Fantasy Investments Before 401(k)s

Late again. The tower lobby smells of stale perfume and Old Spice.

A beautiful spring morning opens her eyes, no one notices.

Back wall. Sardines. Her body presses hard against me.

I will my small breasts harder—enough to trouble her silk.

My breath—mint, coffee, morning panic—finds her pearl neck.

Over too soon.

She takes the window seat. Always.

Conference table. My perfect, very dark doll’s eyes visible through a sheer bra, a thin white blouse.

Her eyes: notes to chest to notes to chest.

Her presentation fumbles. Secretly I wanted this.

The audience gaze locked upon me.

Effect achieved.

No paycheck.

No benefits.

No retirement.

Together we invest in nothing that lasts.

She steals my pens. Bic Round Stic. Blue. I have bought hundreds.

Another long flight to nowhere.

Arms share the armrest. Soft touch.

Pantyhose knees brush with turbulence.

Eyes locked on screens.

I hate how she has to have her coffee, no matter how late we are.

Cheap, greasy Chinese. Our favorite.

New lines on her face.

"You've lost too much weight. I miss your curves."

Hands brush goodbye.

Making copies at Staples. Late again.

Her blouse unbuttoned.

She pauses---bent over, filling a box with binders.

We both want me to touch her.

The cameras hold.

The black dress.

Fluorescent light on the black dress.

My plainness beside it.

Is it for me

or the client.

THAT black dress.

Writing this in the boarding area before another flight.

The rain sounds different than it did in DC.

I forgot to ask her why.