Spring looked up in time to see Mr. Spencer motion to the same man who stepped in-between Brandi,
her, and the secretary. Unlike Stanley, Joe didn't shake their hands. Instead, he just saluted them then
continued to fiddle with the camera in his hand.
"Let's get you guys set up," Taylor said with excitement. She motioned for them to follow again.
Spring glanced over her shoulder at Mr. Spencer. He was still watching her. Blushing, she turned away
and followed Brandi, who was following Taylor.
Spencer Studios was a grand space with many wide windows, whiter than white walls, and more
natural light and lighting fixtures to brighten a dark city block. Everything looked new, clean, and
expensive. Two lines of columns separated two sides of the main floor that had four sections set up for
picture taking, leaving the middle of the building as a wide walkway. Two bay doors sat at the far end of
the building and on the opposite side, where they were headed, was a wall that didn't quite reach the
high ceiling. The wall had a huge glass window above several doors.
Taylor pointed to the doors. "There are the offices. That one without a nameplate is Stanley's. These
are the dressing rooms," Taylor said, pointing at doors as they approached.
Spring glanced over at the only room without a name but quickly looked ahead, entering the room that
Taylor held open for them. She glanced over her shoulder as she entered, once again meeting Mr.
Spencer's hooded gaze. Spring sucked in a gulp of air then turned away immediately.
"He can be pretty intimidating at first but he's a teddy bear." Taylor smiled as she closed the door.
"Really? Because teddy bear isn't the vibe I was getting." Brandi said as she took a seat on one of the
chairs.
Teddy bear wasn't exactly what Spring got either but she didn't say so. Instead, she looked around the
dressing/makeup room that was about half the size of her sister's apartment. Racks of clothing,
drawers of accessories, and shoes were on one side while four vanity makeup centers were on the
other side. A sitting area sat in the middle of the room and another door was in the rear. Spring figured
it was a bathroom.
"He is," Taylor said with little conviction, sounding more like she was trying to convince herself.
Taylor was young, maybe in her late teens. She was tall and thin but still carried a little baby fat in her
cheeks. Taylor brushed her stylish blond short hair off her forehead as her brows knitted in thought.
"But he is my uncle so..." Taylor left her comment up in the air.
"Glad you got the message about keeping the braids in." Taylor giggled, shrugged, then started giving
them instructions.
Spring nodded with a smile. She was happy she didn't have to take them out.
Spring listened intently. Taylor sounded sure and informed and if Stanley Spencer trusted her, then she
would too.
What she didn't like was the way her body shivered when she thought of Mr. Spencer. What was going
on with her? First Dez and now Mr. Spencer. Something definitely had woken inside her.
----------
DEZMOND
One month later
"If I hear that damn song play one more time, I am certain that I will lose my shit," Dez groaned. He
may just lose the contents of his stomach as well.
(What the hell has happened to rap music?)
"Hey," Fallon called out. He spoke loud enough to get the attention of the group of women standing on
stage beside the karaoke screen. "How about something with less bass, something subtle."
A fit of laughter followed the familiar notes of a pop song that Dez found just as annoying. Then the
songstresses added their high pitched toneless version to the mix.
Fan-fucking-tastic, Dez thought, as he shook his head. (Why the hell are we here?)
"Why the hell am I here?" he asked himself out loud.
"Because your simple ass was wasting away in your place like some damn kid that lost his favorite
blanket." Fallon was still looking over his shoulder at the group of girls. Apparently, he found one or all
of them interesting.
"I don't like change, Fallon. You know this. You also know that Muri's is our place...our place," Dez said,
accepting that he sounded defeated. "So, let's just go there."
Fallon turned his attention from the women to stare at Dez. His expression was one of bored disbelief.
"I like it here. Besides," Fallon lifted a beer to his mouth, "there're a wealth of possibilities here."
"Women are the furthest thing from my mind." Dez rubbed his temple for the hundredth time in an
attempt to soothe the drumming. He wasn't drunk. Well, he wasn't that drunk, so the constant pounding
wasn't alcohol induced.
"I call bullshit," Fallon said; his stare was cold and unflinching.
"Technically it's true. I'm not thinking about women. I'm consumed with thoughts of one woman. The
one woman who left my place without a single word, note, or any way to contact her." Dez groaned
again, dropping his forehead to the table. He sighed. "I...honestly, before that night I wasn't in the mood
for anything. I had been kicked down hard. But just one night with her, waking up with her scent on my
sheets and around me, I wanted...to keep that feeling. I hate whatever," he pointed to himself, "this is."
"Shit man," Fallon said as he plucked at his beer mug, "she is just a woman. Like that one," he pointed
to a woman standing at the bar, "that one, that one, and oh hey, that one."
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