Dez pulled out one of his dining chairs. He absently pulled the magazines off the bakery box as he
thought of another word. He bought the steamy crossword puzzle book for his father as a gag gift.
Never once did he consider his conservative father would actually like the thing.
"Coition," Dez replied, dryly. He didn't mean to sound so bored, because if his mother got wind of his
mood of late, she would have a dozen of his family and friends camped out in his loft, in full out
intervention mode. She just discovered the television show that had several seasons under its belt. To
her credit, his mother was just as conservative as his father, and reality television was one of her least
favorite things. Yet, the older they got the more Dez saw changes in them. Ones he actually approved
of. But he totally regretted getting them the sex crosswords. This new uninhibited nonsense had to
stop.
"Bingo!" his father yelled through the line. There was some scribbling then a giggle. "So, what's it like
living in the Devil's Playground of late?"
They could stand a bit more change.
"You should come to visit and see for yourself, Pop. Granddad used to tell me how much you loved it
here as a boy. Bring mom and I'll make it special."
"Not gonna happen. New York isn't your mother's cup of tea, so you can stop being a smartass and tell
me how you're coming along."
"Everything's amazing, Pop."
His father grunted. "What have you been up to? Getting out of that cubbyhole? Seeing folk?"
Trying to sound more upbeat this time, Dez said, "Actually, Mrs. Marcum and I just had a nice chat in
the hallway."
"Does she still think you and Fallon are a couple? Why would she think that anyway?"
"She can think what she wants. I see no reason to correct her." Dez shrugged, "Though...telling her the
truth would stop her from giving me all of her fashion magazines that I just recycle." Dez pulled the
magazine on top closer. He lifted the next off the pile then slapped it down on top of the other as he
listened to his father. When he came to the next one in the pile, his hand hovered over it as he
furrowed his brows at the image in front of him.
One of the models on the cover looked like...
"Pop," he said, cutting off whatever story his father was telling him, "I have to call you back."
Dez slowly placed his cell face down on his dining table without even disconnecting the call. He lifted
the magazine and stared at the image.
----------
SPRING
Lifting her hand, Spring chose one of several glasses of champagne when the waiter lowered the tray.
She lifted the rim of the glass to her lips and swept her tongue over it but didn't take a sip. Her nerves
were fired up and drinking might make it worse.
"Well," Summer reached around her to take a glass, "I'll drink for the both of us."
Spring rolled her eyes but took a small sip. "Don't judge me."
Summer placed her manicured nails over her ample breasts that were on display. "I would never judge
you, Two. Besides, you scored the tickets to this shindig. I and my bank account will be forever
grateful." She winked.
How she scored the tickets, Spring wasn't sure. But here she was, at Wayland's Appreciation for the
Arts Ball, with some of the most important people in the world. Two weeks ago, she found the invitation
with two tickets in her mailbox. The shock of discovering those tickets was second to Summer's
excitement and promise of a slow and painful death if she didn't get one of them.
Spring still didn't know who sent the tickets or why. She peered around the lavishly decorated space for
a familiar face. After a brief visual once around the room, she was no closer to figuring out the little
mystery.
A light tap on her elbow had her turning and tilting her head closer to Summer. When her sister didn't
say anything, Spring looked at Summer's face then followed her sister's gaze.
A short distance away, Mr. Spencer, the photographer who took the amazing photos that landed her the
cover of a major magazine, and an attractive man were making their way over to them. As they came
closer, Spring could see that the stranger's attention was heatedly fixed on Summer.
Maybe Mr. Spencer was responsible for her invite.
"Spring," Mr. Spencer said as he touched one of his hands to her elbow, leaned in, then placed a
chaste kiss on her cheek. "I'm happy you could make it with such short notice. This is Thomas
Wayland, our gracious host and one of my closest friends." Mr. Spencer moved aside. "Wayland, this is
Spring Lafayette, the gorgeous model I had the pleasure of shooting. The one I spoke of."
(The one he spoke of. He spoke of me?)
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