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Body Packaging #2: Bloody Paper Roses

May 23, 2011

Beverly Hills 2011

 

“Look Dee– whoever told you that Sidney is dead is like totally full of shit. Or else the guy’s been ressurrected ‘cause I just saw him having lunch at The Ivy like an hour ago.” Veronica Walters cradled her iPhone between her ear and her exposed left shoulder while she zipped up her black patent leather thigh-high Gucci boots.

Veronica’s assistant Philippe let himself inside her tiny office hidden away from the rest of her design studio. He waited until Veronica had leaned over her boot until he reached down and cupped her ass cheeks with both of his massive hands. Philippe whispered into her ear. “Babe. We have twenty until everyone arrives. Let’s make the most of it.”

“Okay. Okay. I’ll be careful. I promise. Look. I’ll talk with you tomorrow.” She threw her phone onto the floor. “Gotta love my cousin and her overactive imagination.” Veronica swatted Philippe’s hands as he hurriedly began touching her through her fuschia silk camisole. She had a change of heart and started unzipping his jean’s zipper. “You are such a pig. Well, all right, let’s put this guy to work.”

Philippe began fondling Veronica’s firm breasts as he kissed her. Suddenly, they heard the front door to Veronica’s design studio unlocking. Veronica instinctively switched off the light to her hidden office so that no one could tell that they were there.

A group of five employees rushed into the former warehouse and began rifling through several racks of clothes. Philippe mounted Veronica on her office’s cold cement floor. He spoke softly as his hands found their way inside the small surface area of her inner thighs which were not covered by her leather boots. “You see–it’s them.”

Veronica attempted to get up, but he wouldn’t let her. “Look. I don’t want my staff hearing me in here getting the hot beef injection on the cement floor. Okay, Philippe?”

“Babe. They’re so busy pulling outfits together for stars and pseudostars that they wouldn’t notice if a bomb went off in here.” Philippe trailed his full lips down the back of Veronica’s swan-like neck. He knew exactly how to get what he wanted.

Veronica listened as her staff culled outfits from Balenciaga, vintage McQueen, and Armani for one of Hollywood’s leading actresses. She felt more pain from her knowledge that the actress she had been certain was onboard with her firm had actually chosen to work with another top wardrobe consultant than from Philippe’s athletic lovemaking. “Fuckin’ Rachel Zoe and her damned minions.” She tried to cry out, but Philippe muffled her with his hand.

She had work to do. There were five people outside her door who needed to know what new projects she had for them. Veronica instructed Philippe to remain inside her office until everyone had left so that it wouldn’t be so obvious that they had just had sex. She wondered what was going on as she heard her employees laughing hysterically.

Two men in black pants and shirts wearing black facemasks had burst into the main area. Veronica’s right-hand man Morrie pulled a hankie out of his Fendi messenger bag and joked that the pair looked like they had escaped from a Lady Gaga video. The next minute happened in slow motion for Veronica as she heard the two men meticulously opening fire on her five employees. The pristine white Isabelle de Borchgrave paper gown that Veronica had decided at the last minute not to use for one of her closet smoker celebs was splattered with blood. The blood drizzled like red rain drops down the delicate paper roses framing the breathtaking gown’s décolletage.

Philippe put his hand over Veronica’s mouth while her body shook violently as she tried to scream.

The two of them huddled underneath Veronica’s desk as someone attempted to open her office door. The wiry man had taken off his black leather glove to reveal a magnificent gold ring on his hand. Veronica thought about her cousin’s warning as tears streamed down her cheeks. Why hadn’t she listened?

© Jennifer Strauss 2011. All Rights Reserved.