Cheesecake and Teardrops

by Faye Thompson

Genres: General Fiction; African American; African American Urban

Synopsis

Without even trying, Charisma has caught the eye of Nate, her new manager. Despite their nine-to-five cat and mouse games, she insists that she doesn't "do" her bosses--until she discovers that her white coworker, Chase Martini, is also interested in Nate. Tangie's boyfriend, Blade, is constantly doing things that reaffirm her belief that all men are dogs. But what's a woman to do when the sex is sizzlin'? Will she be any better off when FBI agent Tony Banks steps in and sweeps her off her feet? Heather's low self-esteem and "body by Haagen Dazs®," prevent her from seeing her true beauty. When a former classmate offers Heather some powerful diet pills, there's a steep price attached. As best friends Charisma, Tangie, and Heather deal with issues of race, relationships, and body image, they remind each other that "behind every successful woman is herself!"

Release date: August 1, 2011

Publisher: Urban Renaissance

Print pages: 640

Sample

Charisma Dearborn had just enough time to shower, apply makeup, and finger-comb her short, glossy locks before grabbing the keys to her silver Honda off the kitchen counter and heading to work. She was already ten minutes behind schedule. She despised being late today of all days when her new boss started. Damn, the Sunrise Highway was bumper-to-bumper. She’d make better time on the service road. The hooptie in front of her made an abrupt stop, forcing her to slam on her brakes. Where’d you get your license, lady, Target? she almost asked as she drove past the Green Acres Mall.

Charisma knew she shouldn’t have let Dex stay over last night, but she had a weakness for well-groomed corporate types with strong backs, and Dex Spencer had all three. So she gave him a good workout last night and again early this morning. He left shortly thereafter, promising to call her later that night. She and Dex had a great relationship. Dex wanted more. She wasn’t ready for a commitment, but she did have her needs.... Charisma smiled at the recollection, but she was paying for it this morning.

Okay, she could just about make it if she could find a parking space close to the building. Parking was always at a premium. What else was new? She circled a couple of times before spotting a Nissan a few feet ahead pulling out. She went for it, but so did a black Camry. His loss. As she stepped out into the early October air and gathered her jacket and briefcase, she could see Mr. Camry shake his head and grin before driving off. She had six minutes to spare. Thank God for small miracles.

Charisma took the elevator up to the eighth floor. She could tell that the new boss hadn’t yet arrived. She was safe, proceeding to get her coffee and heading for her office.

She needed to complete a marketing report by noon, and the morning staff meeting would only delay progress.

She’d been working on the report for about twenty minutes when Amanda Smith, the assistant manager, stuck her head in the doorway of Charisma’s office. “Nate Arquette’s here. The staff meeting will start in ten minutes in the conference room,” she told her.

“Thanks, Amanda. I’ll be right there.” Charisma logged off her computer and stopped at Lauren’s desk. The two fell into step as they headed to the conference room.

“I hear he’s a real ballbuster,” Lauren admitted. She had earned the reputation of being the office gossip, but she was also a sweetheart.

“Lucky for us we don’t have balls,” Charisma answered.

In her eleven years as a marketing analyst with Freeman LTD, she had seen executives come and go. Most of them only lasted a year or two. This one probably wouldn’t be any different. The turnover was incredible. Charisma had been turned down for every promotion she applied for in the past three years, and to whites at that. It was like they belonged to a secret club. No matter how hard she worked, her efforts went unrecognized. When Chase Martini, the office slut, was promoted over her this last go-round, she realized that the old saying it’s not what you do but who you do was more than just that.

They were all seated and waiting for Nate’s arrival. Finally, Amanda walked in with a tall, honey-brown man in a navy double-breasted suit. When he got to the center of the room, Charisma realized who he was. Shit, it’s Mr. Camry!

So much for making a good first impression. Amanda introduced Nate Arquette to the staff of forty.

“Thank you, Amanda. First, let me take this opportunity to tell you how pleased I am to be here and how excited I am to be working with you all at Freeman. Just to give you some background, I started out at Sandrell Incorporated fresh out of USC in an entry-level position and worked my way up the ranks. So, I believe in hard work and dedication.

I stayed with Sandrell for eight years before becoming an assistant manager at Elliott Brothers. I worked at EB for the past seven years, and I hope no one is doing the math.” Nate paused, smiling.

They all laughed politely.

“Now, I would like to meet with the department managers this afternoon at three. And I certainly do want to apologize for being late this morning. I didn’t realize parking was at such a premium,” he admitted.

“Sorry, Nate, we’ll get your permit registered right away. Welcome aboard,” Amanda replied.

“Thanks. That’s all for now,” he said, dismissing them.

As they broke up, Chase Martini, the resident rich bitch, whispered to Charisma, “That’s just the way I like ’em—tall, dark, and handsome. And not a wedding band in sight!”

Just what every office needs, Charisma thought, a slut with morals. Luckily for Chase, she kept it moving. She had beat Charisma out of the last two promotions simply because she spread easier than butter and threatened to file a sexual harassment lawsuit against the former boss. Ultimately, he couldn’t stand the heat and fled. So, Charisma didn’t have much to say to Chase.

Charisma returned to her office totally prepared to focus on the report, but the phone wouldn’t let her. First her mother called.

“Charisma, your brother wants you to come by for dinner Friday evening so we can all meet his latest,” Jena Dearborn said.

“Knowing Eric, she’s his latest and his greatest.”

“Well, at least he’s moving in the right direction. If you’re not careful, your little brother will settle down and make me a grandbaby before you do,” she warned.

“I’m in no hurry, Mother.”

“I know. That’s the problem. You’re too busy being independent. Don’t you know men like to feel needed? You’re probably scaring them all away.”

“Mother, I don’t have time for this now. I have tons of work in front of me. I’ll see you and Daddy Friday night.”

No sooner had Charisma replaced the receiver when she received another call. This time it was an inside call.

“Charisma Dearborn,” she said.

“Miss Dearborn, this is Nate Arquette.”

Silence.

“I understand you’re working on the biweekly report. How’s it coming along?”

“We’ve had several new clients last month. I’m still gathering data, but I should have the figures on your desk by noon.”

“Fine. I’ll let you get back to work, and I’ll expect that report shortly.”

“Yes,” she said simply before hanging up. Determined to have the assignment completed ahead of schedule, Charisma absorbed herself completely in the task at hand. In fact, she allowed her voice mail to answer all other calls rather than being further distracted. As a result, by eleven-thirty she had the report proofed and printed. No sense getting off to a bad start with the new boss. She dropped the report off in his office, noticing a single framed photo of him playing tennis with what must have been his son. They were both wearing tennis whites and from his son’s smile, he must have won. The photo was right next to his Go Get ’Em! coffee mug.

Just as she was about to leave, Nate walked in.

“Is that the report?” He was easily six foot one.

“Yes, hot off the presses.”

“And early at that,” he added.

“Timing is everything.”

“Yes, especially when you’re driving, what, a silver Honda, Miss Dearborn?”

Charisma rubbed the hair on the back of her neck and laughed. Nate laughed too.

“You know, it just happened so fast . . .” she admitted.

“Hey, I admire a woman who goes after what she wants. If this report is as impressive as your parking skills, this company is in for a smooth ride.”

“Let’s hope so.”

Later that evening after a long, hot bubble bath Charisma felt revived. Tempted to phone Dex for another steamy session, she opted instead to call her best friend, Tangie. That way she was certain to get her much-needed seven and a half hours of sleep. Few things were more vital to her wellbeing than her beauty sleep, plenty of water, and consistent exercise. People didn’t realize their impact, but she knew the role they played in keeping her balanced and focused.

Not to mention giving her caramel skin a glow most women envied but refused to take the energy and effort to maintain.

Sure, the right cosmetics did wonders for all women—natural beauties and plain Janes alike, but some things couldn’t be bought at the makeup counter. The superficial pampering of manicures, pedicures, and weekly salon visits weren’t enough. Some things had to be done the old-fashioned way, and Charisma was her own best investment.

She ended up leaving a message on Tangie’s machine and whipping up dinner. Chicken breast and a salad were a breeze to prepare, but the best part was the room left for red velvet cake. In fact, she was curled up on her sofa with dessert, listening to the stereo, when Tangie returned her call.

“Are we still on for dinner Saturday night?” Charisma asked.

“Yeah, Heather called me today at work. She said she’ll meet us at eight. Her car’s back in the shop, but she’s picking it up Saturday afternoon.” The three friends had a girls’ night out at least twice a month. They looked forward to playing catch-up and exhaling. They’d been friends forever.

“Great. Tangie, remind me to bring your Jill Scott CD.”

“Okay. I’ll talk to you later.”

Charisma prepared to leave work Friday evening and head over to her parents’ for dinner. Her new boss had just popped his head in her doorway as she was about to leave.

“Charisma, I have a proposition for you,” he said.

“And what might that be?”

“You seem like a woman who knows how to have a good time. I was wondering if you could show me some of the city’s nightlife one evening.”

“I guess I know a few of the hot spots. I would love to show you around. Just say when.”

“You’re sure your boyfriend won’t mind?” Nate asked.

“Not at all,” she said simply.

“Good. Let me know when you’re available.”

“I’m free next week.”

“Sounds like a plan. Oh, and Charisma?”

She looked up from packing her briefcase.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Less than an hour later Charisma was in her mother’s kitchen preparing a salad. Charisma was the spitting image of Jena, from her long, sexy lashes and fine, glossy black curls to her slender build. Her father, Ellis, a hardworking loan officer, was due home any minute, and her brother Eric was bringing his latest girlfriend over to meet the folks.

Five years her junior, Eric often brought his girlfriends home for inspection. Why, in the last year alone, he had brought home three girls. Charisma was beginning to lose track of all his women.

“I’m home,” Ellis Dearborn said as he entered the house through the side door.

“We’re in here, honey,” Jena said from the kitchen.

“Hi, Daddy.” Charisma kissed her father on the cheek.

“Hi, princess,” he said, kissing her back. “Is Eric here yet?”

“No, he just called. He’ll be here in about twenty minutes,” Jena said.

“Good. I’ll have time to shower and change,” he said, heading upstairs to the bathroom. Ellis Dearborn was a salt-and-pepper–haired man of average height. He had a slight potbelly and the warmest brown eyes to match his gentle smile.

Jena and Charisma finished making dinner—London broil, macaroni and cheese, salad, and dinner rolls. Jena had even left work early so she’d have enough time to make Eric’s favorite German chocolate cake.

“You know, Charisma, having a career is fine, but there’s more to life than just work. When are you going to settle down, get married, and have some babies?”

“Mother, please, not tonight. You act like I’m ancient. I’m only thirty-four. What’s the rush? Just because you married at nineteen, doesn’t mean that’s the law of the land. And besides, I haven’t met the right man yet. I know you don’t want me to marry any ole thing that comes along just for the sake of having a husband. Or do you?”

“Don’t be silly, Charisma. I just don’t want you to end up like your cousin Candace. She gave away all her candy until there was none left. Now, nobody wants her. No man wants a woman who’s been too picked over. You’re too intelligent to be foolish. I just want what’s best for you.” Charisma sighed.

Jena continued. “I may not always be right, Charisma, but I’m never wrong.”

Charisma shook her head. “Okay, Mother. Now can we please change the subject?” Charisma glanced out the kitchen window. “Eric and his latest are pulling up.”

“What’s her name again?” Jena asked.

“Sophia,” Charisma reminded her.

“It would be a shame if your little brother beat you to the altar. I keep telling you, Charisma, you’re not as young as you think you are.”

Charisma drove the short distance down the Sunrise Highway to Red Lobster in the Green Acres Mall for dinner with her two best friends, Tangie and Heather. She found a parking spot close to Best Buy just as another car was pulling out. It was Saturday night, and the restaurant was packed. Tangie had already arrived. They waited about half an hour before being seated at a booth. The waitress came shortly to take their order, but they decided to wait for Heather.

“Before I forget, here’s your CD.” Charisma reached inside her purse for Jill Scott’s latest.

“Thanks,” Tangie said.

Charisma and Tangie had been best friends since kindergarten. From the very beginning, people often mistook them for sisters. Known affectionately as Tangie, Tangela Winterhope was a force to be reckoned with. Her shoulder-length layered hair and copper highlights only emphasized her golden skin tone. If a man didn’t notice her bedroom eyes first, it was because they were too busy checking out her DD cups. Naturally friendly, Tangie had been boy-crazy ever since Charisma could remember. Like Charisma, she loved shopping and often spent hours at the mall looking for the perfect shoe, the perfect dress, the perfect lipstick . . .

Finally, Heather arrived. She was a full-figured biracial woman with warm green eyes and a naturally curly honeybrown mane that fell way down her back. “Sorry I’m late. My car wasn’t ready until half an hour ago. Would you believe it? It was supposed to be ready this afternoon. Those damn mechanics get on my nerves, and they charge an arm and a leg. Have you guys been waiting long?” she asked as she squeezed into the booth next to Tangie.

“No, we just got here,” Charisma said.

Heather signaled for the waitress and they placed their order. As the youngest of the trio, she had met Charisma and Tangie during an orientation weekend at Howard University.

They were amazed to discover that Heather was from New York as well. Despite the three-year age difference, they clicked and promised to keep in touch. When Heather entered Howard on a full scholarship that September, Charisma and Tangie immediately took her under their wing, giving her the inside track on everything from which professors to avoid to where the best on-and off-campus dorms were located. Heather affectionately referred to them as Howard’s Angels, and held them partially responsible for her summa cum laude degree.

The waitress returned with piping hot biscuits and their drinks—Tangie’s Sex on the Beach, Charisma’s Long Island iced tea, and Heather’s seltzer water. When she left, they raised their glasses in their customary toast. In unison they said, “Behind every successful woman is herself.”

“I know that’s right,” Heather agreed. “So what’s new?”

“Blade and I celebrate our two-year anniversary next week.” Tangie smiled.

“I’m not sure if I should congratulate you or offer my condolences. The minute he gave you that recycled Valentine’s Day teddy bear with some other chick’s name on it, you should have kicked him to the curb. It’s October, and you’re still seeing him?” Heather shook her head.

“Cut him loose,” Charisma agreed, biting into a biscuit.

“I will. Eventually,” Tangie promised.

“Who is she kidding?” Heather looked at Charisma. “Tangie, he’s not the only man out there.”

“I know, but he’s got some sweet meat,” Tangie admitted.

“Then suffer the consequences. You know how he is.” Heather stirred her seltzer with a straw.

Tangie shook her head. “All I wanna know is, who let the dogs out?”

“Doesn’t matter. Why do you keep letting them in?” Charisma asked.

Finally, their appetizers came—mozzarella sticks and stuffed mushrooms. They dived right in, all except for Heather.

“Heather, you’re not eating. What’s up?” Charisma asked.

“I’m skipping the appetizers. I’m on a new diet. I’m supposed to lose ten pounds in two weeks,” Heather admitted.

“Eating what?” Charisma asked.

“Mostly broiled seafood, baked chicken, salad, and I take a supplement before every meal. I gotta get this weight off. The holidays are coming.” Heather took another sip of seltzer.

Tangie quickly said grace and bit into a cheese stick. “How much are you trying to lose?”

“I’m about two-twenty now, but I would love to get down to one-sixty,” Heather said.

“One-sixty on a five-foot-seven-inch frame? You’d be hot. You should come to the gym and work out. You’d lose the weight in no time,” Tangie suggested.

“As huge as I am? Imagine me waddling around the gym. It’s not a pretty sight,” Heather admitted.

“Heather, the average woman is a size fourteen,” Charisma reminded her.

“Please,” Tangie told her. “Look at you. You’re gorgeous. You have flawless, creamy skin, beautiful almond-shaped eyes, and a head of hair most women would die for. Count your blessings. So you’re a little overweight. You can lose it. Lots of women have lost more. And what’s in those pills you’re taking, anyway? Are they safe?”

“I bought them from the health food store. They’re fine,” Heather said. “Where’s our dinner? I’m starving.”

“Have a mushroom. One can’t hurt,” Charisma said.

“No, I’ll pass,” Heather decided.

“If you change your mind and wanna hit the gym, let me know. I can get you a really good deal. Just say the word.”

Tangie, who worked at Canyon’s Club, told her.

“Okay, enough about me. Did you get that promotion, Charisma?” Heather asked.

“No, I didn’t get this one, either,” Charisma said. “Guess who did?”

“Who?” Tangie and Heather both asked.

“Chase Martini. Miss Crappuccino strikes again.” Charisma shook her head.

“What excuse did they give this time?” Tangie asked.

“My boss claimed that she was better qualified and that she had completed more extensive special assignments than me. Who’s he kidding? She’s a part-timer who spends half of her day on her cell.” Charisma grabbed another mozzarella stick. “The only special assignments she’s been on lately have been in somebody’s bed, probably his. Thank goodness he’s history. Come to think of it, the last three promotions were filled by whites. I’m sick of it. It’s almost like they belong to a sect. Who do they think they are, the privileged sect? I’m ready to file a discrimination complaint.”

“Sometimes that can hurt your career,” Heather said.

“I just want some answers,” Charisma admitted. “Oh, they just hired a new manager in my department.”

“White?” Tangie asked.

“No, a brother, actually,” Charisma said.

“Interesting. What’s he like?” Tangie asked.

Charisma smiled, recalling how she had beat him out of a parking space that first day. “I was so embarrassed.”

“Well, at least he knows you can maneuver your way into a tight spot,” Tangie said. “Men like that kind of information.”

“A few days later he asked me to show him some of the city’s hot spots.” Charisma grinned.

“See, I told you,” Tangie said. “But we all know which hot spot he was really talking about. What’s he like?”

“He’s tall, nice build, pretty brown skin,” Charisma said.

“Just your type.” Heather smiled.

“Does he have tight sugar buns?” Tangie asked

“I wasn’t looking there,” Charisma exclaimed.

“Well, you should have been, ’cause you know he was scoping yours. As much as you’re packing back there? Please, you could run the Big Apple from your back pocket,” Tangie told her.

“And you could light the city with your DD headlights, honey. No need for Con Ed,” Charisma said, referring to the utility giant.

“You two are so bad.” Heather laughed.

The waitress returned with their entrées: Charisma’s shrimp scampi, Tangie’s creamy crabmeat Alfredo, and Heather’s broiled salmon. Charisma and Tangie dug right in.

Heather downed a diet pill first.

“I bet your boss’ll ask you out,” Tangie said.

“I bet he will too,” Heather agreed. “It’s just a matter of time.” She cut into her salmon and chewed slowly, savoring every bite.

“And you know what they say. The woman decides when a relationship will begin,” Tangie said.

“I know. And the man usually decides when it’ll end. But in this case there’ll be no end ’cause there’ll be no beginning,” Charisma insisted.

“But Charisma, you could have so much fun,” Tangie said, swirling her pasta.

“How do you know? You haven’t even met the man,” Charisma said.

“Don’t have to. Imagine dating your boss. It’s the forbidden fruit thing,” Tangie told her.

“Forbidden fruit? I’m not trying to get in a jam. You know, I make my phone call first thing every payday morning to make sure my direct deposit is there,” Charisma said, referring to what they called their single-girl call. “I need my job. And besides, you know I’m seeing Dex.”

“See them both,” Tangie insisted.

“And divide the pie?” Charisma asked, enjoying her shrimp scampi. “Uh-uh.”

“Well, it’s not like they don’t do it to us,” Tangie said, rolling her eyes.

“You wanna know something?” Heather asked without waiting for an answer. “Dex is nice and all, and I know he suits your needs, but you’re settling.”

“And you think I should give my boss a shot?” Charisma asked.

“Why not? What have you got to lose?” Heather shrugged.

“You’re both crazy.” Charisma shook her head.

“We just want to see you get swept off your feet,” Tangie said. “One of us deserves it.”

“You’re all business,” Heather told Charisma. “So what could be better than meeting the man of your dreams at work?”

“Haven’t you heard that working girls should keep their legs shut and their eyes and ears open? Anyway, who says he’s even available? A man like him probably has them lined up around the block,” Charisma said as she sipped her drink.

“Maybe. But if he were available, would you be interested?” Tangie asked.

Charisma thought for a moment before speaking. “Nope.”

Heather Grey drove down Merrick Boulevard to her favorite cosmetics and skin-care shop, When We Were Queens. Her atrocious eyebrows looked like two bushy caterpillars plastered to her forehead in need of waxing. She was more than overdue.

Thank God Cinderella was in, and they were delighted to see one another. As usual, Cinderella greeted her with a warm embrace, kissing both cheeks. “Now queens,” she said to her other clients. “Say hello to Queen Heather.”

“Hi,” they all said in unison.

“You look fantastic, my darling,” Cinderella told her.

“I lost five pounds,” Heather whispered.

“That’s wonderful. Call the cops!” Cinderella smiled. “Let me guess.” She laughed. “You need your eyebrows done.”

Heather nodded. “Uh-huh.”

“Let me finish Anita’s, start Queen Ethel’s, and then put wax on yours,” she told Heather, keeping track of everyone.

It was well-known that Cinderella did the best makeup and eyebrows in Queens, and she was the premier choice for many a brides. By this time, four more customers had walked in and all for their brows. Cinderella’s assistant helped out. Heather was glad she came when she did. Cinderella worked her magic and handed Heather a hand mirror to review her work. Heather glanced at her reflection, pleased with what she saw until her eyes landed smack-dab on her nose. How could she miss it? She hated the sight of it, from its hideous bump to its flaring nostrils. It was probably the only thing standing in the way of her lifelong dream of becoming a model. That, and the extra pounds that enveloped her girth prevented her from even being a plus-sized model. She quickly looked away and returned the mirror to Cinderella. She was stuck with that curse until she hit the lottery or at least until she saved up enough money for a nose job. All her extra funds were being saved for her plastic surgery. In the meantime, she’d just have to deal with what she called her bowlegged nose. She spent another hour with Cinderella and left with a bagful of much-needed cosmetics.

“Without God and you we truly could not survive,” Cinderella told her as she headed out the door.

Heather rented the basement apartment of her mother’s Laurelton home. She headed home, anxious to get out of her tight clothes. She always slipped into something more comfortable after she came in from work as a librarian at the main branch of the Queens Library off of Jamaica Avenue.

It was funny. Heather Grey loved heather gray. She had a drawer full of heather gray T-shirts, leggings, and sweats. She practically lived in them during her downtime.

It also amused her that she was a little black, a little white, and a Grey. Could she be any more colorful?

Heather surveyed herself in the full-length bedroom.

There goes that nose again. No amount of makeup could camouflage it. Lord knows she had tried. If she ever hit the lottery, look out, world. Between a nose job and liposuction, she’d reinvent herself. Why diet and exercise for months when a skilled surgeon could whittle her down in a matter of hours? She’d save herself a lot of stomach growling.

That’s for sure. Yet, she still got hit on by the fellas. Some men just liked ’em extra thick. Or maybe they were just greedy. They wanted their share and someone else’s too.

Heather headed for the kitchen. It was Thursday evening, and she didn’t feel like cooking. She popped a frozen dinner into the microwave and poured herself a glass of diet 7UP. It was starting to drizzle outside, and her warm, toasty home was the perfect place to be on a damp, chilly night. She popped a diet pill, ate dinner, and cleaned up her kitchen. It was seven-fifteen. Good. She had finished eating before seven-thirty. She wouldn’t be sleeping on a full stomach.

Heather plopped down on her living room couch and reached for the remote. There was nothing interesting on TV, just a bunch of half-naked skinny girls shaking their behinds on some music videos. She switched to another station. Two-bone thin heifers walking down the street stopping traffic. Why couldn’t she be one of them? How long did she have to be miserable? Life wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. She tried so hard, and she was still a whopper.

There was a pint of butter pecan ice cream in her freezer calling her name. She tried to ignore it, concentrating instead on some DVD’s Charisma had dropped off the other day. The ice cream called her louder. She was doing so well on her diet that a little reward shouldn’t hurt. She debated for a few moments and then headed for the kitchen, knowing fully well that each step toward the Häagen-Dazs was a step in the wrong direction. If she turned back now, her dignity would remain intact.

Too late, she had passed over the threshold. There might as well be a sign saying Abandon all hope, all ye who enter here. Heather took a deep breath and reached for the refrigerator door handle. The ice cream was right where she usually hid it behind the vegetables. If she got out now, she could still save herself. If she didn’t, she was a goner.

She took another deep breath, reached for the pint of ice cream, and quickly closed the door to the fridge. She removed the lid and liner, and microwaved the pint for twenty seconds. She had it down to a science. Perfect. She grabbed a spoon and let the sweet concoction slide down her throat, enjoying its creaminess. It was sinfully delicious, her guilty pleasure. She had entered the twilight zone, sucking down one spoonful after another until it was gone.

Moments later, the guilt began to seep in. No wonder she had a body by Häagen-Dazs. If only she had stopped herself after a spoonful or two, but no, she had allowed herself to get caught up in the moment. It had been so easy, too easy. When would she learn?

Feeling defeated, Heather inspected her full face closely in the bathroom mirror. She was still five pounds lighter.

“Right?” she said weakly. But she knew that if she stepped on the scales the next morning, it would register a different tune. The pride she had felt an hour earlier had now been replaced by shame. She had been doing so well. Please, God, don’t let me blow it. I’m so sick and tired of being fat, she silently prayed. As a tear ran down the side of her hooked nose and cheek, she wiped it away with the back of her hand. The damage was done. She’d get back on point tomorrow.

The next morning, Heather gulped down a cup of coffee and half a slice of whole wheat toast after popping two of her diet pills. The hunger pangs in her stomach were not satisfied, but she told herself that it was a small price to pay for the new body she envisioned. The end would definitely justify the means. No doubt about it. If she could lose ten pounds in two weeks, there was no reason she couldn’t lose forty pounds in eight. Who