“Victoria Mason,” she stated.

“Terrance Matthews.”

She nodded, still grinning. “So, what’s going on in Chicago?”

“Business,” I said, and kept it at that. I wanted to see how interested she was.

“A model shoot?”

“Yeah.”

By that time they were calling coach class to the plane. I had already missed the call for first class, but I could board when I wanted to. My seat wasn’t going anywhere.

She said, “I still think about modeling, but you know, maybe I’ll get into acting or something.”

“If you do that, you’ll shoot right past me. That’s where the big cheese is,” I told her.

“Yeah, and a much longer line to get in, too.”

“You’ve tried out for a few things already?”

“What haven’t I tried out for is more like it.”

I flipped over her card to see that she worked for a Chicago marketing firm.

“So your boss pretty much puts up with it, huh?”

“Oh, they love me there. I charm all the big clients. So they were all telling me I should go for more, you know, try to get it while the getting’s good.”

“While you’re still young and spunky, right?”

“Yeah, you know.”

We finally handed in our tickets at the gate and moved down the bridge toward the waiting plane.

“Well, please, Terrance, let me know if you have any leads for a hot brunette. You have my numbers. Okay? And if you like, I can send you pictures through e-mail, too.”

I said, “Okay,” and we went our separate ways once we reached the plane.

I tried not to, but I thought about that white girl for a good minute. Business was business and white folks had it down to a science. I had been around white models, male and female, who would do everything in their power to move up. Black models, on the other hand, rarely bothered to take it to that extreme. Either you had it or you didn’t. So we tended to float more between dedication and indifference. Those who did take modeling to the extreme were looked at as crazy…unless you made it.

I got off the plane and didn’t look back. I didn’t want the white girl thinking I was sweating her. I did want to get one last look at her, though, just to make sure she looked as good as I thought she did. I had been around enough women of all races to know when they looked good, and this girl had the look.

Anyway, I had baggage to claim and a limo to catch. Since the plane ended up being delayed, we were already thirty minutes late when we landed in Chicago. So I got on my cell phone and called Kim.

“Hey, we’re just getting in here,” I told her as soon as she answered her cell phone.

“I already know it. I’m down here waiting for you at the baggage claim.”

“Okay, good deal.”

When I arrived at baggage claim, Kim stood out in the middle of the floor, looking great. She wore a purple business suit with a black blouse, French collar, and black heels that matched her black leather purse.