Hope, practicing pouty vestal looks in the mirror, paused to review the notes on her next client.
“Loves himself. Tips big if you call him Mr. President or Big Guy.”
Hope knew this type too well. She exhaled and cracked her knuckles. Well, maybe I can help him relax and make rent, she thought, as she put out fresh linens and clean towels.
Bottles of scented oil waited on their shelf. An ambient candle burned. Soft and psychedelic music played in the background.
The studio bell chimed. Hope put on her smile and opened the door.
“Hello, Mr. President.”
Kelly Louisa Balliu says