~~~
Within half an hour of his leaving of his leaving her, she heard the woman named Giselle take a call.
Sara had settled in to a plush chair that faced the receptionist's desk and had nearly forgotten that she wore a stained shirt in an office she had never seen before and that her very employment was likely hanging by a thread. Except that she believed what he had said--he would make arrangements.
And Giselle had dutifully left almost immediately after the white shirted man had gone. She had not said a word to Sara, or even looked at her for that matter. Gone for less than a minute, the blond came back and acted as though Sara did not even exist.
Sara did not mind, though. She was used to it. The women in data entry acted as though she were no more substantial than a mildly disagreeable perfume, wrinkling their noses ever so slightly at her passage, then forgetting her entirely as she gained her cubicle.
The telephone chimed quietly and the blond woman picked up, listened without saying anything, then got up smoothly from her desk and stepped out of the room as she had done thirty minutes earlier. And, as before, she returned just as quickly, only this time she carried a white, cardboard box.
And as with the women in Sara's office, Giselle's face was downturned as if she was obliged to a disagreeable task.
She held the package out to Sara at arm's length and said, "A clean shirt. It is of silk and fitted with black pearl buttons from fresh water mussels."
Without changing pitch, as if she were reciting a mathematical formula, she continued, "You can change in there."
The cold, blond woman nodded to an adjacent, darkened room, its door ajar.
Sara only nodded in response as she took the proffered box and went to the room. What she had taken for a broom closet revealed itself as she flicked the light switch. Instead of housing an assortment of mops and cleaning supplies, she saw a meeting room with a long table lined in chairs running its length.
She shut the door behind her. The room was windowless and Sara gratefully took off her stained shirt.
She opened the nondescript white package and what she saw inside took her breath away.
The shirt was a thing of beauty. The feel of its shimmering texture was like cool water, its black buttons ringed in shining silver. Sara looked closer and saw a grey, nacreous rainbow glimmer in the buttons' color as she held the shirt up. The woman had not lied. They were beautiful pearls and while Sara could not be sure, something told her they were natural and not cultured.
Which meant that the thin slip of fabric in her hands was worth more than her entire month's pay...probably, far more than that.
She slipped it on and it felt like she was wearing nothing at all. The waist was gently gathered and the bodice held to her breasts in a very flattering way.
Giselle has excellent taste, Sara thought as she went back out the door, thinking to thank her.
But, the look on the blond woman's face was of undisguised distaste as she looked up. Sara's words of thanks died in her throat as Giselle said, "No. I prefer that you wait in there."
Her tone was dismissive as she returned to her computer screen and Sara understood that it had been exactly that--a dismissal. In a single glance, the blond had sized her up and had decided that she merited not a single thought more.
Sara returned to the empty meeting room, closing the door quietly behind her.
She did not mind. She was used to it.