Something Tangible

Mr. Pretty-Boy Model/Dickwad

Katarina had a better concept of money now that she didn't have any, but she wasn't by nature a penny-pincher. From her perspective, time and effort were worth a certain cost as well, so instead of trudging a massive suitcase through the subway or taking a pricey cab, she tried a car service for the first time.

It was relatively affordable and everyone always raved about the kinds of cars they were driven in. After figuring out the app - and accidentally ordering three pickups - she eagerly awaited her ride. A 1989 hoopty pockmarked with dents was her grand chariot.

"Figures," she grumbled.

But the driver, an eager young man named Marc who'd just arrived from Guinea, grew on her. She wasn't fond of small talk with strangers but quickly warmed to Marc's incessant chattering.

"I immigrated here too, from Romania, when I was a child," she told her excited chauffeur. "Did you have to leave family behind?"

"Yes my parents and younger sisters are still in Guinea, but it's not the best place to start a life. So I'm studying in the U.S. and hope to bring them over one day."

"I'm sure they're proud of you. What are you studying?"

"Finance."

"You'll make money," she muttered wryly, scrunching her nose in both disgust and envy. "Where do you go to school?"

"University of Maryland. I love it."

"My alma mater."

"Really?" he beamed. "That's amazing!"

Not really, she thought, considering they both lived in Maryland, but she appreciated his enthusiasm.

"When did you graduate?" he asked.

"I finished in 2003. It's a great school. I loved it too."

"Oh my goodness 2003! I was just a baby back then! A baby. That was sooo long ago," Marc shrieked.

Talk about needing a lesson in how not to talk to older women. But Katarina liked her loquacious new West African friend and let his ageism go. "Yes it was a while ago. Time has a way of slipping past you," she said, wistful for the simplicity of college life.

When they pulled up to the drop-off area, Marc leaped out to help with her bags, only to be practically mowed over by a black sedan. An intimidating, sharply dressed man emerged from the passenger side of the Audi. Or was it a BMW? Or Benz? She could never tell.

Katarina was too busy drooling over the car's occupant. He sported an expensively tailored black suit, a thick, wavy mop of dark hair and a sexy goatee. His perfectly symmetrical face was defined by those angular lines and rakish features that baby-face male models dream of having. He was good-looking and definitely knew it. Over six feet of bulky muscle didn't hurt either.

Katarina was snapped out of her admiration by his booming voice. "Watch it! For God's sake this entire area isn't yours to commandeer," he roared, giving both her and Marc a condescending glare. Way to ruin a perfect mouth - by opening it.

"Don't worry about it," she consoled her shaken, deer-in-the-headlights driver. "He doesn't own the curbside drop-off either. He's just a douche," she winked, earning her a throaty laugh from her Guinean comrade.

Katarina wasn't a wallflower but she didn't actively seek out confrontations, so she brushed off Mr. Pretty-Boy Model/Ruthless Businessman/Dickwad, who barreled into the airport without a second glance back.

As usual Katarina's stellar sense of direction kicked in once she entered the airport, so she circled around the ticketing area a few times. Once she decoded which line was hers, she looked up to find Mr. Pretty-Boy Dickwad tapping his designer shoe on the marble floor, waiting impatiently for her to get out of his way - again.