The Fury of
It was supposed to be an ad for Channel the newest perfume
Coco had concocted. A photo shoot to capture the essence of the woman behind the scent, and show off her newest line of “White Innocent” designs. Although I don’t know what she was thinking with a line like that. Nothing about Coco was innocent. She was a taker and a shaker; she could make the world move about her, raising her fists of fury to the sky if it failed to amuse her for long. The more complex you were; the more intriguing she found you.
It was supposed to be my time to get noticed, to rise within the ranks of the silent movie starlets. Another pipe dream I bought into sold to me by the lips of a slick and oiled agent. “Keep your head down, do as you’re told and you will have no problems. You have to be seen without being seen and
Coco will tolerate you.” So I went, despite my misgivings.
I was supposed to be standing there with the handsome male lead. Perhaps if he hadn’t upset
Coco so much with his masculinity she wouldn’t have changed into her black rage. You must treat a woman wearing black with kid gloves. Didn’t any of these prepubescent men know this? How unpredictable we can be? You don’t challenge an Ego like Coco’s without repercussions. I had never heard a woman scream like a Puma before, and I never want to hear that again. It will stay with me for the rest of my days. I was told that the shoot would be postponed for two days, and to come back, that I would be compensated for my troubles.
When I came back there was a skull on the floor, it reeked of Channel. The very scent the male lead had complained of in the days before. Hell has no fury like a woman scorned. A woman like
Coco who made sure, as you can see in the photo, that the young lead was shown the light.