A Taste of Spring

Dez pulled out one of his dining chairs. He absently pulled the magazines off the bakery box as he thought of another word. He
bought the steamy crossword puzzle book for his father as a gag gift. Never once did he consider his conservative father would
actually like the thing.
"Coition," Dez replied, dryly. He didn't mean to sound so bored, because if his mother got wind of his mood of late, she would
have a dozen of his family and friends camped out in his loft, in full out intervention mode. She just discovered the television
show that had several seasons under its belt. To her credit, his mother was just as conservative as his father, and reality
television was one of her least favorite things. Yet, the older they got the more Dez saw changes in them. Ones he actually
approved of. But he totally regretted getting them the sex crosswords. This new uninhibited nonsense had to stop.
"Bingo!" his father yelled through the line. There was some scribbling then a giggle. "So, what's it like living in the Devil's
Playground of late?"
They could stand a bit more change.
"You should come to visit and see for yourself, Pop. Granddad used to tell me how much you loved it here as a boy. Bring mom
and I'll make it special."
"Not gonna happen. New York isn't your mother's cup of tea, so you can stop being a smartass and tell me how you're coming
along."
"Everything's amazing, Pop."
His father grunted. "What have you been up to? Getting out of that cubbyhole? Seeing folk?"
Trying to sound more upbeat this time, Dez said, "Actually, Mrs. Marcum and I just had a nice chat in the hallway."
"Does she still think you and Fallon are a couple? Why would she think that anyway?"
"She can think what she wants. I see no reason to correct her." Dez shrugged, "Though...telling her the truth would stop her from
giving me all of her fashion magazines that I just recycle." Dez pulled the magazine on top closer. He lifted the next off the pile
then slapped it down on top of the other as he listened to his father. When he came to the next one in the pile, his hand hovered
over it as he furrowed his brows at the image in front of him.
One of the models on the cover looked like...

"Pop," he said, cutting off whatever story his father was telling him, "I have to call you back."
Dez slowly placed his cell face down on his dining table without even disconnecting the call. He lifted the magazine and stared at
the image.
----------
SPRING
Lifting her hand, Spring chose one of several glasses of champagne when the waiter lowered the tray. She lifted the rim of the
glass to her lips and swept her tongue over it but didn't take a sip. Her nerves were fired up and drinking might make it worse.
"Well," Summer reached around her to take a glass, "I'll drink for the both of us."
Spring rolled her eyes but took a small sip. "Don't judge me."
Summer placed her manicured nails over her ample breasts that were on display. "I would never judge you, Two. Besides, you
scored the tickets to this shindig. I and my bank account will be forever grateful." She winked.
How she scored the tickets, Spring wasn't sure. But here she was, at Wayland's Appreciation for the Arts Ball, with some of the
most important people in the world. Two weeks ago, she found the invitation with two tickets in her mailbox. The shock of
discovering those tickets was second to Summer's excitement and promise of a slow and painful death if she didn't get one of
them.
Spring still didn't know who sent the tickets or why. She peered around the lavishly decorated space for a familiar face. After a
brief visual once around the room, she was no closer to figuring out the little mystery.
A light tap on her elbow had her turning and tilting her head closer to Summer. When her sister didn't say anything, Spring
looked at Summer's face then followed her sister's gaze.
A short distance away, Mr. Spencer, the photographer who took the amazing photos that landed her the cover of a major
magazine, and an attractive man were making their way over to them. As they came closer, Spring could see that the stranger's
attention was heatedly fixed on Summer.
Maybe Mr. Spencer was responsible for her invite.

"Spring," Mr. Spencer said as he touched one of his hands to her elbow, leaned in, then placed a chaste kiss on her cheek. "I'm
happy you could make it with such short notice. This is Thomas Wayland, our gracious host and one of my closest friends." Mr.
Spencer moved aside. "Wayland, this is Spring Lafayette, the gorgeous model I had the pleasure of shooting. The one I spoke
of."
(The one he spoke of. He spoke of me?)