Dress Rehearsal

You pulled on the costume head and paraded around the stage. I was in the wings, hood up, basket in hand. The visiting had yet to be done.

'Dress rehearsal,' you said and bit into your breakfast apple, eyes hard on me, teeth showy in that leer you did when in character.

Fran rolled her eyes and scowled. She didn't want to be the arse end. She wanted the lead role, Red. She couldn't piece together what had gone wrong in auditions. She'd done everything the director desired. Unable to act, her jaw fell when he turned to me.

Ever since I'd nobbled the part, you prowled around, salivating, keen to prove your animal self and get to the action. You stretched your muscles, aware I was watching. You saw a girl, ripe for picking, and I took care to maintain my saucer-eyed stance.

You licked your lips, anticipating tender flesh fit for a wolf. But to me you were no more than a lap dog.