg," she muttered under her breath. She knew she should have put a napkin on her lap or something before eating dinner, but she was so hungry at the time she didn't think of it before tearing into the plate of pasta. There it was, two pieces of pasta sitting mockingly upon the fabric of her dress. Annoyed, she picked them up from her lap and rubbed at the spot with a napkin, all the while trying to ignore Jack's amused grin next to her.
He was right, though.
The stain wasn't that obvious.
Of course he'd be right.