Cheesecake and Teardrops by Faye Thompson

were approximately one hundred people in the class and after introducing herself the lecturer asked everyone to move up as close to the front as possible, filling in all empty seats.
    Heather chose an aisle seat.
    The lecture lasted for three hours and then they broke for lunch. She walked to the nearest bank of elevators and waited along with the others. Four elevators passed before she would get one, and even that elevator was packed to the gills. Heather left the building and walked around the corner to the Bryant Park Grill.
    She didn’t beat the lunch crowd and had to wait fifteen minutes for a table. The waitress brought her a glass of water, with which Heather washed down her diet pills. When she returned to take Heather’s order, she took one look at the menu and ordered a slice of chocolate-layer cake and coffee.
    She checked out her surroundings. The skinny minis, as she called them, were in rare form, looking as though they had just stepped out of the pages of Vogue . Then again, considering that she was in Bryant Park, home of New York’s Fashion Week, some of them probably had.
    Heather didn’t know what made her eyes widen more—the sight of Black Enterprise ’s Ed Gordon walking past her table or the arrival of her lunch. In either case, presentation was everything and the combination nearly took her breath away. Certain that she’d never sample his succulently full, juicy lips, she resolved to enjoy her meal in between stealing glances at his impressive form. The cake, which sat a full five inches high, was simply mouth-watering with chocolate shavings galore. Heather cleaned the last morsel of chocolate from her plate like it was the most precious commodity on earth. So much for saving some for manners.
    She left the restaurant, straining her neck for one last glimpse of Ed Gordon, but he was nowhere to be seen. It was just as well. He’d probably never give someone like her a second thought anyway.
    She took one last backward glance as she left the establishment and ran smack into a passerby on the sidewalk.
    She was more startled than he was.
    â€œOh, my goodness, I’m so sorry,” she said as they both got their bearings.
    â€œWait a minute. I know you. We met in the Green Acres Mall, right?” he asked. “I’m from the modeling agency.”
    â€œThat’s right,” Heather agreed.
    â€œMy name’s Don.”
    â€œI’m Heather,” she said simply.
    â€œHow are you?” he asked.
    â€œI’m fine, just running a little late.”
    â€œHere, take another card,” he said, extending his arm.
    â€œAnd don’t forget to give me a call when your’re ready for a career change. It’s all up to you.”
    She took the card and hurried back to the library.
    Â 
    Against her better judgment, Heather spent Tuesday night grocery shopping. Pathmark was open twenty-four hours a day, and apparently half of Springfield Gardens was there too in preparation for Thanksgiving. A cute-looking guy followed her up and down the aisles, trying to make eye contact.
    When he got up the nerve, he introduced himself as Jamal and gave her his home number. She took his number, promising nothing. His eyes lit up nonetheless. In the frozen food department two women were fighting over the last thirty-pound turkey, even though management assured them that more would be delivered the next day. From the looks of the checkout lines, you’d think they were giving food away. Heather made certain that she stuck to her grocery list. By the time she walked out the door, the thought of a hot bubble bath was the only think that kept her sane. That and the box of chocolate chip cookies she’d be devouring later that night before she embarked on her secret ritual.
    Her mother was working a double shift at the hospital and wouldn’t be home until Wednesday evening. Since Heather was only working half a day, she agreed to start the cooking.