While I sat and waited for my plane with a copy of Ebony magazine in my lap, I noticed an attractive, dark-haired white woman who continued to take peeks at me. As a model, you get used to people staring at you, but since she was sitting directly across from me, it became something to think about.

Did she recognize me from one of the many magazines where I had been a feature, or was she simply into good-looking black men?

When it was time to board our plane, she finally got close enough to comment.

“I know I’ve seen you in a magazine somewhere, I just don’t know which one,” she told me with a smile. Then she flipped her long, dark hair out of her face. She looked ethnic and had model looks herself, with strong features and twinkling dark eyes.

“How many different magazines do you read?” I asked her.

I was ready to help her pinpoint where she may have seen me.

“Oh, I read so many of them.”

I looked down at her empty hands. “And you don’t have one now?”

She pointed to her floral carry-on bag. “I have four. I just wasn’t able to concentrate.”

She was admitting that I had distracted her to the point of putting her magazines away so she could continue to stare at me.

I was flattered by it, but I only nodded to her. “Okay.” Then I gave her a compliment. “You look like you could be featured in a few magazines yourself.”

She smiled and said, “Yeah, but they told me I was too short. Two more inches and I could have been the next Kate Moss.”

“Or Eva Pigford,” I told her. “They’re about the same height.”

“Yeah, but I’m only five-five.”

She looked much taller with heels on, but so did every woman.

“So, you gave up?” I asked her. We were ready to move toward the gate with our tickets. Only I was flying first class, and she was flying coach.

“I mean, what else can I do?” she asked me.

I immediately thought about her modeling for Playboy, but I wasn’t going to say that. I think it was just the man in me, and the practical joker. But I didn’t know this woman to make jokes like that.

“Well, how old are you?” I asked her.

“Twenty-four.”

“Finished with college?”

“Yup.”

“Ready for the world?”

She smiled and chuckled. “As ready as I can be.”

This white girl was cool, with an easygoing personality. But you never really know with those folks. Sometimes they talk to you just to prove they’re not prejudiced. So I took her to the test.

“Well, if I come across any leads for a great-looking brunette, how will I be able to let you know?”

She looked up into my eyes and said, “You can call me. I’ll write my number down.”

She took out a business card and wrote her cell phone number on the back of it. Then she extended her hand for a shake when she gave it to me.