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CHAPTER EIGHT: - THE ELEVATOR.

“What do you think?” Clarisse asked Rebecca, who hovered in the hallway. There was not much there where she lived. It was a little apartment with one bedroom and a common bathroom. The living room was crammed with a couch and a little TV in the corner. Clarisse made sure not to put the TV too close to the couch for Sam. A coffee table rested in the middle of the room, eating up the left out space. On the other side was a balcony where the laundry hung.

A narrow passage led to the bedroom, separating it from the kitchen and living room. The bedroom was not a relief either. The bed occupied pretty much every space, and yet somehow Clarisse packed a dressing table-c*m-cupboard in there. Behind the mirrors of the dressing table, Clarisse's collection of clothes was tidily arranged on the shelves. Sam kept his clothes tossed in a duffle bag which laid around the bedroom, tumbled.

“Aren’t you supposed to wear formals?” Rebecca wondered.

“Well, it’s Sunday. I wanted to look more charming, you know, like a holiday vibe.” Clarisse spun around to show Rebecca her blue dress with yellow floral prints. “She spends all of her time in meetings. She’s seen enough suits.” Clarisse remarked.

“You look like a pretty woman.” Rebecca said, “if I were a man I would want to take you.”

“I’ve got those boots on these.” Clarisse pointed at her high ankle leather boots behind the door.

“Looks like you are going on a date,” Rebecca teased.

“All right, that’s enough now. I am going to work. Wish me luck.”

Rebecca hugged Clarisse and smooched slightly on her cheek and said, “you have my luck.”

Clarisse peeked at the clock which hung crookedly above her dressing table. “Damn, I am late. Go to go.” she realised.

Clarisse hastily grabbed her purse and tossed her phone in, donning her jacket. She fumbled with her boots, labouring to get them on.

“I ain’t gonna stay up if you are late.” Rebecca shouted from the bedroom as Clarisse stormed down the hallway.

“Don’t. I might not. And thank you, dear.” Clarisse shut the door behind her.

Clarisse strode across the streets. Awkwardly, she held her phone in one hand and purse in the other, trying to text Wichita.

‘LEFT HOME. WILL BE THERE IN A WHILE.’ she sent.

In an instant, Wichita replied, ‘WHERE ARE YOU RIGTH NOW?’

Clarisse stopped, looked around and gasped, “huh?” She wondered what to reply? And her phone vibrated, ‘Wichita’'s name flashed across the screen.

She is calling.

Clarisse took a deep breath and answered.

“Hey,” Wichita greeted.

“Hey. I am just…,” Clarisse went speechless.

“Yeah. I’ve been waiting. Great fan of patience, by the way.” Wichita giggled.

“I - I am sorry.” Clarisse bit her lips to keep herself from smiling.

“Okay, where are you now?” Wichita asked again.

“I am here on the street across the Bowery Station.” She strode away again after realising she had stopped.

“Great. See you at Prince street. Bye.” And Wichita hung up.

“Wait… Uh.” Clarisse tried to dial again but resisted.

“Taxi!” She yelled in the empty streets as she ran.

No taxis.

Clarisse realised the only way she had was to run. Running through the streets of lower Manhattan was never the most convenient way. It was approximately nine minutes from here. This one time she wished the Bowery Station had never shut down.

After a few curves and twists and turns, Clarisse got on the subway, pushing through the crowds of tourists. Clarisse’s heart kept beating vehemently in her chest with every passing second as she approached the Prince Street station. She didn’t expect a change of plans; she wanted to be in the penthouse with Wichita, watching her being herself.Talking about her business meeting, ranting about her board members, and playing piano.

Clarisse got off the station and her phone vibrated again. Wichita, she presumed.

“Are you there yet?” She asked.

“Yes, I am here.” Clarisse replied.

“Good. Now, when you get out of the station, take the alley across the street and follow it down the 5th boulevard,” Wichita instructed.

“Okay.” Clarisse tried to get the direction.

“And you will see a building, ‘The Opulence.’ Take the elevator and get on the rooftop. Bye.” Wichita hung up.

“Huh?” Clarisse wondered in daze, “… always” she muttered.

She walked down the streets, remembering Wichita’s vague directions. Stumbling around on the streets like a tourist, she treaded carefully reading the boards, making sure she wouldn’t miss the direction or end up taking a wrong turn.

‘The Opulence.’ name shimmered in the red with blue and white lace of LEDs dancing around it above a tall building. She glanced up. The building never ceased above. She went in and a butler greeted her.

“Ms. Holt, I suppose.” He said in a musical voice.

“Yes,” Clarisse replied, “that would be me.”

The butler signalled to someone, and a grand bouquet of flowers was presented to Clarisse, “Ms. Bradford is expecting you on the rooftop. She sends her regards."

“Okay.” Clarisse, astounded, tried to get her hands around the bouquet, not sure how to carry it. It was half her height and wider than two Clarisses.

The butler interrupted her and said, “Ms. Holt, we will take care of this. Please, this way.” He directed Clarisse towards the elevator.

Clarisse could feel her palms getting sweaty. She wiped them on her hips. The tension was building inside her like something was about to break free of everything she'd been holding back, maybe. Something rose within, like the elevator. As she was coming closer to Wichita, the unspeakable feeling elevated. She needed Wichita now, but the surprises she was bringing had left Clarisse wondering, “is there more?”

‘Ding.’ The elevator’s bell rang, and it opened to the sight of Wichita.