The Elevator

The lady went to pay for her appointment at reception.

She tapped a red nail on the desk, then brought it up to tuck a cotton candy wisp of blonde hair back into her bun.

Yet again, she had to remind the male secretary the amount she should be charged.  It was sliding-scale, and perhaps she should feel bad about how little she paid, but she often watched him taking money from other patients and she was paying far more than most.

This is fair, she thought, with a little jerk of her head.

She eyed the secretary as he swiped the card; he seemed to sense this and fumbled when handing her a pen.

He's always staring up at me from that chair, she thought.  Examining her face whenever she walks up to him to pay.  As if he takes pleasure in the fact that she'd likely cried for an hour straight.  Pervert.  He probably gets paid in free therapy.  Seems too incompetent to hold an actual paying job.

The transaction was complete and she click-clacked into the hallway. 

See ya next week, Slob-o.

Pressing a red nail to the elevator button, the doors immediately opened and two men scurried off.  She wondered where the lift had come from; wasn't this the lowest level?

Stepping in, she realized another guy was still on.  He hit floor 3 and she checked to see that L was lit up. 

They began their ascent.  The guy looked at the lady.  Her pale skin flushed with the realization that her sunglasses were in the car.  Her eyes must look like all hell.

"What's on that floor? LL?" he asked.  "I've always wondered."

She turned and focused her gaze, really looked right into his face.  She had crazy wobbly anime eyes, she felt it.

"A counseling center," she said, more forcefully than she had meant to.

He leaned back and looked at the ceiling, processing what that really meant.  "Ah," he said.

The doors opened and he wished her a good day. 

She responded in kind, and as she click-clacked out the door, a strange thing happened.  She truly wished for that, felt that it might be attainable.

A good day.