Fighting Animals

Ch. 8: Control The Head, Control The Body

     Delilah snatched a headshot from Stella's hand to stop her from drooling on it, a common occurrence when she presented her photos of handsome actors.

     Conner watched from behind as they walked to Delilah's car, consumed with guilt ever since he realized that the dangers that surrounded her were real, that she needed him, and that his pride almost drove him to leaving her vulnerable.

     Delilah dug her car keys out of her purse. "Any directions for the screen test?"

     "Put on some light make-up and wear bright colors if you have them," said Stella

     Conner waited for Delilah to give him a polite grin, or any other sign that he was exonerated, and he pondered how a stranger this small came to rule his conscience. If his job was to protect her, then he'd devote all his time and energy to it, and maybe get lucky and fight off a delinquent. Conner salivated at the chance to let off steam in a street scuffle, and he was on high alert for any sign of Knowlton, Todd, or any low-life who favored them.

     At Delilah's suggestion, she and Conner took her Honda Civic to the set, and even though his contract stated that he could chauffeur, she insisted on driving herself.

     Once they arrived at her car, Delilah reached for the door handle.

     Conner's eyes widened, and he rushed to the door to open it, causing Delilah and Stella to stare.

     He couldn't have been more embarrassed.

     Stella's sultry gaze swept his torso. "Such a gentleman."

     He shielded his face, using an itch on his forehead as an excuse to touch it. He pulled the door open, but it taunted him by staying locked.

     "Allow me," said Delilah, and opened it herself with the key.

     Conner cringed, wishing he could disappear.

     Stella spoke inside a sigh. "I gotta go, but you have the address for tomorrow, and remember, this is big, so don't screw the pooch."

     Conner moved his existence to the passenger's side of Delilah's vehicle as Stella waved goodbye in his direction, a coquette lift in her brow, and Conner responded with an indifferent nod.

     Once he and Delilah were alone, the silence between them went from uncomfortable to torturous.

     Delilah turned the key in the ignition, and the engine and stereo rose from their slumber.

     Conner raised his eyebrows at the rap music that came from the speakers, as he had taken her for an opera fan, or whatever rich New Yorkers listened to, and she was a ransom note, made up of so many different pieces that it was hard to decipher what was authentic.

     All day, their conversations hadn't exceeded common pleasantries, and he prayed that her silent treatment wouldn't last long. He wanted to take a cab to her apartment, where he'd left his car, so he wouldn't have to swallow his pride, but it was an option too late to consider.