The landlady's dog

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The big German shepherd panted as if grinning up at the tall, curvaceous girl with the long, ash-blonde hair, and whimpered in excitement when she reached down and petted his great head. She smiled, revealing a perfect set of even white teeth, oohed a pet phrase at him, then directed her attention to the attractive brunette standing in the apartment doorway.

"Has he been a good dog today, Peggy?" Carol Dorsett questioned the older girt with the dark brown eyes who wore her hair in a brief and flattering bouffant, giving her a kind of mysterious thirtyish look.

"Sultan's always a good dog, aren't you, baby," the shapely wife of the building manager complimented, adding her own caressing hand to the powerful animal's muscular flanks. "How did it go today, Carol? Any luck?"

"Nothing," the young green-eyed divorcee sighed. "I must've filled out a dozen applications, and just about walked my legs off. God, I never realized it was going to be so difficult finding a job or I wouldn't have left San Francisco. At least, I know my way around there… but this Hollywood… brother!"

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