His brusque note could mean only one thing:  Gifford was going to fire me.

    And who could blame him? I was supposed to be head copywriter, but I had not come up with a promising campaign in months.

    My Zero Gravity ads, in which I had taken so much pride, had failed dismally, and three thousand bottles were shipped off to the Dollar Store.

    And now, with my reflection behaving so . . . erratically . . .  Next