Loren skipped the bowl of ambrosia and went straight for the caviar garnish circling it. The colors of black, next to the yellow pineapple and roll looking grapes was too enticing. He scooped more of the caviar than he should with so many people in the room. There was no reason to gulp the food except his nerves were jumpy with the speech he was set to give this evening. The audience was mercenary and full of lesbian women, his worse audience, and on top of that – social workers. They would listen without hearing, ask questions without waiting for the answer and begin talking over him. Loren knew he’d be overruled by their unruliness and outwitted by their wit, and then walk away in a haze of shame.

Loren stood at the podium, the caviar stuck around his dry throat. He finished his speech about the po“tent”ial of the personal tent and felt he had hit on some good points that they would like. He hadn’t. After the last question of the night was answered, “It seems ludicrous that you would invent something so clever and then keep it out of the hands of certain people by pricing it so high. Most of the homeless people who sleep under the tents cannot afford to buy one. Can you speak to that?” Loren was exhausted.

No, Loren could not speak to that. The only thing he could think to “speak” was something hideously sarcastic like “flipping-her-off” and saying speak to this! Under the hot spotlight and the threat of riotous social workers, Loren went to the only place he could, his home in India, always alive in his mind. There he saw the wonder of reds, yellows and air thick with spice. He lived in a small three-walled space next to a polluted river and lots of dirt everywhere. There were goats, dust ripples, children playing in the arid wind their skin dark and dried. Loren never forgot the place because he didn’t really own it. It really wasn’t his house. It was just space. A place he stayed when there, many times, a place of memories of laying on a small cot thrashing around from the heat, miserable from unending sweat.

And then he saw her amongst the room of social workers – Allegra.

She was as beautiful as he knew her to be. Always, with a glow around her, a result of her arrogant confidence. Allegra seemed younger than her years and bolder than he remembered. She was his first wife, his only love, who discovered the potential of his company with him, through the silliness, the seriousness and the wealth. Allegra did not like to travel, but she escorted him all over the world hand-and-hand. She was finished with her education as a social worker and passed any resentments or annoyances with the subtleties of life. And well passed taking any shit from anyone.

“I can’t believe it’s you.” Loren had to restrain from shouting his words.
“When I saw you were the guest speaker, well, I wouldn’t miss it Loren. How are you?”
 “I don’t want to say this too loud, especially in this crowd, I could be killed, but you look fantastic, sexy. I actually had a dream about you the other night.” Loren lied. He had dreamed about her every night.
“Okay. Slow down Loren.”

Loren had invented the personal tent with Allegra in mind. Before they were married, he had envisioned the two of them having sex under a small tent while camping all over the world. That was how the personal tent was born. Inside their small, upside down, canoe-shaped tent, Loren saw a drawn fireplace on the inside wall, with embers lit to roaring, and a large, blooming soft chair drawn on either side of the door. This was their first home, a drawn and pitched one, at $89.00.

Once their success and wealth was apparent, Allegra could not reconcile her lifestyle and her passions and became uncomfortable with all the wealth. Loren could not relate to her disdain for having more than two people needed. They fought many times over the need for more wealth. Allegra was a strict, socialist, social worker working in the interest of the poorest people. It was something she could never reconcile and Loren could never understand.

Loren grabbed a bowl of M&Ms while staring at Allegra like she was water in the desert. He did not care that there was not enough for everyone or that they might not care for his bare hands delving into the naked mix. He placed a handful in his mouth, without dropping any, and held the bowl under his arm.

“Do I need to leave Loren?”
“No.”
“Then stop it. Just stop it.”
“Stop what?”
“Stop acting like I’m the only woman in the world. Look at all these beautiful women here, they’re great for you. They’re educated, work with the needy, I mean, good Lord, Loren I am not the only woman in the world. Stop calling my cell phone and hanging up I know it’s you. There’s a little thing out there called caller ID,” she whispered while looking directly at Loren. She had a pleading look, her worried eyes wandered around the room. Loren let the whole idea of asking her for sex fade.

“I was in India last month.”
“Oh, wow, Loren how was it?”
“Hot.”
“I’ll see you Loren.”

Allegra then moved off into the thick of the crowd. Loren stared at her long brown ponytail as it moved away from him. It was elegant with natural golden highlights running down inside the bundle. Some hair product was holding the wispy hair in place, she uses the money for her own vanity, he thought, and then she was lost to the coats and purses of the crowd.

Then Loren heard the voices of people sneaking a peak at the illustrious billionaire; trying to get his attention. Loren spoke with one or two women not outwardly defined by their love for social work. They had on high-heels with plenty of cleavage spotted around their padded bras. They were nice. Sexy in their gallant attempts at his money. Loren was not falling for their bullshit, that’s all they were to Loren, just feeble attempts at his money. He loved Allegra and that was it. It never changed for him, never.