The way Glory talked, getting published meant fame and fortune, ticker tape parades. On the contrary, Glory Jacobson was just another face in the crow..., just another author. ‘$25 each,’ grinned the doorman, arms crossed, biceps bulging beneath a black T-shirt, the pocket puffed out by his pecks, perfectly chiseled. ‘Oh shit,’ Amanda whined, biting her lip. She had enough money for the cover charge, but not enough for a score. ‘Let me guess, you don’t have enough money,’ sighed Glory, a sigh. She relaxed after the taxi got out of the traffic circle. She leaned back in the seat. She was dressed in a sweat suit that hid her fine figure and her hair was concealed in the baseball cap that she wore. A large pair of stylish sunglasses effectively concealed her face. A gym bag contained her clothes and high heels that she would wear at Ronald's house. The running shoes hid the fact that she was wearing stockings. The taxi left her off about a block from her destination and she briskly. More

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