Double Trouble:
The Elevator Story

 “Hey, Hanna, hold the doors, please.”

Every workday Celinda request.

Celinda Sinclair, Hanna Weston’s best friend, was a sight to witness sprinting down the hallway in three-inch spiked red patent leather high heels any day of the week, but when she flags you down with a graceful hand of Passion Fruit Red painted fingernails too, the safest route to take is to hold open the doors.

She’s on a mission of some sort and chipped nails on the elevator door would cause distressed delays and verbal outpourings of many explicit words.

Hanna exhausted herself trying to reckon out how Tina managed to look like an elegant gazelle bounding over golden African plains dissolving gently into a russet and purples sunset; trailing behind her a massive designer ‘purse’ – that could equally be termed a suitcase, on thin, three-inch stilts.

Legs, with feet wedged into slender pieces of leather with staves attached, commonly called shoes, were not Hanna’s go-to wearing apparel. Clogs were more her thing. Which, by the way, was the reason she arrived at the elevator after work each day before Celinda did; by resolutely clomping down the hallway in sturdy body balancing black clogs.

Celinda explained the philosophy of wearing high heels to Hanna once before, and a brisk thought came to her that perhaps it would be desirable to shift the center gravity of her body to enhance her chest and buttocks to become more prominent, commanding a sense of power with her new height during huntsmen like scenarios?
Humm.

No, Hanna was quite convinced contorting one’s person in that position for more time than necessary seemed like she could possibly deform herself permanently from future wooers’ admiration.

Anyway, Hanna thought her chest and buttocks had a fine and desirable form in clogs.

As her best friend, she had to consider too, an inescapable fact – Celinda was an authoritative and accomplished girlie girl. Coordination of outfits, makeup, and accessories were not just meager rules, they were absolute law.

Celinda had given up on Hanna’s sense of style long ago and just accepted the white V-Neck Tee shirts, black jeans, and black clogs ensembles as something to forbear as a best friend should do.

Other co-workers didn’t get off that easily.

Painting lips with pink day-glow lip gloss, while circling a burnt orange silk scarf around ash brown hair, produced deep tolerant sighs and most probably Celinda’s distinctive girlie girl ‘advice’.

Hanna never had any idea why these choices was a girlie girl rule/law. She liked orange and pink.

Hanna, bracing the elevator door open with her stable black clog, knew exactly what would be in order next. Celinda would need to apply fresh, soft peach colored lip gloss and a pinch of a deeper shade of soft peach blush, before exiting the elevator – one never knew who or what could be happening in the lobby once the doors opened.

Celinda scurried into the elevator car trailing whiffs of Lolita Lempicka Parfum and straightaway reached into the vast depth of ‘purse’ – searching by feel for the small thin tube of instant sparkle and attraction.

Hanna thought it bids insects to land on shiny lips too, but didn’t mention it.

Jolted by a sudden lurch of the elevator, Celinda’s hand flew up – caught in the ‘purse’ handles – slinging the ‘purse’ into the elevator’s far wall – then dropping and dumping elements required for proper elevator exit sheen into a jumble all over the floor.

Hanna, being her best friend, knew what was important. Find the lip gloss first. The doors could open at any second and she would not be the one responsible for Celinda’s potential true – temporary – love of her life to be on the other side and gaze on matte lips.

That’s how best friends help.

Rolled to the darkest recessed corner of the elevator floor was the sleek golden tube lying on an envelope.

Hanna picked up the essential item, handed it to Celinda, then began to explore the envelope.

It felt good in her hands due to the fine grade of stationery, very smooth. Fancy too, with cursive embossed writing. Addressed to the company’s CEO Mr. Devon McAllister Ballou the Third, she guessed swanky made sense.

Hanna knew examining the envelope was one thing – secondary thoughts to discover what was inside the envelope was completely another matter.

Not her right. No, it was not!

Oh, my, the envelope had been opened already – the seal barely holding. Must have fallen out of Mr. Ballou’s pocket after he read it.

Very careless of him.

Celinda, after announcing herself adequately glossed up and ready for exit, zoned in on the envelope in Hanna’s hand.

“What’s that, she asked”?

To tell or not to tell.

It may be said of Celinda, with Hannas assumed participation, could avail herself of the oddest moments to realize escapade potentials – unknow contents of a barely sealed envelope proved too much temptation for her, and as a result – Hanna.

“You are cordially invited to a Masquerade Ball.

The date, time and place were noted along with RSVP card.

Celinda’s eyes popped wide open with excitement and schemes. Hanna knew that look – double trouble.

Hazel eyes met blue ones with mischievous intent. Hanna understood without any doubt she was going to crash a company masquerade ball, in some yet undesigned but ridiculous costume – under slightly erroneous circumstances – before the elevator doors opened.

-Leika