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He’s probably a jerk who screws dancers, promising them parts, and then tosses them like yesterday’s trash. Whoever he is, I’m not interested.”
    Portia nodded. “Got it. Moving on, did I tell you what happened when I met with Mr. Romeo.”
    “Who?”
    “You know the one who said he could get me an interview with the Ford Agency? He’s a photographer, and—”
    Sydney shook her head, but before Portia could say anymore, the phone rang. As always, Portia leapt from the couch, chasing after it.
    “Sydney?” Portia asked, holding out the phone with a twisted frown. “For you. This dude’s a trip.” Confused, Sydney accepted the phone. “Hello?”
    “What up, Ms. Thang?”
    “Juan?”
    “Told you to call me Juanita,” he snapped.
    Sydney smiled. “I thought you said call after six?”
    “I did, honey, but I’ve got the dish. You sitting down?”
    “Dish?”
    “Riddle me this, butterfly. Who’s tall, rich, handsome, and asked about you after your little Butterfly routine?”
    “Who?”
    “None other than Nolen Adams himself! I like to fainted when that snotty little white woman came over grilling me on how to reach you!”
    Sydney looked up to see Portia staring. She shrugged her shoulders. “Ok, Juanita, who is this Nolen person again?”
    “See, girlfriend, that’s what I said at first. I saw that hunk of a man step through the door and I thought he was just some tight-ass investor for Xenia. I mean, he didn’t look like his picture in the Daily, at least not from where I was sitting.”
    “I don’t understand. I still don’t know who he is,” Sydney said.
    “Then you’ve got your head in the sand, honey. He’s everywhere! What is there not to understand? The man is rich, fine, and wanting to spend time. Girl, I knew that big booty of yours drew men like bees to honey, but you’ve hit the damn jackpot! Ms. Minetti said he was investing in our show, and that means star potential for you. Now, you remember it was Juanita that got you plugged, and I want top billing around here!”
    “I, um, I—”
    “I just wanted to give you a head’s up, birthday girl, and tell you that your next audition is on Thursday at two.”
    “Really? Thank you so much. I’m really excited.”
    “Yeah, yeah. Well, get excited about that silver tongue devil because that’s the real news, honey!”
    “Thank you, Juan. I mean Juanita. I’ll see you on Thursday!” she gushed, hanging up.
    “Who is Juan-Juanita?”
    “Your cousin’s friend, remember? He called to tell me when my next audition was! Can you believe it?
    This is really happening! I’ve got to go shopping. I need to make sure . . . I—”
    “Whoa, whoa! What did he say about a Nolen Adams?”
    Sydney waved off the question. “He’s a little goofy. He told me who sent the flowers and made some crack about my butt.”
    “Well, so, who sent them?”
    “Some guy named Nolen Adams.”
    “What? Are you sure! Nolen Adams, the guy on Wall Street? Um, the banker guy?” she asked, putting her hand to her mouth.
    “What difference does that make?” Sydney asked, rolling her eyes.
    “Sydney! Do you know who he is?”
    “Don’t start.”
    Portia ran to her room.
    Hearing her knocking things over, Sydney leaned across the arm of the sofa to look inside. Portia was on her knees, digging through her stash of fashion magazines and gossip rags. Smiling, she rose from the floor and came back into the room with a copy of some financial paper. “I got this on the corner the other day. Just curious, ya know? Wanted to check out the top ten richest men under forty.”
    “Curious, huh?” Sydney gave her a sideways look.
    Portia grinned like she was holding a winning lottery ticket. Sydney took the magazine and checked the cover photo.
    There he was, labeled as a financial wizard in an uncertain economy. His brown eyes had an usual golden sparkle to them and leapt off the page. No they literally blazed off the cover. She’d never seen such amazing