A Taste of Spring

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."