“Well, here we go,” Paula said as we all began to climb out of the limo.

I had no idea how big the event was going to be. There were cameramen everywhere as soon as we stepped out of the limo and walked toward the entrance.

Kim was at the front to meet us, wearing a hot, red dress.

“Is everybody all right?” she asked us.

“What the heck is all of this?” I commented. Lights were steadily popping in my face. It was a red-carpet affair.

Kim said, “This is a big society event every year.”

“Yeah, especially for those big-wig money guys,” Andrew added.

I was about tired of listening to him, and I was hoping he wouldn’t be anywhere near my table.

We all walked into the banquet with hundreds of people in attendance, and took more photos before meeting and greeting more people.

Escorts directed guests to their tables, a front-and-center host with a microphone made frequent announcements, and I found out that the models would be a part of the show once everyone had arrived at their tables and started on their meals.

“Shit, so they’re gonna put us on the spot in here?” I asked Kim in private.

“Terrance, do you actually think these people are going to pay you guys thousands of dollars and not acknowledge who they paid for? Now you know better than that. That’s all a part of modeling.”

I knew she was right, I just didn’t feel like going through the motions that evening. I wanted to lay back in the crowd a bit. However, that was not to happen.

“Mr. Terrance Mitchell,” someone stated from my left. I turned and came face-to-face with Rachel from the Miami Hilton Hotel. She was wearing bright orange, and her face and hair were done up just right.

“Oh, hey, how are you doing?” I responded to her. I didn’t know what else to say, other than asking her what the hell she was doing there. Was she stalking me now?

She smiled and said, “I see you didn’t bother to answer any of my phone calls.”

I asked her, “Did you leave any messages?”

“Yeah, I left two messages. All I was gonna tell you is that I was gonna be here. Some friends of mine told me they had selected you as one of the campaign models this year. I was gonna be in Chicago today anyway, so I decided to come.”

“You paid to get in here?” I asked her. If she paid a hundred dollars for her plate, the general admission fee, then she was stalking me as far as I was concerned.

She answered, “No, my friends gave me tickets. They’re involved in this event every year.”

Obviously, I was not that well informed on the event. I hadn’t bothered to read the lung cancer website Kim had told me to check up on. I mean, unless you or a loved one is dying of cancer, how often would you log onto a lung cancer website?