be commended. We here at the Dr. Hoffman show applaud you. I’m Mia Saunders, and I’ll see you next week on another round of Living Beautiful .
----
I spent the next day with Wes and the editing team, splicing the perfect snippets until I had just the right content for the fifteen-minute segment.
Wes pointed at a section on the screen and told the editor where to move the frame to zero in on particular things that would be unique to highlight. Baby Lynndy’s chubby little hands reaching for her mommy, or the way David looked at his wife as if no one in the room existed but her when she served his breakfast. How Heidi doted on little Lisa during her gym lesson.
With confidence and patience, Wes educated me on why those tiny moments were gold and made all the difference. At playback, he was not wrong. Then again, I wouldn’t have questioned him in the first place. He made movies and wrote scripts for a living. A fifteen-minute segment on a daytime show was a cakewalk to a man of his talent and experience, yet he committed to this project with me the same way he did a two hundred million dollar big budget film. I admired him and fell a little bit more in love with him for that.
A squeak and the sound of the door smacking against the wall behind it broke all three of us out of our concentration. Drew Hoffman entered the bland room at the headquarters of Century Productions all boisterous and loud, not at all concerned that the three people within were focused intently on the footage in front of us.
On him like a cheap suit was a blond popsicle stick with outlandishly large boobs. I knew how big they were because they were practically falling out of a skimpy lace-trimmed camisole. If she moved too far to the left or arched her back even a scant inch more, a definite nip slip would occur.
“Hi, Doctor Hoffman. We’re just getting the segment ready for your team to review later this evening before tomorrow’s segment.”
“That’s why I’m here, darling.” Drew’s tone was lascivious, and the blond wooden peg that was stuck to his chest curled her finger into his hair.
“Ooh, I like your new girl. She’s sexy. With all those curves, I’ll bet she tastes like birthday cake. Can we play with her, Doctor, please, pretty, pretty please, with sugar on top?” The woman cooed, her pink, glossy lips puckering on each consonant. Blondie shook her chest in front of his face making sure to jostle them in a way that was clearly practiced and had worked many times before, and I noticed Drew’s eyes seemed to dive into her ample cleavage.
And that is the exact moment Wes turned his chair around and stood up. “Excuse me? Have we met?”
Drew’s eyes widened, and a note of recognition crossed his features as he assessed Wes. “Weston Channing the third, famous movie writer…” Hoffman said, awe clear in his tone. “What brings you to our humble neck of the movie biz?”
Wes tipped his head toward me and locked an arm around my waist. “You’ve hired my fiancée,” he said, as if it explained every unanswered question in Trivial Pursuit.
Um…fiancée? I looked down at my bare finger. Wes noticed the move and cringed but kept quiet.
“Your fiancée? Mia…” His mouth opened and closed as if he were thinking about what to say next.
Instead, Blondie beat him to it. “Awesome! Oh my God, I like love, love, love your movies. And you’re so hot!” The bimbo clinging to the good doctor shimmied in her spiked heels. Though the only thing that jiggled were her implants. The rest of her lacked an ounce of fat. If we shook her harder, her bones would have likely made a rattling sound that matched the peanut-sized brain rolling around her head, but that’s about it. She held out her hand. “I’m Brandy, by the way, but, you know, the normal way, B-R-A-N-D-Y,” she spelled out.
The normal way? How the fuck else did you spell Brandy? I sighed, and my grip around Wes tightened. He cough-laughed into his fist. He
----
I spent the next day with Wes and the editing team, splicing the perfect snippets until I had just the right content for the fifteen-minute segment.
Wes pointed at a section on the screen and told the editor where to move the frame to zero in on particular things that would be unique to highlight. Baby Lynndy’s chubby little hands reaching for her mommy, or the way David looked at his wife as if no one in the room existed but her when she served his breakfast. How Heidi doted on little Lisa during her gym lesson.
With confidence and patience, Wes educated me on why those tiny moments were gold and made all the difference. At playback, he was not wrong. Then again, I wouldn’t have questioned him in the first place. He made movies and wrote scripts for a living. A fifteen-minute segment on a daytime show was a cakewalk to a man of his talent and experience, yet he committed to this project with me the same way he did a two hundred million dollar big budget film. I admired him and fell a little bit more in love with him for that.
A squeak and the sound of the door smacking against the wall behind it broke all three of us out of our concentration. Drew Hoffman entered the bland room at the headquarters of Century Productions all boisterous and loud, not at all concerned that the three people within were focused intently on the footage in front of us.
On him like a cheap suit was a blond popsicle stick with outlandishly large boobs. I knew how big they were because they were practically falling out of a skimpy lace-trimmed camisole. If she moved too far to the left or arched her back even a scant inch more, a definite nip slip would occur.
“Hi, Doctor Hoffman. We’re just getting the segment ready for your team to review later this evening before tomorrow’s segment.”
“That’s why I’m here, darling.” Drew’s tone was lascivious, and the blond wooden peg that was stuck to his chest curled her finger into his hair.
“Ooh, I like your new girl. She’s sexy. With all those curves, I’ll bet she tastes like birthday cake. Can we play with her, Doctor, please, pretty, pretty please, with sugar on top?” The woman cooed, her pink, glossy lips puckering on each consonant. Blondie shook her chest in front of his face making sure to jostle them in a way that was clearly practiced and had worked many times before, and I noticed Drew’s eyes seemed to dive into her ample cleavage.
And that is the exact moment Wes turned his chair around and stood up. “Excuse me? Have we met?”
Drew’s eyes widened, and a note of recognition crossed his features as he assessed Wes. “Weston Channing the third, famous movie writer…” Hoffman said, awe clear in his tone. “What brings you to our humble neck of the movie biz?”
Wes tipped his head toward me and locked an arm around my waist. “You’ve hired my fiancée,” he said, as if it explained every unanswered question in Trivial Pursuit.
Um…fiancée? I looked down at my bare finger. Wes noticed the move and cringed but kept quiet.
“Your fiancée? Mia…” His mouth opened and closed as if he were thinking about what to say next.
Instead, Blondie beat him to it. “Awesome! Oh my God, I like love, love, love your movies. And you’re so hot!” The bimbo clinging to the good doctor shimmied in her spiked heels. Though the only thing that jiggled were her implants. The rest of her lacked an ounce of fat. If we shook her harder, her bones would have likely made a rattling sound that matched the peanut-sized brain rolling around her head, but that’s about it. She held out her hand. “I’m Brandy, by the way, but, you know, the normal way, B-R-A-N-D-Y,” she spelled out.
The normal way? How the fuck else did you spell Brandy? I sighed, and my grip around Wes tightened. He cough-laughed into his fist. He
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