I had several readers request more from Dierdre and Ken, so here it is.
When I posted my last story, I asked, as usual, for Comments, Feedback, and votes. I received very few...so let's try some reverse psychology.
Don't
tell me what you think, or what you like. ;-)
Are you laughing? Good, because I'm kidding. Come on folks! Votes are like applause to writers, and you don't get an encore unless you ask for it.
Thanks for reading. Enjoy.
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Ah Didi. My darling, Didi. Those four and a half days together changed my life forever. Hers too. I can say that with relative certainty, and all due humility. It showed on her face every morning.
We had been together nearly two years now. In that time we had become quite the team.
Didi still did her own thing, and had been quite busy in the wake of her cover appearance. She was very grateful for my help in making her an overnight sensation, after years of trying. She expressed that gratitude often, and physically. There was much more to it, of course. Two years takes more than just sex.
I loved her. I knew it quite early, but it took me a while to actually say it. Once I did, the floodgates opened. She had been holding back, defending herself from pain, but now, the only thing missing was an actual marriage certificate. We had become 'us'.
As far as team Winslow-Hendricks was concerned, we were doing very well. There were times when work schedules had us going in opposite directions, something that helped our bank account, but I still hated. If we weren't spoken for separately, we usually went together. I was there on set for her as moral support if she was the talent before the camera. She was by my side as an assistant when I was behind the camera.
Let me say...and I know my opinion is biased by the fact that I love her, am sleeping with her, and find her the most beautiful woman I've ever know... but, she's one hell of an assistant, with a very good eye. She often anticipates my instructions for whatever model we are working with, and can translate for me when my words fail. Despite years of learning, 'model' is an ephemeral language, constantly changing. Sometimes, I was in need of an update. She took care of that quite nicely, being current on the lexicon.
She also learned quickly. I had gifted her with a decent, high resolution DSLR, and told her to use it. She would learn the way I did, by shooting lots of pictures, and getting corrected. Of course, I learned on film, so it was a longer and more expensive process. For her, it became part of our bedtime ritual. She would cuddle up beside me, and we would go through whatever she shot that day. I would offer tips to make the images more pleasing. Believe me, at first there were plenty of those, but she got better with astounding speed. Before long, my suggestions were purely artistic.
***
We were in day one of a shoot for Didi. I was just watching, anonymously to all but one person on the set. The photographer running things was some guy I'd never heard of, a shorter, younger guy who supposedly was a genius, according to him. He had an English accent and a bad attitude.
I was standing aside, watching him set up, yelling at his assistants, and generally being an asshole. For a genius, and an English speaker, he seemed to have a lot of difficulty communicating his intent and instructions. I just met him, and already I didn't like him. A voice behind me made me turn.
"Ken Winslow? What are you doing here?" Apparently, two people on set knew me. It was the client, and I had done work for her, and with her, in the past. Her name was Becky Nightly, a name I always found funny. Sounded like a porn star. She was pretty, and blonde, and well constructed. It was only her petite stature that had scuttled her career in front of the camera. She had used her contacts, and perhaps her feminine wiles, to get a foot in the design world. Since then, things had taken off, and now her company was growing exponentially.
"Becky! How are you?" I laughed, as she hugged me.
"Just great. I had no idea you were available. If I had, well, you wouldn't be available," she said quietly. "What are you doing here, anyway?"
"Just being a supportive partner," I answered. She did the math.
"Really? You and one of the girls?" she laughed, raising her eyebrows in surprise. "I thought you had a strict 'no models' policy? I thought that was smart, by the way. Even when it applied to me." She winked.
Several years ago...over ten, actually...Becky had spent some time in front of my camera. She really was a cutie, and made it known that she would be willing to spread her slender legs and surrender herself for my pleasure. All I had to do was ask. I didn't.
Later, when I had shot one of her earliest catalogues, she was no longer offering. She was demanding. Three hours of passion followed, which she viewed as a tip for doing such a good job on the images. What wasn't clear was how her husband would view it, so we mutually decided it should never happen again, and never be spoken of. I felt guilty for months, but there was no fallout.
That was then. This is now.
"Yeah, but she changed my mind," I smiled.
"Hmmmm. Made you an honest man, did she?" Becky asked. "Don't tell me which one...let me guess."
The girls were filtering out of wardrobe. Dresses. This catalogue was for dresses. Didi looked yummy in hers.
The asshole, otherwise known as Ian, chose a petite blonde as his first victim. She was young, and cute...and didn't deserve the treatment he was giving her. He was abusive, and reduced her to tears quickly.
"Get the fuck out of 'ere! You cow!" he bellowed.
I glanced at Becky, and she rolled her eyes.
The scene was repeated. This guy didn't know how to direct his talent, and when the girls didn't somehow just 'know' what he wanted them to do, he freaked out, and got nasty.
I looked over at Didi, who was sitting patiently, waiting her turn. She saw me looking, and smiled.
"Ah! There she is!" Becky whispered from beside me. "That smile made it too easy." All the other girls were looking nervous, worried they'd be next, but Didi was confident in herself and her abilities. She wasn't worried about some snotty English prick.
"Deirdre Hendricks, huh?" Becky added. "Good choice. She's gorgeous. How long?"
"Two years," I replied, holding up two fingers.
