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She did as she promised, going directly to the studio after class the following day. There she met pert Monica, the studio's accounts payable secretary and sometime modeling agent. She also owned the studio and was all smiles when seeing Cinnamon walk through the entrance.

"You must have got word." Monica called as she approached. "I didn't think they got up early enough to call you so soon."

Cinnamon nearly laughed. Monica had a rather raspy voice and wore far too much makeup and jewelry but she was a funny and fair lady. "I'm just here to pick up my check. I haven't received word about anything yet, Monica." Cinnamon smiled back, her tone airy despite the two heavy books in her faux leather book-bag.

"Ah ..." Monica pulled an envelope from a file and quickly handed it over, "Take a look, Sweetie."

Curious, Cinnamon ripped open the packet and saw there was a letter along with her check. She looked at the check first and if she had been told she was related to the Queen of England she could not have looked more surprised. "A thousand dollars?" she gasped, "For three hours of work?" She looked over at Monica, unbelieving.

"Rudy overnighted the photos after they were developed and we got word this morning. The soup and baked bean company loved your photos. They said you have the nice, fresh look they are looking for, coupled with sophistication. Apparently you're good for the kids and great for their parents as well." Monica chuckled, "If you're getting a thousand you can just imagine what the advertising company is receiving."

Cinnamon was dazed. She had never been paid so much for a single shoot and she had been modeling for nearly a year. She then opened the sheet of paper that was with her check. "Fran Williams? I've heard of her."

"Of course you have. She runs one of the biggest modeling agencies in New York. She's been watching you and loves your stuff. She wants you to work for her. Normally I'd tell her to take a hike, you're ours, but when an opportunity like this comes a calling I can't be greedy. You deserve it, kid."

"I'm so busy. I don't know if I could …"

"Honey, she can get you on covers of magazines like Vogue, Elite and Lady Beautiful. I'd consider it if I were you."

With a stunned and grateful gulp Cinnamon slid the letter and check into her purse, "Thank you, Monica. I'll think about it."

"Oh!" she called before Cinnamon walked away, "Don't forget, you have a shoot first thing Monday morning with Ardan."

"Monica, I go to school Monday in the morning. You know that. I told Ardan I would model for him after 3pm."

"Okay, I'll remind him."

Bemused, Cinnamon walked from the studio and when she was outside she once again looked over to the tavern. It did not seem as foreboding during the day as it had last evening but also did not look as if it was occupied. What was it about that place that made her feel it was waiting for her?

"Hey, girl."

Cinnamon jumped at his greeting. It was Alfred, wearing a slightly tattered green overcoat, and he appeared to be going into work. "How are you?" she asked.

"Arthritis is causing problems but otherwise I'm fine." He looked to where she was gazing. "Thinking about going in?" he asked.

"Alfred, it really does not look like its open." She said, frankly.

"Just the way the owner likes it. Why don't you go take a peak?"

Cinnamon sighed and shook her head, "I'd love to but unfortunately I have to get to the bank then I'm off to the La Joya Nightclub to pick up a friend." She looked at her watch, "And I'm running late. I'll be back on Monday. Take care!" she called as she saw her bus and ran to catch it.

She did not see the annoyed frown on Alfred's face as they parted.

Sitting on the bus, Cinnamon felt good. She read the letter again and could not help feeling flattered. She wondered what her parents would say if she decided to put her education on the back burner for a bit while she modeled full time. They might argue but Cinnamon reasoned that she could earn good money and help them with her college tuition then, when she returned to classes, that hardship would be taken away.

And the very idea of modeling for Elite was amazing!

With a start, Cinnamon realized she was at her stop and she quickly stood, making her way down the stairs. She glanced up once and was taken aback when she realized a man, dressed entirely in black, had been sitting directly behind her during the whole drive. She had never seen him when she sat down.

"Oh, that's creepy." Carla had come in and sat alongside Rollin on the sofa. She and her friends had rejoined the group when it started to get cooler on the balcony. Now, they too wanted to listen to the scary story being told in the living room. She entwined her arm with Rollin's and leaned against him. "So, is this man in black a ghost of some kind?" she asked.

Cinnamon had to smile. Rollin looked wholly uncomfortable at this moment and the next part of her story was for his benefit.

With an effort, Cinnamon attempted to forget the man on the bus. She was certain her imagination was playing tricks again. So there were more than two men, in the middle of New York, who enjoyed wearing back. Who was to say it wasn't a fashion statement of some kind? Perhaps wearing head to toe black, along with a hat and gloves, was a new fashion trend? She would have to ask Monica about it.

She quickly went to the bank and deposited her check then walked a few blocks east to get to the nightclub. Cinnamon walked in, waved hello to Gordon behind the counter, and looked at Pat and the other girls as they did an odd sort of can-can dance that turned into some kind of modern piece. They were doing rehearsals during the afternoon. Pat called Selma, their troop maven, a slave-driver. Cinnamon had to admit that the girls really did look tired.

With purpose, Cinnamon wandered over to the bar and spoke with Gordon, "I'm looking for someone. His name is Rollin Hand."

"Ah, the actor."

"I heard he's a waiter."

"Most actors are, you know."

She nodded with a cool smile and gently batted her eyelashes. Cinnamon knew the effect she had on men. If she tried hard enough she could get them to do nearly anything she wanted. However, she was not brought up that way and could not even think of using her charms on a man in such a sordid manner ... unless it was important. And this, she felt, was very important. Cinnamon took it upon herself to save Patricia's reputation, even if her friend - not often the brightest woman in the world - did not see the need.

"He's here. There was a matinée for a lady's club so he came in to work it. Rollin should be leaving soon."

"Good. Where is he?"

"Probably near the kitchen."

"Thanks." Cinnamon began to move away.

"Umh, you really shouldn't." Gordon said, slightly nervous. "The boss doesn't like people who don't work here wandering around."

"Don't worry." Cinnamon wiggled her hips ever so slightly, "If he asks, I'll just tell him I got lost."

Gordon laughed. She was pretty enough to get away with it. He would love to ask her out but Cinnamon Carter was way out of his league.

With purpose, Cinnamon crossed the room and caught Patricia's eye. She winked at her friend then entered into a long hallway. Cinnamon knew the kitchen was to the left while the dressing rooms were on the right. She nearly passed by an open door when she heard an Italian accent call: "Rollin, they say they need more. Oh, my Matilda! What am I going to do?"

"Mickey, I wish I could give you more money but I'm entirely tapped out. Have you tried going to the bank and taking out a loan?"

"I have no …" He struggled to remember, "They say I have nothing to put up for collateral. If I had something I would sell it." He said, exasperated.

Cinnamon stood in the doorway, listening and looking at the two men. They were standing by lockers and were a vast contrast. One man was short, heavy, and had seen his best years at least a decade ago. The other was younger; tall, lean and darkly handsome. Both were changing out of their waiters shirts into day wear.

"Can I help you?" A man came up behind her and Cinnamon jumped. He appeared to work in the kitchen. His head was covered with a white cap.

"I'm waiting for a friend."

"You best wait out in the dining area." He said, with a bland expression.

Cinnamon suddenly realized both Rollin and Mickey were looking at her and she felt a little embarrassed. The Italian gentleman seemed merely curious but Hand was grinning, obviously interested. Cinnamon nodded and left them to go back where she started from.

She watched Pat on stage for a while then, slightly distracted and confused, Cinnamon walked out of the front door and decided to have a smoke as she paced the sidewalk. She wasn't certain what to think now. It seemed like Mr. Hand's friend was in dire straits and Rollin was giving his money to him. She did not know who Matilda was but she seemed to be gravely ill.

Taking a drag on her cigarette, Cinnamon looked across the street and was startled. There stood the man in black. He was looking directly at her, his skin pale and his eyes looked … red. Cinnamon gasped and she was overcome with a sense of dread. She shivered.

"You should be wearing a sweater." he said.

Cinnamon looked up and there stood Rollin Hand. He was wearing a coat and, she noticed, was also smoking as he smiled charmingly at her. "I'm not cold." She said then looked from him to the sidewalk across the street again, "There's this man …" But he was gone. "He's been following me." She faltered a little.

"That makes sense." Rollin's smile faded a little when he realized that she seemed genuinely frightened. "Where is he?" he asked, looking with her.

"He's gone now." She murmured.

"Who's your friend?"

"What?"

"You told Tony you were waiting for a friend." He reminded.

"Oh, Pat … I mean Patricia." Cinnamon floundered a bit and was angry with her clumsiness. Certainly the man in black was frightening but she suspected it was Hand himself that was making her heart flutter and the skin under her turtleneck turn pink. She had almost forgotten that she was here to read him the riot act. "Pat said that you cheated her out of some cash the other evening." she blurted.

"I've never cheated anyone out of money."

Cinnamon stood a bit taller and her expression grew firm, "She works hard for a living and just because she finds you attractive and fun to be with is no excuse to engage her in games of chance, just so you can liberate her from her cash. She has bills and rent to pay, you know."

"You're talking about the pretty dancer with the long legs, right?"

Cinnamon nodded.

"Pat's a nice girl but I warned her that the games we play aren't for amateurs. If she can't afford it she should never play. I told her that up front."

"She was trying to impress you." Vexed, Cinnamon tossed her cigarette on the sidewalk and ground it out with the heel of her shoe, "And you took advantage of her." Then Cinnamon sighed ever so slightly, "But it was to help your friend, wasn't it?"

"Yes." He admitted and looked at Cinnamon with a wry smile.

"Is Matilda very ill?" she asked, her tone softening.

"Yes and she needs a special medication to get well again. It's expensive."

"Is she his wife or daughter?"

"No, but she's like a member of his family." Rollin suddenly chuckled, "She's a horse."

"Horse?!" Cinnamon was dumbfounded.

"A race horse Mickey sunk all his bills into. His wife is furious and if Matilda doesn't get better before the next big race he will have lost everything – including his wife. She threatened to go back to her mother in Italy."

"Is that the truth?" Cinnamon asked, suspiciously.

"Could I make something like that up?"

Now, both of them chuckled.

"How much does he need?"

"About two hundred dollars."

Cinnamon looked at Rollin, eyes wide, "Why so much?"

"I told you. It's a special medication." He shrugged, "I'm only going by what Mickey said."

Cinnamon thought about it a moment. She could now see why Pat was so taken in by this man. He had a way of making a woman feel at ease and his eyes were amazing, an incredible blue. "Are you going home?" she asked.

"I don't have to." He said. Rollin was not a man to bypass opportunity and this young woman was not just pretty, with her blond hair and sweet figure, but she was smart. He had known too many chorus girls and actresses who were nice to look at but were hardly brainy. "Have something in mind?" he asked.

"How would you like to take out two lovely young women tonight?"

"Two?"

"Patricia and myself."

He looked at her oddly for a moment, "As wonderful a proposition as that is, I'm afraid I can't even afford to buy myself dinner tonight."

"Oh, that's right. The horse." Cinnamon lifted a brow and gave him a cool gaze for a moment, "My treat then. I think I can afford three blue-plate specials at Sophie's."

He knew the diner and had eaten there before. "You come into some money?" he asked.

"A little. And I want to see Pat's face when you give her back her money."

His mouth opened to say something but he stopped. She was a good friend and he agreed.

Cinnamon knew a thousand dollars, although a lofty sum, did not go too far in the big city of New York but it went far enough to elevate her friend's self-esteem, pay the rent, get groceries and, if she was real careful, it might also aid an old sick horse.

The couple walked once again into the La Joya. Patricia would be ready to leave soon.

Red eyes followed their every move.

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