Thursday, March 31, 2016

The Colors of Hate – 2

“Dean, please, can’t you make the neckline a bit lower,” Angela pouted. She tucked a finger in the center of it, pulling it much lower to demonstrate, looking innocently at Dean as she did.

“It stays the way it is. Guinevere is not a slut.” He almost added, ‘Unlike you’ but refrained. “She’s Arthur’s queen.”

“But…” she whined. “For me? Please?” She moved closer to him, running a finger down his arm.

“Sorry, but no. It stays like this. Now turn around so I can check something, and then you can go change.”

Petulantly she turned, watching him in the mirror as he worked. “Some of us are going to the Red Moon tonight. Please, please say you’ll come.”

Dean shook his head. “I have to do the finishing touches on the costumes. First dress is tomorrow, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“You’re no fun at all.” She caught his eyes in the mirror and told him, “But I bet you could be if you’d just let go and enjoy life. We could have a great time together and you know it.”

“Ange, I’m not interested. Okay?”

“No.” She turned to face him, putting her hands on his shoulders. “I know you like me or you wouldn’t have me coming in for all these fittings. Admit it.”

“I do not like you,” Dean growled. “The only reason I call you in so often is because you keep gaining weight. Quit eating, quit hitting up the bars with the ‘gang’, and start realizing you’re not the center of the damned universe. Now, go change so I can let out the waist on this…again.”

The slap Angela landed on Dean’s face made his ears ring. He grabbed her wrist to stop her from hitting him again. “Get out of the costume now! And then leave!”

“You damned well asked for it,” she told him angrily, rubbing her wrist when he let it go. “Look at this, I’m going to have a bruise, you beast.”

“Suck it up,” was his terse reply as he touched his cheek and winced.

Angela flounced to the dressing room, swearing under her breath. She returned a few moments later to throw the dress at him, her blouse open almost to her waist. “This,” she said scathingly as she began slowly buttoning it over her full breasts, “could have all been yours for the asking.”

“I only ask for what I want, and for damned sure that’s not you.” He stepped back when she raised her hand again.

“Coward,” she spat out as she walked sullenly to the door, slamming it behind her on her way out. 

With a sigh he sat down at one of the sewing machines to make the needed alterations on the dress, glad that none of his crew had been there to watch what had just happened. Sure, they all knew she was a bitch but still… “Some day, Ange, you’re going to meet someone who’ll take you on, and you might just regret it.”