The smooth, sleek Lexus pulled calmly into the driveway of the large, suburban house, the moon hanging obediently above in the night sky. The tall, handsome man in his early twenties climbed out of the forest green vehicle, looking toward the glowing living room window where she promised to be. Overhead, an airplane flew south towards the Archgate City International Airport, and its blinking lights looked much the same as the ones on top of the tall, lofty skyscrapers, which lay south as well. He was only about three miles north of the busy, commercial, cosmopolitan downtown of the nation's largest city, and the houses in this neighborhood enjoyed the comfortable isolation from lower class families, and the crime that went along with them; the isolation created by high real estate prices. The houses were all very simple in design, and they were not nearly as impressive as the rambling villas and ornate mansions in the Rockwell district further north, but security from the riff raff of the West End and Worton cost money.

The young man knocked on the door to her house, and stood back a little, smiling. He looked around briefly, noticing that no kids played on this street. It was early yet, not even nine o' clock at night. It was sad, really. He had noticed, over the years, that games of street hockey and street baseball were becoming very scarce, at least in this area. Everyone's entertainment was indoors these days, he guessed. Why run around and get dirty and scraped up and bullied by older kids as you played baseball outside when you could just sit on the floor in front of a TV, holding a video game controller in hands that never got scraped and increasingly got plump as the years went on, and never have to sit at the window and sigh when it rained outside? Derek Janssen shook his head briefly, almost mourning the days he could never get back, when he was a kid running in the streets. Why be outside indeed.

The door opened, and Mrs. Ames smiled at him, inviting him in. He was practically like family to these people now. He and Dayna had been seeing each other steadily now for several months, and her upper-middle-class parents were so pleased that their beautiful, talented, smart daughter was seeing such a "fine, handsome young man". They were probably more thrilled that he was rich than anything else. It wasn't the kind of rich where he could join the billionaire's club or something. It was the kind of rich where he would never have to work again, and he could just up and go away to any country he wanted whenever he wanted and stay for as long as he wanted. Her parents were very mindful of that.

Dayna was sitting on the couch with her father, and when Derek came in, she came up, and smiled at him. The father, Mr. Ames, as he had wanted Derek to refer to him during the entire first month of Derek's relationship with Dayna, smiled at him faintly. He was rather tall, though not as tall and streamlined as Derek is now in his prime. The years were beginning to tug at Mr. Ames' chin and stomach, and his hairline seemed to be running away from him for good. His wife maintained a firm, curvy figure, though age too was plumping her rear and wrinkles were tracing under her eyes. Her body only had to go through one childbirth, and not several like most mothers, so that had always been a factor working in her body's favor. She always held the dark haired, suave Derek in the highest regard, and she even made a few isolated passes at him when they were both alone together in the kitchen. All he could do was smirk at her advances. Facing the seemingly brief road to her "Golden Years" as she was, Mrs. Ames was no doubt suffering from a lava-hot sexual fever that even a young adolescent would be afraid to go through.

Derek regarded Dayna as he stood in his designer button-down shirt, his gold chain around the back of his neck, with a lump of gold representing the Cross dangling from the chain's lowest point. She was always blushing, it seemed. Her face was smiling and fresh, and she always smelled wonderful, like a slow sunrise over someone's fragrant, rain-washed flowers. She always dressed impeccably, poring over every last detail of her outfits, even up to what belt she should wear and how many rings she should put on her fingers. Her light blonde hair fell past her chin, and it almost touched her shoulder. Her hair, too, always smelled of something incredibly fresh and well cared for. Tonight, she wore a ribbed turtleneck sweater, which hugged her body tightly, and of course her jeans were of designer brand, and they fit her shapely hips and rear closely. The father regarded his daughter's vanity with vague amusement, where most parents would tell her to calm down, and maybe donate the money to church or something instead.

Derek and Dayna hugged, perfectly comfortable in front of the parents in their upper-middle-class home. The father rose from his broad, room- consuming couch, which had been purchased little more than a year ago, leaving his seat empty in front of the looming television. He shook Derek's hand, and they both smiled at each other. "How is everything, Mr. Ames?" Derek asked.

"Fine, Derek, fine," he said. "I don't know how the rest of the world is going, though."

"Really?"

"Oh, he is all upset about the situation in the Middle East," Mrs. Ames said, her nipples almost ruining her light green shirt as they attempted poke through them. The poor fool Mr. Ames probably thought she was getting all excited over him and not Derek. However, maybe he already knew that she had her eye on her daughter's boyfriend. Maybe Mr. Ames had his own sexual adventures in city hotels with upscale, pricey call girls, and he figured that it wasn't his place to ostracize his wife over that sort of thing. Maybe Derek should instead pay attention to what was going on around him first and foremost.

"You know what I mean, Derek?" Ames asked.

"I know," Derek said. "I really feel that a lot of Muslims are being a pain to this country." He had no idea what the hell Ames had just said, but he had hit the point right on the nose, and Ames smiled at him.

"Your generation is not all lost," he said. "I was half-expecting you to say that the Palestinians deserve their own country!"

The four of them gave light chuckles, and Mrs. Ames asked where Derek planned on taking Dayna tonight. He smiled at his girlfriend's mother. "Well, she wants to go shopping, so I will go take her to the Centro Mercado and we can get a bite to eat sometime afterward."

"The Centro Mercado," Ames said. "Is that Spanish?"

Derek shrugged. "I guess."

"It's really nice, I heard," Mrs. Ames said. She looked at her husband. "Why don't you ever take me out there to get a new dress or something?"

Ames smirked at his wife, and they both shared a private chuckle. Derek noticed her nipples had gone back to sleep, and he was thankful. After a few minutes of light, friendly conversation, Derek and Dayna left together, and headed out to his Lexus. He opened the door for her, and, once seated, she reached over, unlocking his door. Derek, while possessing all of the modern amenities and technology his day and age offered, was still old fashioned in his thinking, and preferred to open doors with keys instead of the little mechanical things attached to key chains. He climbed in, and Dayna wasted no time in kissing him. Her fresh lips came against his rather sharply, and he didn't return her kiss at first. When he started to, she pulled back, and smiled at him. "Sorry. I just needed to do that."

He grinned at her, showing off his lips. "How's my lipstick?"

"I'll wipe it off. Just start driving."

They started out into the city, quickly leaving her secure, lily-white neighborhood for the grimier perimeter of downtown, before entering its cosmopolitan glitz. She reached over at him, wiping his lips with an ivory- white handkerchief she kept in her essential purse. She then puckered her own lips, and began to re-apply her imperative lipstick. He drove forward, and he rolled down his window a little, letting in the fresh breeze of warm air from outside.

"Not so much, honey," Dayna said. "My hair."

He chuckled briefly, rolling it up all the way. She smiled at him, and blew a kiss with her freshly rouged lips. "So, what do you think of the shit that's happening in the Middle East right now?" Derek said.

"Huh?" she asked.

"You know, with the Israelis being blown up, and the threats against our oil, and the whole Holy War thing and all of that."

"Christ, who gives a fuck?" she asked. "God, my dad incessantly gives me a headache talking about that shit."

Derek was slightly startled, but he sort of figured that she would not care much. He only chuckled lightly again, and said nothing. His silence sniped at her conscience, and she felt she had to defend her response. "I mean, for real. What do I care if a bunch of people are getting blown up way over there?"

"You're right. I'm sorry."

"I'm not cold-hearted or anything. I'm just getting such a headache."

The Lexus pulled into Faber Street, and headed southwest toward the multi- storied Centro Mercado, with its rows of brightly blazing windows facing the broad, clean sidewalks of America's ideal city. The mall itself was almost like Dayna's neighborhood, since the merchandise prices were kept high in order to keep "certain people" out. Derek, with his attractive leather coat, shining Lexus, wads of money and excellent credit, could come in any time he wished. He and Dayna walked through the heavy glass doors into one of the Centro's many shops. They faced walls trimmed with a dark wood, and the smell of leather from shoes filled their nostrils. A slightly heavyset man in a leather coat similar to Derek's was putting a pair of leather boots on his laughing girlfriend. He was having a hard time putting them on, and his face was red and frustrated. Finally, he stopped trying, and started to laugh with her. Derek said that he had a good jacket, and Dayna commented that it didn't work with him, since he was fat.

They left the store, and they walked out into the central avenue of the gorgeous, lofty mall. Their feet walked on crisp white tiles, which shined even after a day of being walked on. All around them tall ferns and lush plants had been situated, and their presence added a feeling of life to the mall. Skylights as black as the same night sky they allowed people to see from the mall floor looked down from far above. Faint classical music came from unseen speakers, drifting pleasingly to their ears with piano notes and violin strings. They held hands together, both of them enjoying their youth and financial freedom by buying expensive, needless accessories, adding to their already extensive list of possessions. She criticized her body in front of a mirror, frowning at encroaching love handles. The store employees brought out jeans and shirts and boots and sweaters and shoes for her to try on, scrutinize, frown at, and eventually buy.

She turned to face Derek, smiling, her blonde face blushing, her eyes sparkling at his looks of approval, the hardship and agony of her dirt poor ancestors who lost hands laboring in factories nowhere to be found on her, their descendant, whose well-fed body slipped in and out of over a dozen outfits that night. She chuckled softly as his hand discretely squeezed her rear as she inspected herself in a close pair of black pants. She looked in the mirror, and saw Derek's dark, handsome face looking back at her from directly behind. "What do you like?" he asked.

"Everything," she said, her voice low and husky.

He kissed the side of her face from behind. "Then get it all."

They ate dinner at a restaurant not too far from the Centro, and they both indulged in a little too much food and a little too much wine. Impeccably dressed waiters served them as many plates with as many glasses as they desired. Derek did not drink so much wine as he did eat food, since he had to remain responsible and stay sober enough to drive her home. She would not want to go home at first, and especially not after getting drunk off of wine. The rosy color of her cheeks spread to almost her whole face the more she drank, and her smile broadened perceptively, and her eyes squinted almost closed whenever Derek came up with something witty to say. He took her home with her load of clothes and shoes and things, the glittering city skyscrapers standing tall and proud even amidst the strife and violence and terror most of the world was experiencing.

His subtle gated home lay northeast of downtown, near the Atlantic Ocean. She kissed the side of his face and neck for most of the ride home, her fresh smell somewhat tainted by the smell of wine on her breath. He led her out of his Lexus after he had pulled into his gravel drive, and she insisted on making love to him right there, outside, in the middle of the night. He was sober enough to turn her down. "C'mon, I have more wine inside," he said.

"I don't want to drink any more wine," she said, her voice slightly slurred. He looked into her eyes, and saw only the glazed stare of one totally inebriated. He felt almost sorry for her. He helped her into his house, and she broke free of him as soon as they passed through the threshold. Dayna took a few steps into the foyer along his Persian rug, and she sensed the firm presence of the glossy wooden floor underneath. He saw the way her perfect ass filled the back of her jeans, and he smiled to himself. He was lucky to have her, even though she enjoyed money and material things a little too much than what he was used to. She gave a triumphant whoop, and turned to face Derek. He shut the front door, giving her a bemused look.

"I can't even begin to describe how much of a goddess I am," she said. She slowly raised her arms up over her head for effect, and started to laugh. It wasn't a laugh that denoted she was joking, however. It was almost an imperial sort of laugh, the laugh of one who felt superior over other people. "I love this life. I really do. I can have and do anything I want. I can eat anything I want, and never stop drinking and buying and living. Come, and help me take my clothes off, would you?"

He was about to ask her what she was talking about, when she started to lift her sweater over her head, with great difficulty, because she was drunk. He helped her lift it over her blonde head, and then she admitted she needed help with her T-shirt. He grinned, kissing her on the lips, and she fell against him as he did so. Their lips parted as a result, and they both chuckled. She drew her laugh out, however, until she almost sounded like a donkey giving birth, so he put a finger to her lips. She started to open her jeans, and he leaned in and kissed the soft space under her chin. He then lifted her T-shirt up and over her head, and after that she contributed to her plans of getting naked by pulling her tight jeans down her legs.

Derek grabbed Dayna up in only her bra and panties, and carried her laughing into his comfortable living room. He set her down, and the both of them stood surrounded by expensive furniture and paintings and mirrors, and she leaned in close to him, kissing him hungrily, pushing his leather jacket from his shoulders. He removed her bra, slipping its straps from her shoulders, pulling its front down and letting her breasts bob freely. She looked over his shoulder, pressing her tits against his chest as she did so, and then she noticed a mirror. She gasped aloud, and she tore away from him.

"What?" he asked. She went around him, and towards the mirror. She stood in front of it, with her breasts exposed, naked save for a small, cream- colored pair of panties. She pinched her slightly protruding stomach, looking at the mirror as she did so, and then she almost frantically ripped down her panties. Derek looked on with a look of concern, since her face showed signs that she would begin to cry: her eyes looked stricken, and her eyebrows arched upward in a gesture of grief. She stood absolutely naked in front of Derek's full-length mirror, and she saw her slightly flabby stomach, with its accompanying love handles sticking out from her waist. Without using her hands she squeezed her chin against her neck, and touched the excessive skin there with her fingers. That was when she broke down and cried.

Derek came up, hugging her tightly. She started to bawl, and her body began to shiver in his arms. She put her hands over her face, and let the tears run down. All he could do was hug her, since he couldn't think of what else to do. This was so unexpected. One minute she was talking about being a goddess, and then the next minute she was crying helplessly.

"I'm fat!" she wailed suddenly.

"Oh no, you're not," he said, trying to say it as soothingly as possible.

"I'm fat and worthless and empty," she said. "I haven't done anything with my life. My mom and dad never loved me."

"Oh, stop honey. Please," he said. "Of course they do."

"No, no, no. They bought me. That's all I am. I'm a purchased item. Why didn't I have a little brother or sister? Why not?" She shuddered against him. "I don't deserve so much. I don't do anything with myself." She looked up at him with eyes that were shocked, scared and grief-stricken all at the same time. "I care about the Middle East. I do, I do, I do. I do, right?"

She buried her head against him again, continuing to cry uncontrollably. Derek was speechless, and he looked up at the mirror. In his mind's eye, he saw about eight or nine young kids playing baseball in the street. A skinny, wise looking kid with a New York Yankees hat perched on his fluffy hair waited for his pudgy friend to pitch the ball to him. As the kid threw the ball, the whole scene seemed to fade away in a dense mist, and the more time that passed, the thicker the mist seemed to get, and the harder it was to see the kids. The image was very vivid in Derek Janssen's mind's eye, and he suddenly felt like crying, too.

He lived a life of luxury, indulgence and security. He had everything he could ever want, yet he found himself hoping to God that this wasn't all there was to life.

************** A/N: Your comments and criticisms are welcome!! What the hell is wrong with it, or good about it?