Melissa confronts Manton about the drawing.

Manton answered the phone as if he were expecting my call. "My dear Melissa, how nice to hear from you again. Did you sleep well, child?" His voice dripping with honeysuckle.

For a moment. I imagined him peering into my soul, laughing as I dreamed about watching the **** paddling, leering and smacking his lips as I posed my naked body in the mirror, mimicking the disgraceful pose of my daughter, Aniya, in his obscene auction block drawing.

"There was a drawing left in my room," I said accusingly. "Do you know who made it?"

"Well, I certainly did not draw it, although the artist is a friend of mine, who often works in my employ. I hire him to make sketches of the good old days, and of my plantation today. Of course, sometimes he renders images of delights to come."

He laughed heartily, and I felt a sudden chill as I imagined myself and my daughter, naked on the block that Manton claims he still has on his site. "Did you enjoy my gift, child? I can't take all the credit, as you and your adorable daughter are already works of art."

"Thank you," surprising myself by accepting the compliment. I had planned on telling that racist pig off, but now that he was on the phone, toying with me with that amused, "bless your heart" drawl, I found myself taking a different tact. "The drawings were so... realistic."

"Yes, my artist has quite the imagination. Not that the dress you wore left much to imagine. Or your daughter, for that matter. Seeing the photos that girl posts online, a man mindful of the heritage of your people can't help but imagine..." His voice trailed off allowing my own twisted mind to fill in all the things a lecherous goat like him might be thinking when he sees those pictures Aniya insists on posting.

I was breathing hard, but the air wasn't coming, and it took me a moment to recover and break the awkward silence. "Yes, one can't help but wonder what it was like, back then. The drawing. What it would be like if..." my voice trailed, too ashamed to even finish the thought.

"You wonder what it would be like to be displayed like that ... to have men bidding on the chance to own your hot body ... even what sort of price you'd bring, don't ya?" he teased. "It's only natural, to be curious." He pauses for a second as if he just remembered something. "You know, I saw a nature special, about these monkeys in Africa, that solved puzzles just to figure it out, without getting a banana or nothing. Monkeys are naturally curious."

The monkey analogy was clearly intended to be both demeaning and racist, implying as it did that I was more a curious chimp than a human being. Fighting the urge to tell him where to put his banana, I pressed for the answer to the intriguing question he posed. Truth be told, when I had been posing in front of the large hotel mirror, I had actually called out some the auctioneer's patter, and asked what the audience would bid.

"Shelby Davis wrote a book on selling fancy girls," I noted. "Surely he'd have a good idea of what sort of price I might bring. Perhaps I should contact him and..."

"No need. Now that you mention it, that matter was discussed when you left the table, as Professor Davis does take, shall we say, an academic interest in such matters. But it would be a question of what price you and your lovely daughter... What's her name? The girl has one of those gibberish names I won't even hurt my mouth trying to pronounce - let's call her Coochie, after the part of her we'd be selling, if she were a ****. It's a question of what price you and Coochie would bring on the block, together."

"I don't understand," I said. "What does my daughter have to do with any of this? Why can't you just leave her out of all this business."

"Because there's money to be made, girl!" Charles Manton said, snapping his fingers into the receiver and laughing as if were the silliest girl in the world. "You're right about one thing. Selling slaves is a business, and it's about making money. Professor Davis will tell you that men paid top dollar for hot black sisters, or mothers and daughters. Unwanted, a disturbing image of me and Aniya kneeling naked at the feet of a white master's feet popped into my mind.

As I struggle to regain control of my treacherous mind, Manton's dialogue continues on. "The auctioneer could fetch quite a bit of coin selling you two together. Why, he might even crack the whip a little, to make you two get friendly, right up on the block. I'm sure a few flicks of the whip across your bottom would be all that it takes. After all, monkeys like to groom and lick one another."

I shuddered as Charles Manton let out a disgusting, lecherous laugh. I felt a surge of anger, as he once again insulted me, my daughter, my race, my heritage, and decency in general. But much to my disgust, I also felt a warm stirring between my legs. The sheer perversity of his racist roleplay was turning me on. Should I hang up the phone, or tell him off for drawing me and my daughter naked on the block?