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  I know I could be a vindictive bitch at times, but I gotta tell you, I was afraid for my life.

  Every time I looked at Dante, his eyes were throwing daggers at me even though he was smiling.

  It got so bad that each morning when I arrived at my office, I checked under my desk and my chair for homemade bombs.

  Eventually, though, Anja reassigned him yet again and contact between Dante and me tapered down to nothing.

  I see him in meetings every now and again and I see the way he looks at Anja—his eyes are filled with nothing but loathing for her and I fear that he might “out” her before I get the chance to.

  Crystal

  it was eight-thirty in the morning and I’d just stepped out of the shower. I should have been at work already, but these days I was as slow as a turtle. I just didn’t have any energy at all. I was just two months from my fortieth birthday, but my body felt like it was about to turn seventy.

  Sighing, I reached for the alcohol-soaked cotton ball and dabbed at the two new pimples on my chin. The acne from my teen years had returned with a vengeance—not only that, but my once glowing skin had taken on a dull, faded look and I was developing dark circles beneath my eyes.

  I hadn’t been sleeping well, even though most days I worked like a dog and came home dead on my feet. I almost always went directly to bed but would eventually wake up with a start in less than three hours and spend the rest of the night tossing and turning or watching seventies sitcom reruns on Nick at Nite. By the time five-thirty a.m. came around I was just slipping back into la-la land.

  Back in the day I would hop out of bed, do my crunches and a few stretches, and then take a forty-five-minute run through the park. Now all I had energy enough for was to hit the snooze button and try to catch forty or so more winks.

  My position as a director at the Ain’t I A Woman Foundation was on shaky ground. I was arriving to work late almost every day, and it was just April and I’d already taken two of my five weeks’ vacation, four sick days, and two personal days.

  I won’t even get into the half days, the extended lunch hours, and the hours I’ve spent locked in my office, behind my desk, tilted back in my chair and staring out the window.

  If daydreaming counted for billable hours, I’d be rich.

  My boss, Mr. Fisher, a small, gray-haired, stout white man in his early sixties, had called me into his office just yesterday. We’d known other for nearly fifteen years. I was his secretary at the Rockefeller Foundation, and when he got the position at Ain’t I A Woman, he took me with him but explained to me that he did not expect me to manage his day planner, answer his phone, and make his coffee for the rest of my life. He expected me to spread my wings, take the bull by the horns, and make a career for myself.

  And I’d done just that, taking on a new position every eighteen months until finally I was promoted to director of housing.

  Mr. Fisher was senior director over all areas of the foundation, so after fifteen years he was still my boss.

  “Lovely to see you, Crystal.” Adolph Fisher came from around his desk and greeted me with a tight hug and warm kiss to my cheek. The greeting was not proper office decorum, but Mr. Fisher, or Adolph as I called him when we were alone, had been more than just a boss and a mentor; he had been on many levels a father figure to me.

  I hugged him back.

  “Sit down, sit down,” Adolph said, indicating the black leather club chair to his left. Adolph himself did not take his swivel seat behind the massive glass office desk; instead, he sat in the matching leather club beside me, turned his big blue eyes on me, reached over, took my hand in his, and said, “I don’t know what’s going on with you, but you know I love you like you were my flesh and blood, and because I do…”

  Adolph stopped there for a moment and gave me a penetrating look before he went on.

  “I need to be frank with you and advise you that your job is in jeopardy, and if you don’t straighten up, I’m going to have to let you go.”

  I just broke down, sobbing like a baby for damn near fifteen minutes. Mr. Fisher, Adolph, gave me a box of Kleenex and patiently waited for my waterworks to drizzle down to heaves and nose blowing.

  He had a wife and five daughters; emotional outbursts were familiar territory for him.

  “I-I’m sorry, Adolph. I—” I blubbered.

  “No need to be sorry, Crystal.”

  “I just don’t know what’s gotten into me. I—I just don’t know,” I cried through a fresh stream of tears.

  And I didn’t know. Things were happening to my body that I just did not understand. The gray hairs were a shock, but then the on-again-off-again menstrual cycle had really sent me for a loop. The excessive bloating I could handle, but these sudden emotional outbursts were really getting on my nerves.

  Lately, it don’t take much to get me weeping; a Hallmark commerical or the arrival of an invitation to a wedding or, worse yet, a baby shower was usually all it took to send me over the edge.

  “Could it be menopause?” Adolph said.

  My reaction was one of shock and surprise. My head snapped back on my neck and my mouth dropped open. How dare he say something like that to me? We were familiar, yes, but shit, Adolph had crossed the line!

  I wiped at my tears, cleared my throat, and smoothed my hands across the material of my skirt before saying in a tight tone, “Adolph.”

  He put his hands up, not in surrender but in defense of his statement.

  “Crystal, you know Elaine, my first daughter, went through menopause at the age of thirty-two. It’s rare, but not unheard of.”

  I bit down on my bottom lip. I had considered that but had quickly ushered that thought from my mind. I couldn’t be menopausal; I hadn’t had a child yet. God wouldn’t do something like that to me. Or would he?

  Adolph continued, “Lucky for Elaine, she’d had Billy and Rebecca in her twenties.”

  I could give a shit about Elaine and her two blue-eyed, blond-haired children! I could give a rat’s ass! I didn’t have a child, nor did I have a prospect for a man that could give me a child—all I had was this fucking job, an overpriced apartment, and a retirement account that had taken a $30,000 hit this month.

  I didn’t have a husband and a family like Elaine. As far as I was concerned, Elaine had everything and I had nothing.

  “Yes, lucky for Elaine,” I mumbled, and even managed a smile as I casually slipped my hand from his. Clearing my throat and wiping at the last vestiges of tears clinging to my cheeks, I straightened my back and tried to recapture the dignity I had entered that room with.

  “It’s just PMS, Adolph, and a small iron deficiency, that’s all,” I said abruptly as I rose to my feet.

  Adolph didn’t look convinced. We’d known each other too long. “If you say so, Crystal,” he offered quietly as he too rose to his feet.

  I extended my hand. “Thank you for taking the time to speak to me, and again, forgive me for the outburst.”

  Adolph looked at my hand as if he didn’t know what to do with it, and then he looked at me. I saw the hurt swimming in his eyes. My formality had wedged a space between us. “My door is always open, Crystal,” he said, and finally shook my hand.

  That was yesterday. Now it was Friday morning, and I was late and still carrying the shame of the day before. I walked into my bedroom, picked up the cordless, dialed my office, and told my assistant that I would not be coming in today.

  I placed the receiver back down on the base and stared at it for a moment. My mind questioned, calculated, whirled, and spun before finally coming to a halt.

  A decision had been made. I picked the receiver up again and pressed speed dial number eight. After two short rings, the computer-generated voice said: Thank you for calling American Airlines—if you are a frequent flyer member, press one now.

  Geneva

  so are you sure you’ll be coming in on that day?” I asked Noah as I stood in the kitchen, clutching my robe together with one hand while I moved
my Newport to and from my mouth with the other.

  “Yes, I’m all confirmed,” Noah screeched from the other end of the line.

  “Okay, I just want to make sure, because I want to cook you a welcome home dinner since you missed spending Christmas with us.”

  “Okay, Geneva—you said that like ten times. Damn.”

  “Oh, have I?”

  “Yes, girl—you going senile on me or something?”

  I had been a little absentminded lately.

  “Anyway,” I started, completely ignoring his comment, “I’ll let the girls know and—”

  “Don’t tell Chevy. I want to surprise Ms. Drama, catch her off guard.”

  “Hmm—she owe you rent money?”

  “You know it!”

  “Noah, I don’t know why—”

  “Look, Geneva, I have got to run now. See you in a few weeks—ta-ta.”

  “Okay, bye, Noah,” I said, and pressed the End button on the phone. After I stubbed my cigarette out in the ashtray I hurried into the bathroom. I needed to weigh myself to see just how much I’d lost.

  I removed my robe, tossed it to the floor, and jumped eagerly onto the scale.

  228.

  I’d only lost two pounds in one month.

  Jumping angrily off the scale, I flopped down onto the toilet lid, rocking the commode on its porcelain base.

  It wasn’t fair, not at all. I’d expected to shed at least ten pounds by now.

  I shot an angry glance at the bottle of Biothin that sat on the sink counter.

  Snatching up the bottle, I peered at the directions:

  TAKE ONE PILL BEFORE EACH MEAL.

  I’d been doing that. I threw the bottle across the room and it hit the wall and fell to the ground, sending little yellow pills scurrying across the floor.

  Child protection safety cap my ass.

  I put my robe back on and stormed out of the bathroom and over to the computer, which sat on a small square folding table near the living room window. I had DSL now, thanks to my boyfriend, Deeka. I pointed the blinking cursor to the tab that was marked Favorites.

  Biothin was at the top of the list. I clicked on that and was taken directly to the Web site. I read and reread all the information, including the testimonials. I stared hard at the before-and-after pictures. Everyone looked fabulous, so why wasn’t it working for me?

  I began to sulk.

  Okay, I hadn’t totally given up Ben and Jerry’s ice cream, and so I still enjoyed a Krispy Kreme donut every day with my coffee, and I loved me some hot biscuits and gravy, and Friday night was still pizza and Corona night, but still…two pounds?

  I looked toward the bathroom, where the pills were still scattered across the floor.

  Maybe I should take two before each meal?

  I started toward the bathroom.

  Two pills would really kick-start my system. I’ve always had a slow system, slow blood—at least that’s what my mother always said.

  No, no, I remember now—it was tired blood. Well, tired blood would be slow, wouldn’t it? And medicine moved through your blood system, didn’t it? And if I had tired, slow blood wouldn’t it take a long time for the stuff in the pills to get to the fat?

  I think it would, and who knows how much medicine was still in the pill by the time it got there. Maybe it wasn’t enough to do what it was supposed to do. Maybe two pills would guarantee results. Two is always better than one, right?

  I gathered the pills from the floor and dropped them lovingly back into the bottle. That’s what I’ll do, I thought as I went into the kitchen and pulled the two-liter bottle of Pepsi from the refrigerator. I’ll take two pills from now on.

  “What’s that, Mommy?” Charlie’s small voice came from behind me, startling me so that I almost spit up the mouthful of Pepsi.

  I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and hurriedly shoved the soda back into the fridge before turning around to face her.

  “What’s what, pumpkin?”

  “Those,” she said pointing her finger at the bottle of Biothin clutched in my hand.

  “Oh,” I breathed, giving the bottle a quick shake before placing it on top of the refrigerator, safely out of Charlie’s reach. “Those are—are my, um, magic beans!” I squealed triumphantly.

  Charlie made a face. “Magic beans?”

  “Yes, yes,” I said, taking her by the hand and leading her to the kitchen table.

  “Like ‘Jack and the Beanstalk’?”

  “Exactly,” I said as I pulled out the chair and helped her take a seat.

  “Why are you eating them, Mommy?” Charlie’s voice climbed—she was panicking. “If you eat them a tree will start to grow in your belly and—”

  I place a calming hand on Charlie’s shoulder. “No, sweetie, these are different. These magic beans will help Mommy to lose weight.”

  Chevy

  i leaned back into the leather of my office chair and yawned. I was exhausted. Friday couldn’t have come fast enough, because I’d had a hell of a week.

  Anja, my boss and lover, had worked me to the bone this week—in and out of bed!

  We’d hosted three parties at the celebrity hangout Bungalow 8. Each event had gone on to three a.m. in the morning, after which Anja hopped in her limo and was whisked away to her Upper East Side condo.

  Me, I would get in a yellow cab and get there about fifteen minutes behind her, using my key to let myself in. Anja was always in the middle of removing what I’d come to call his Halloween costume.

  By the time we’d meet up in the marble shower, Anja was just a memory and Andre and I would create more steam than the fourteen water jets going full blast!

  Now Friday was here and it was three o’clock. Upper management and executive assistants—that was me—could knock off early.

  I pulled my purple Salvatore Ferragamo crocheted bag from the bottom drawer, hit the button on the computer monitor, and was up and out the door.

  I found a space in the hallway crowded with other executives who were buzzing about all the sun they planned to soak up out in the Hamptons that weekend, and my BlackBerry started to vibrate. I dug into my bag and saw that there was a message from Anja.

  Chevy please come to my office.

  I sighed. I had been just seconds from a clean getaway.

  “Enter,” Anja’s raspy voice ordered after I’d rapped lightly on her office door.

  Stepping into the red and cream Asian-inspired office, I found Anja seated behind her desk and a voluptuous red-haired vixen seated before her.

  “Chevanese Cambridge, meet LaTangie Fox, my new assistant.”

  Her words hit me like a ton of bricks. New assistant? Why the fuck did she need another assistant? She had five too many already.

  I forced a smile and glided across the floor toward LaTangie, extending my hand. “Hello, so nice to meet you,” I said as I took in her flawless cream-colored skin and petite nose. She smiled, dazzling me with her blindingly white teeth.

  My eyes rolled over her. She was certainly very well put together dressed in a dark blue Antonio Melani suit. This LaTangie chick had good taste; I had the same suit in coral.

  “Same here,” LaTangie responded.

  I’d detected an accent. “Southern?” I inquired.

  “Louisiana, to be exact. My daddy is French,” she drawled. “White,” she added and smiled. “My mama is Creole.”

  Did I ask for all that?

  “That’s nice,” I said, and moved my gaze to Anja, who was smiling smugly at me.

  “LaTangie just graduated from Columbia,” Anja announced like a proud mother.

  I nodded and mumbled, “That’s nice” again as I looked down at my watch.

  “Are we keeping you from something, Chevy?” Anja asked.

  “Chevy? Oh, that is just an adorable nickname,” LaTangie piped.

  I looked at her and had to suppress the urge to smack her across her pretty face. “My nickname is Tan-gee.”

  I smirked, already
sick of her Southern cadence.

  “Anything else, Anja?” I said briskly. Anja had an amused look on her face.

  “Anja was just informing LaTangie of her duties,” Anja said, glancing down at her Lee Press On Nails. “She will be moving into Dante’s office, right across from you.”

  My mouth fell open.

  “Where’s Dante going?”

  Anja gave me a bored look and drummed her plastic nails on the glass desk. “He’s no longer working at La Fleur Industries.”

  My heart seized up in my chest. Sure, Dante and I had had our share of problems, and yes, he had been a thorn in my side at times, and of course him being gone made me next in line for Anja’s position, but even with all that, something about this whole situation gave me a bad feeling in my gut.

  I was more than sure that if Dante had found a position with another company there would have been at the very least some sort of farewell party, or balloon bouquet, something, anything. He’d been with Anja for ten years, for chrissakes!

  Had Anja just disposed of Dante? Could I be next in line? I braced myself and asked, “Was he let go?”

  Anja let out a small laugh, waved her hand at me, and said, “Anja would like you to show LaTangie to her office.”

  I nearly choked. “What?”

  “Don’t make Anja repeat herself,” Anja practically barked at me.

  I looked stupidly at LaTangie, who had popped up out of her chair like a jack-in-the-box.

  “Oh, that’s so nice of you, Chevy,” she said, and beamed as she slipped her arm through the straps of her Furla pocketbook. “Now we can have some time to really get to know each other.”

  I didn’t want to get to know her.

  “Bye-bye, Anja, and thank you so much for the opportunity. I will do you and La Fleur Industries proud!” LaTangie said, and saluted Anja.

  I might be wrong, but I saw a twinkle in Anja’s eye. I’d seen that twinkle a number of times as I undressed.

  LaTangie turned to me and said, “Ready, Freddie!”