chapter 1
fiction
B
HUFFINGTON
09.23.12
Y THE END of the week, 900 dollars nestled in her underwear drawer. She put the
bills on the ironing board and flattened
them out, faces up, until they were so crisp
they could be in a salad.
She’d thought about buying a dress. ‘My whore dress!’
she’d thought. She’d considered ninety lipsticks. ‘My hooker lips!’ she’d thought. Finally she just tucked the cash into
her purse and took herself to lunch. Thirty dollars brought
her to the best bistro in the area, where she had a hamburger and a glass of wine. The juice dripped down, redbrown, and left a stain on her wrist.
“Ah, fuck you,” she said to the homeless man on the
street who asked for change. “You really think I can spare
any of my NINE HUNDRED DOLLARS that I made by SELLING MY BODY?”
The man shook his head to the ground. “Sorry Ma’am,”
he said. “I never would have guessed.”
“And don’t you GOD BLESS ME,” she yelled at the man
from down the block.
“I will not,” he called back. “I have no interest in blessing
you at all.”
Once she was home she couldn’t stand to sit down. She
couldn’t move or answer the phone. Breathing felt like an
enormous burden.
She took an hour getting dressed in a pressed navy blue
suit she’d never worn before but had bought because it was
on sale and elegantly cut. The jacket had this slight flare.
She swept her hair into a bun and clasped a pearl necklace
from their fifth wedding anniversary around her throat.
Daniel came home and she served him rosemary lamb and
chocolate nut truffles, all bought at the gourmet food store
with one hundred dollars of her money. Re-invest for greater profit later. She did not eat, but massaged his shoulders,