My slaughter rescue fantasy evaporated when I saw a sign that said TAXIS. In the cab, I put my head against the cool window glass and watched the palm trees float by, feeling sheepish. I should have been home in Ohio with Chad, not flying to Florida alone on our anniversary to shill asthma inhalers. But, I reminded myself, if I lost my job, we couldn’t comfortably get married, which is what I had told him as I packed. Chad made a living, but we wanted a really, really comfortable life. Actually more than comfortable. We wanted to be rich. So that was my excuse. But the true truth is, I wanted the promotion because I wanted to be promoted. Just for the simple fact of wanting to do well, the way I was always an A student and hated A minuses, was disgusted by Bs; they looked like cockroaches to me, crawling over my school report. I wanted to do well and be seen to do well, and I wanted to be thought of as the best at what I did, and my goal was to one day have my own business and never have to worry about being fired because I owned that business. That was what I wanted. So Chad saying “You’re lucky you’re cute, ’cause a woman as heartless as you could have some bad luck” was exposing my dearest wish and calling it ugly. Calling me ugly, calling me an ambitious, heartless person. Woman. An ambitious, heartless female. That’s bad, no matter how you slice it.

The hotel had a huge doorway edged in brass. There were tall palm trees either side of it. The air as I exited the cab was warm and calm, and as I walked into the lobby I was just plain happy. There were already medical sales reps milling around in the lobby. I recognized Tom Sanduli. We were both on the circuit. Tom wore a royal-blue suit that didn’t fit right. That was the first thing I noticed. His shoulders were very broad, and the material of the jacket was pulled so tight there was a gap between his neck and his collar. He said, “Hey there,” and you could tell he was glad to see me. We tended to flirt with each other a little at these events. More out of boredom and the fact that we were both not ugly, which kind of threw us together. “Hey, Tom,” I said.

Once I put away my stuff in my room, I hit the gym. I am a gym rat. Short but strong. I looked in the mirror and assessed my abdominal situation. I was ripped. I held the twenty-five-pound weight so my bicep bulged and checked out my manicure. All in all, I was satisfied.