During the course of this questionnaire, did you give any consideration to how your fantasy partner would function in the real world? Once?

During the course of this questionnaire, did you give any consideration to how your fantasy partner would function in the real world? Once?

My exit from the elevator felt much less triumphant than the day before. I was sixteen minutes late, and when people looked at me, there was something else to their expression. I’d done the best I could with my hair, but I was in a rush. I apparently had left my phone at the hotel, which was also very frustrating. All my clothes felt like they’d shrunk in the wash, my heels hurt like hell, I didn’t have any makeup on, and I was late. As I walked past, people still seemed to fear me, but at the same time have some private joke about me.

I guess I probably looked like I had been drinking. Technically true, though two glasses of wine was not really the kind of thing that kept you in bed humping a pillow. Unless you’re on Fetish Pills, apparently. I figured the weird dreams and arousal was probably the extent of the side effects of drinking, which was enough to put me off. That and the weird sudden onset drunkeness.

I did have another uncomfortable feeling, though: Comfort. In spite of the stress, and the painful heels, the whole car fiasco, and being late, I felt comfortable emotionally. Each time I chastised myself for my stupidity in the car, Dream-Charlie’s words would repeat in my head. “I loved you when it cost me everything I had.”

There was some shame in me from those words, I had always been insecure about a man getting me through school. Buying my textbooks, school supplies, paying the rent and groceries. Our engagement was very long—ten years—because I didn’t want to actually get married until I could pay him back. Until I felt in control.

I walked over to Dane’s office, trying to put up a professional front. Monique looked up at me and whistled. “Welcome back on the wagon, Tori.”

“What?”

“Come on. Red eyes, messy sex hair, missing wedding ring, you’re both late, hell, looks like you even put on some of her clothes by mistake.” Monique giggled, biting the end of her pen. My stomach turned. My hand immediately started trying to matte down my hair, I brought the other in front of my face to look at my wedding ring, but was surprised to find it was indeed not there.

That didn’t make any sense though! I had it on in bed this morning, Charlie had even—Dream-Charlie, you idiot! My ring was still sitting on the bathroom counter. And my phone probaby on the nightstand.

“I am not back on the wagon.” I protested in a whisper. “I was up late trying to get Charlie on the phone. There’s a big storm and our house is mostly glass.” I looked at my sleeve, which barely stretched halfway down my forearm, and even the jacket sleeve was fully filled by my arm. Why are all my clothes so small? “I’m pretty sure the dry cleaners gave me the wrong stuff.” I lied, knowing not a single item I was wearing had gone to the cleaners yet.

Monique rolled her eyes and grabbed a brush and perfume from her purse. “Whatever. Dane’s talking to Lexi, right now. You can clean up in the bathroom.” ‘Lexi’ was what Monique called Georgia, Dane’s wife. A private, mean-spirited joke, though Dane assumed it was just a psuedonym.

“Thanks.” I grabbed the items discreetly.

“Also, what moisturizer are you using?”

“Idunno, that one you told me about? Why?”

Monique gave an approving nod, studying my face. “Get me the name of whoever did your facelift when you finish cleaning up.”

I flipped her the bird and made my way over to the bathroom to start cleaning up. This was not dignified of an executive. I wet the brush and hurriedly began combing it through my short black pixie cut. Aside from the stubborness and tight knots, my hair actually still felt quite healthy, having a beautiful shine when I finally was able to get it to lie mostly flat. Looking closer, it looked like the black dye I’d put in a month-and- half ago was still holding true at the roots. But the tips…

“No…” I whispered to myself in disbelief. No, no, no, no, please, God, no. I leaned in closer to the mirror, my hands shaking as my fingers sectioned off three inches of my bangs. Shock. White.

No, I couldn’t… Grey hairs? I—I was young! Only thirty-nine! Oh, my god! It wasn’t just my bangs! The bottom inch all around had lost all color. This wasn’t bleached hair under fading dye, this was fucking silver! Old lady, hag in a bog silver!

How could I not have noticed this before? Have I really been that stressed? No, this would not stand! I was young, damnit! I took care of myself! Just look at my face! Aside from the eyes, which were red around the iris, I looked young! I looked—wait, I did look young.

“Huh?” I leaned back, staring my my forehead. Where was that… line? This bathroom mirror had the most flattering lighting, I could barely see my crow’s feet. I looked at least five years younger than I had in a while. I didn’t even have make up on, I forgot to moisturize last night. I was… glowing?

Aside from the clothes I was stretched out of, I actually looked really good. Even the grey hair looked professionally layered. Like it was intentional. I looked kinda powerful. Definitely was going to a salon and getting it dyed after work, but at least it didn’t look ugly.

I uncapped the perfume and was assaulted by a flowery and sugary smell that almost made me nauseous. I always preferred colognes to perfumes. But it was better than smelling like a teenager’s bedroom, so I quickly spurted two shots onto my neck and wrists.

I still didn’t understand what was happening with my clothes. I mean, they fit when we bought them.

I cracked a smile smacking my hand to my forehead. “Such a dork.” I laughed, finally putting it together. He switched my clothes with smaller ones, trying to humiliate me. That was such a Charlie idea of a mean joke. This was his idea of total humiliation. Maybe he even put some salt and pepper dye in my shampoo just to be extra petty. “You had me going.” I chuckled as if he were next to me.

I grabbed the brush and perfume and waltzed out of the bathroom, feeling so relieved. He finally did it. He fimally got payback. Or at least what approximated to payback in his kind, naive little heart. I’d leave the dye in at least until I got home, so he could rub it in. But I’d need new clothes for work.

I handed Monique back her supplies with a thank you, still beaming at the relief of finally getting my ‘punishment’. Of course it wasn’t as bad as I was expecting, but at least he would feel some vindication.

Monique waved me into Dane’s office, looking at me like I was crazy. I opened the door and stepped in, Dane nearly jumping out of his seat. “Jee-sus!” He clapped his hands, causing me to laugh and flash my eyebrows. “Long night?”

“This is my husband’s idea of ****.” I clicked my tongue, making myself at home in the chair opposite his desk. “Hair dye in my shampoo, and switching my clothes with smaller ones.”

Dane shook his head, getting his bearings while giving me a once over, he didn’t seem as amused as me. “What is he, in fucking middle school?”

“Adorable, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, when Georgia found out the first time, she threw a toaster through my windshield and left all the faucets running while I was in Spain. You got lucky.”

“Ugh, hardly. I’ve been waiting for a shoe to drop for a year now. It’d’ve been easier if he just broke a bunch of shit and went ballistic on me.”

“Yeah, the silences are what hurt the most. Make you feel like a total asshole.”

“Well, yeah.” I nodded. “Why would they waste their breath explaining themselves? We already know it hurts, never stopped us.”

Dane opened his mouth to talk, then suddenly closed it, contemplating. The first two months after D-Day, Charlie fully shut down. He couldn’t talk, barely ate, hardly left the bed—not that he had a job to get to. He wouldn’t even cry. My therapist had told me it when I was complaining about how I couldn’t fix his feelings if he didn’t tell me what they were. Why would he believe you have any intention of fixing things instead of just manipulating his feelings to get you out of trouble?

It sometimes surprised me that despite getting caught multiple times, Dane and I had very different experiences with our partner finding out. At first I tried following his advice. Flowers and cards and expensive dinners and plane tickets. Then when he thought it might have been an emasculation thing, we booked Charlie a trip to the gun range, a beef jerky kit, and even hired a stripper which was a very awkward time for him to start crying. That’s when I realized Dane didn’t really know how to fix a marriage, he just had a wife who stopped caring about having one.

He shook his head, ridding himself of the uncomfortable thoughts and looked back at me. “I take it he doesn’t want you coming back to the office, then?”

“He might be open to something like this every quarter or during big milestones. I’d have to talk to him.”

“I need you more regularly. Permanently.”

My heart sank, but I tried not to let it show. “I just saved our launch.” I countered.

“And you didn’t do it working from home.” He shrugged. “Victoria, you are my best. You can’t waste your talents. You’re an executive. With this launch, marketing’s going to need reactive leadership that only my best can provide. And I’m not just sucking your dick, here—I know you can do it, and I need you to do it. I gave you two months because you’re my friend and I wanted you to have time to focus on your home life. But you’re also my head of marketing. And if the board’s going to approve someone to step into Miller’s role next year, it’s gonna be someone who’s here.”

“Miller’s stepping down?!”

He nodded, but shushed me, looking behind me to make sure the door was closed. “Retiring, so he says. Someone’s gonna have to be CFO. The board wants an outside hire with experience, but I think I can sell them on an internal promotion if the candidate is talented enough.” He gestured to me, then leaned back in his seat. “And dedicated enough.”

I looked down at my feet, shocked at the news I was receiving. Victoria Washington, CFO. That was the move up I’d been waiting for. I wasn’t likely to get Miller’s salary, but it would still be millions more than I was making, now. Even putting money aside, there was only one step above that on the ladder. Even just a year or two as CFO, if they’re good years, I could make the move to CEO at a different company.

Dane smiled, smugly. He knew what I was thinking. I could be in Dane’s position by the time I was forty-five. “Go get some clothes that fit, come back, and go give the marketing team some leadership.”

“But we just… moved.” I said, more thinking out loud.

“Keep it as a vacation home. After the payout from this fiscal year, the company’s looking to relocate to someplace more… competitive.” He grinned widely, beginning to hum the opening to New York, New York. “Charlie likes Broadway, doesn’t he?”

I nodded, my head still spinning. Victoria Washington, CFO in the Big Apple.

“Also, leave the grey. You still look young, just more authoritative.”

***

The whole drive back to the hotel, I was screaming in triumph. This was it. CF-Fucking-O! I was even singing New York, New York—or at least, the lyrics I remembered—as I glided through the hallways.

“Bah-bah-dah be apart from it!/New York, New York!” Whatever, Charlie would no doubt be singing it enough for me to learn. Dane was right. I could get Charlie a season pass to Broadway—was it a bunch of theaters or just one place?—and he could go watch all the shows he wanted while I was doing business. We’d get a nice big condo that could look over Times Square and go on walks every night in Central Park, that was romantic, right? Maybe he went back to teaching, or even volunteering at the homeless shelter again. New York had more homeless than his bleeding heart could ever want.

I started pulling off my clothes as soon as I was in, quickly showering just my body, then I ran up to grab my cellphone to check for messages. None. And all my previous ones were still undelivered.

Me: I HAVE SOME EXCITING NEWS! (Message Undelivered)

Hopefully he’d get that one soon and we could talk. A lake house was more of a vacation home, anyway. We could rent it out most the year and visit for a week or two. With all the work Charlie did on it, we could charge a fortune and—

PING!

One of the buttons on the blouse I was buttoning flew off, leaving my overflowing bra exposed. He switched all my outfits. “Ok…” I suppressed a scream. “Really bad timing, but I deserve worse than that.” I reminded myself, letting go of my frustration with a quick, deep, sigh. I’d just run to the store really quick and buy an outfit for today.

I switched into the yoga pants I’d brought for the gym, along with a track jacket. The yoga pants were practically sheer from being so stretched around my sculpted legs. I couldn’t zip up the jacket all the way without restricting my breathing. But it did make my boobs look really good. I snapped a quick selfie, tossed on my tennis shoes, and ran out the door, once more forgetting my wedding ring.