Robert stood back, his job for this morning done, and watched as a doorman materialised to hold open the door. Anxious now … Tessa was new to the business, would she stumble? Embarrassed, would she look to him?
Come on, my girl, you can do it. Stop there, you’ve hit the mark.
Part in, part out of the canopy’s shade, the low sun showed her black locks to perfection. He’d been up since dawn, washing, oiling, grooming that hair.
But look at her. Isn’t she something!
She posed for the cameras. Nothing forced, no pulled-in belly, no pushed-out chest; not like those Hollywood bitches. She pulled her head up, a sleek line from her black nose through her throat to her chest.
Robert smiled to himself. She was his bitch. Contessa, the new Lassie. And though movies were a bitch of a business, together they’d nail it.
Written for What Pegman Saw.