One by one the passengers continued boarding the plane and one by one heads turned, catching a glance, stealing a look. Five minutes before the doors were closed, still no Damon. I was getting nervous. Maybe Gail made an error in her calculations. Maybe Damon had changed his plans and had booked himself on another flight.

I kept looking at my watch and kept getting nervous. Then finally, rounding the corner and boarding the plane was a pair of unscuffed, fresh out the box, camel-colored Timberland boots. It had to be Damon, and it was.

He was sporting a thick, cream-colored, wool turtleneck sweater and chocolate-brown loose-fitting jeans. The latest Sean John bomber with fur trim hung from his wide-framed shoulders and a cream-colored fitted scully framed his head. In one hand was a leather Louis Vuitton briefcase. In the other, he held the latest technological toy, part two-way pager and part cell phone. He was mid-conversation, talking via the earpiece with the microphone dangling from his ear. On his pinky was a platinum ring with the diamond-encrusted initials DD. On his wrist hung a diamond-bezeled Rolex and around his neck, jewelry by Jacob. He had just enough bling to let folks on the street know that he was no regular brother.

Damon was young, at least younger than me. Chocolate, chiseled, and fly, just like I remembered. Licking his lips, moving like a panther, shoulders shifting, legs lifting, he oozed the grittiness of the New York streets. But he had class. The brother had style, flair…he was somebody special. A young Puffy in the making. A big baller, a shot caller. The CEO of Platinum Entertainment, his motto being “Make the green scream and the dolla holla!”

I took a deep breath and adorned myself with an air of pleasantness, making my way row by row until I reached his seat. “I got this one,” I whispered in the first class attendant’s ear. Then, addressing Damon’s shoulder, I spoke, “Excuse me, can I help you with your coat?”

“Naw, baby girl, I got this. You can help me with something else, though.” He smiled, licking his lips, not yet realizing who I was. Then suddenly it hit him. “Montana? Is that you?”

His eyes canvassed my entire body, working their way down from my highlights, to my eyes, down my lips and to my breasts, where he paused in awe, looking at me like I was the last sparerib on the Fourth of July. Clearly impressed, his eyes continued past my hips, past my calves, and on down to my designer shoes. Then slowly he worked his way back up, licking his lips. Oh yeah, he was definitely impressed.

“Girl, I almost didn’t recognize you. Give me a hug!”