For Mature Audience.
1987
Calabasas, California
"Do you like being a bodyguard?"
"Yeah-It pays good." Michael peered at her through his peripheral vision.
"Do you like being a film director's wife?" He mumbled out, his voice barely above a whis...
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1987 4:40 pm
A lump of bedding held tightly in Salma's arms; nearly bigger than she was. She shuffled into the room, a pair of mismatched socks on her sliding feet.
The laundry room always had a certain smell to it that reminded her of her grandmother's house. A lavender smell with a hint of Pine-Sol.
"Lord have mercy," she chuckled breathlessly, she turned the other way. Hastily she began to shove the pile into the washer machine. Her face creased into a grimace, the stench hit the side of her face.
In the corner of her eye she spotted a tall figure that stood in the doorway. She whipped her head completely around.
"Yeah, tell me about it," Teddy joked, his booming voice velvety and low. His tall and husky frame slumped against the doorframe.
Her grimace softened, the corners of her lips curled into a smile.
With Teddy she didn't have to ask, she just knew. His wrists were limp, his lips were always glossed and whenever he walked he swished his hips.
All of the male staff that Vincent hired were very feminine.
To which Salma came to the conclusion long ago that in order to be a part of Vincent's staff they had to be two things:
1. If you were a man, you had to be feminine or presumed to be gay.
2. You had to be black.
"Salma, I swear, every time Vincent's gone you wear the funniest clothes." Teddy reached over her with a scoop full of detergent in his grasp.
With a tilt of his wrist he poured the powder into the machine.
Her brows knitted together, a crease formed along her forehead. She peered down at herself. On her slim frame hung a baggy grey sweatshirt.
The ends of the long sleeves folded neatly above her wrists. She adorned a pair of loose, faded blue jeans that were held up by an old leather belt. Tightly secured around her waist.
"What's wrong with what I got on?" She glanced back up at him, as tall as he was she always seemed to be looking up at him.
The corners of his shiny lips curled into a toothy grin. His round cheeks spread out and he let out a chuckle. Her stare beckoned for him to answer.
"You're as skinny as they come and you're over here wearin' Vincent's old clothes." A playful jab, he laughed, his laugh deep and raspy.
His large hand extended in front of him. With a swift push he slammed the machine's lid down.
Salma let out a giggle and shook her head as the washer shut. With her index finger she pressed the start button. "Well, it gets real' annoying runnin' around in tight blouses and skirts all the time."
