Stepping into the elevator, she began to adjust her load. Arms laden with her sketch portfolio, she juggled the three architectural tubes into a more comfortable position without dropping a thing. Glancing at the elevator walls, the etched mirror showed her blonde bangs were awry. Puffing upward with a full breath, she only seemed to be doing more damage. Then, just as the elevator doors were beginning to close, a hand reached inward to stop them.
      “Yes, I know that. Do it anyway. The plan is to beat the competition – not collaborate.” A woman’s voice commented.
      Sandy turned to see a businesswoman holding the door with one hand and the cell phone with the other.
      Sandy attempted to look down at her bent wrist to see what the time read. Moving her hand slightly, she almost dropped the whole bundle she carried. The woman on the phone looked up briefly, showing an arched eyebrow and deep brown eyes. Sandy felt a blush rise to her cheeks and felt a touch of anger growing. Knowing she had arrived early, she could wait a minute or two, but to be asked would have been nice.
      The woman continued her converstion for a moment, still holding the doors open.
      “Just do it, Harry. I looked it over, and it’s a good deal. The lawyers will agree as long as we meet the deadline. I’m on the elevator, so I’ll talk to you before noon. If you miss me, talk to Alice. We’ll be waiting.”
      She lowered the phone, clicked it closed, slid it into her blazer pocket, and stepped onto the elevator smoothly. Sandy felt a touch of envy at the stranger’s commanding movements. The entire appearance she portrayed was efficient and elegant. Her dark navy pantsuit was a perfect complement for her tan skin and auburn hair. Sandy caught a glimpse of her own image in the opposite mirror and softly said, “crap.” 
      In the silence of the elevator, it came out clear as a bell. The woman standing next to her looked over silently.
      Sandy adjusted the packages slowly and felt one begin to fall. Grabbing the edge with a fingernail, she bit her lip and pressed it up against the wall to put hold it in place.
      “Need help?” An amused voice asked. Sandy looked over at her elevator companion to reply, but the movement set off the landslide. Groaning, she watched the whole enchilada fall. She almost hit heads with the other woman as they both bent to pick up the fallout.
      “Thanks!” She said as they picked up the scattered sketches sliding out of her leather portfolio bag. Why didn’t she close the zipper? She thought, getting frustrated with herself. The woman held a drawing up to see it better and paused before handing it back to Sandy. That particular sketch was one she had been hoping to “wow” the pants off of ‘Mister Interviewer.’ Placing the drawing into her portfolio carefully, she propped the leather casement against one wall and zipped it shut. Thanking the woman once again, she took the tubes being held out to her and put them under one arm. Turning, she inspected her frayed image in the mirrors that surrounded them. The woman had laughter in her rich brown eyes as Sandy’s glance connected with hers in the mirror.
      Sandy felt another blush coming on and sighed. Then, smiling at the woman through the mirror’s reflection, she shook her head. “Big interview today with some head honcho guy! I’m a little nervous. I think I packed the kitchen sink in there somewhere.”
      The woman laughed.
      Sandy felt a shiver course through her as she listened. Get a grip, she thought, twisting her crooked bangs into a semblance of normality. This woman is so not available to a lowly lesbian sketch artist! She’s probably married and dating! Sandy glanced at the woman’s reflection briefly as she turned back to face the doors of the elevator. But her gay-dar refused to subside.
      “What floor are you headed for?” A chuckle escaped the older woman after Sandy repeated ‘crap’ again softly. The damn elevator had never moved.
      “Ninety-two, please!”
      The woman stretched an arm out and pushed buttons 92 and 93. Sandy noticed long, slim fingers and a small gold pinkie ring. The elevator rose. Feeling another blush, she looked down at the tubes she held and counted to 10.
      “Are you interviewing with someone in particular?” The woman asked politely in the soft whir of the movement of the elevator.
      Sandy coughed and tucked a stray curl of blondness behind one ear as she prayed the blush was gone. Then, looking up and over to the woman, she noticed the perfect hairstyle and pretty features.
      “Some guy named Charlie. He’s the final word on my work, and then I might be a working fool!” Sandy smiled, then frowned, still feeling nervous. The reminder of her work about to be judged still set off butterflies in her stomach.
      “Is that punishment, I mean, to work? Isn’t that the whole purpose of finding a job?” Her arching eyebrow was raised as she commented on Sandy’s frown.
Sandy looked up from her butterflies and missed the implications. After a slight hesitation, she shook her head.
      “What did I…oh yes…a working fool would be great! I love what I do. But I’m really nervous about critics! You know…some complete stranger looking at your stuff telling you it’s either ‘really nice’ or ‘completely hideous.’ They only mean it’s not right for them. So I just hope this guy is open for my style.” Her voice lowered as she glanced to see the slowest elevator in the world move her past floor 36. Looking at her watch, she noticed she was still early. She hated to be late.
      She saw the woman glancing over at her in her peripheral vision and looked back quickly.
      “You’ve got an eyelash right here.” The stranger touched her own cheek lightly.
      Sandy stared at the finger brushing against that soft skin and couldn’t control the thought of this woman brushing it off herself. An instant meltdown occurred in her groin. Nor could she handle the vivid blush that immediately rose. She knew she was looking like a turnip with blonde hair and looked away, adjusting the packages once again. A count to one hundred would not have helped. A hand came into her vision, holding out a pocket mirror.
      She took it gratefully and opened it to dust the offending eyelash off. She quickly glanced at the mirrored image in the elevator walls and wished she hadn’t.
      A grin met her gaze, a slightly flirtatious one, at that. Sandy looked back into the compact mirror and closed it slowly.
      Handing it back, the other woman’s fingertips touched hers briefly.
      “Glad to have helped!” Her voice was a touch husky to Sandy’s hearing. Looking up at that exact second, the elevator rang with their arrival to the ninety-second floor. The older woman glanced up at the digital number printed above the mirrors and sighed.
      Sandy took that moment to gather up her sketches. She contemplated asking her out on a date. It wasn’t as if it was impossible. They were both adults. Man, was her focus off. What could she be thinking? She needed to get back in the game and remember she was interviewing in less than a few minutes.
      The doors opened, where a vast counter in a nice lobby stood waiting to greet them. Sandy stepped out, expecting the woman to remain. But, instead, she followed after a moment and caught up to Sandy. Shrugging mentally, Sandy turned to thank her once again.