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Vanity sat at her desk and looked at her hands, the polish that she had painstakingly put on this morning was gone. Nervously she glanced up at the clock on the wall. 10:30. It was only ten thirty! She wrung her hands in an attempt to wring the sweat from them. At 32 years old, Vanity considered herself to be a crackerjack Executive and one hell of a hot looking woman. She took meticulous care of herself. She exercised everyday, watched what she ate and kept herself looking like a showroom model. She had moved up the corporate ladder in her steady climb to the top. Nothing and no one was going to keep this Black woman down. Landing a job at one of the more prominent Advertising agencies had been her defining moment. She knew that being Black and working for an almost exclusively white firm was a big feather in both their caps. Vanity sat back in her big leather chair and looked out the window. Her lips trembled as she bit down on her lower lip. She tried hard to hold back the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes. They would only ruin her makeup and they wouldn't stop what she knew was going to happen. How could she have been so stupid and careless? Vanity laid her hands on her desk. Even without looking she knew that they were shaking. Just as her hands made contact with the big brown envelope on her desk, the phone rang. Vanity jumped back from the desk as if she had found a large serpent lying there. Her eyes stayed glued to the bulging envelope as the phone rang in her ears. Shaking herself, she picked up the receiver. "Hello, Vanity Brightsong." The voice on the other end was slightly husky and definitely male. "Hello Ms. Brightsong. I trust that you received my postage this morning. I don't ...

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