Keith Eshete watches as the photographer takes pictures of yet another model. As a photographer's assistant, he makes sure to set up all the equipment, such as checking lighting levels and repairing the equipment. He had learned a lot about the business and some things about the modeling business, though this is not the career he intends to have.
He looks at the model being photographed. She is about 5'8", with blond hair tied in a ponytail, and big tits and this soft look about her. She wears a low-cut red dress giving him ample view of her cleavage and the flesh of her tits. Not that he finds that unusual; he had seen many women being photographed in this studio in the Hollywood neighborhood of Los Angeles many times before. The model is standing in front of a green screen; computer technicians will add in a computer background before the photographs are published.
He looks at a clock mounted on the wall. It is almost time for his shift to be over. He looks at the woman who had been photographed.
"Hi there," he says to her. "Having a tough time?"
"It's not that hard," she says, giggling. "It's like having a good time."
Some of the models bitch all day about the light and the heat and other shit; I wonder how they'd handle a classroom full of kids. "How long have you been doing this?"
"For three years. I started when I was fifteen and I did work for those teen magazines. Now that I'm all grown up, I can move on to more mature things."
"Like Playboy or something?"
"Uh, no," she says.
"My name's Keith," he says. "And you are?"
"Gretchen," she replies.
Keith knows that her name is Gretchen Laren; he had read it in one of the documents. "I get off in about half an hour and I'm going to the Red Velvet coffee shop down the street," he says. "Would you like to join me?"
"I don't know."
"Maybe we'll see each other again. Have a nice day."
Ooooooo
Gretchen sits inside on a couch in the Red Velvet Coffee Shop on Sunset Boulevard. The place has this faint smell of coffee. Large windows provide a great view of the street outside, the traffic and the colorful storefronts. Coffee is being offered at $1.50 for a small cup, and other drinks are being offered at even higher prices. The lights inside are dim, and the whole place is decorated to have this cozy, homely feel. It reminds her of the study room in her family home.
He's not going to show up. He probably headed straight for home after work. It's not like I said yes.
Keith did impress her when he first talked to her. He is young, about her age, and most boys her age would be intimidated by her or say something crude.
And then there is the fact that he is black. His black skin provides a sharp contrast with her white skin; there is something appealing about that. His thick lips, tightly curled black hair, and sloping forehead resembles the caricatures used back in the 1940's. She is not able to explain why, and she is far from capable of articulating any sort of reason for it.
She walks to the counter, ordering another tall cup of coffee. After paying for it with her Discover credit card, she walks to the small counter where the milk and the chocolate powder and the sugar are. She glances and sees Keith at the door.
