The next day, Manhattan was warm and humid. Elizabeth dressed in a beige skirt that came just a hair above her knees. The sleeves of her shirt ended at the elbow. The thin material was covered in yellow and brown stripes, and a small slit resided on each side of the cuffs; however, the middle part of the shirt resembled a brown vest. She combined that with three inch heels and some small dangling earrings.
Elizabeth brushed out her soft, wavy hair, allowing it to hang freely. She’d never been one for makeup and had refused to change that, even for the overly pushy makeup artist at the salon. Adding a small touch of clear lip gloss and then grabbing her purse, she headed out the door. She realized she’d made a mistake before she reached the bus stop. There was no way she could walk in these heels. Why hadn’t she brought tennis shoes and changed into her heels at the office? It was too late now. She would have to make do.
When Elizabeth stepped on the bus, all the regulars were aboard—the lady with the three kids, the priest with his prompt white collar, a little old man that always carried his brown paper bag. No one paid any attention to her new look, and she was glad.
Thirty minutes later, she stepped off the bus in front of the office building. She headed to the glass turn-‐‑style doors, pulled down her shirt, made sure she wasn’t wobbling in her shoes and walked inside. Nothing happened. No whistles, no catcalls, no one stopped what they were doing to look at her. That was a good sign.
When Elizabeth reached the top floor, she began to wonder what the big deal about her old look had been. She was getting less attention now than she had before. When she entered the office, she put her bag down beside her desk, grabbed her pen and paper, and went to Mr. Hampton’s office to get his to-‐‑do list for the day. Before entering, she did a soft knock on the door to warn him she’d arrived and was coming in. Waiting for him, Mr. Hampton bade her to enter.
The first thing she noticed upon entering was that he wasn’t alone. George and Henry were also in attendance. Charles was staring at his desk when he motioned her forward. He lifted his hand and in it was a list. “Here’s what I need you to do today.” That was all he said. Elizabeth took the list and headed back outside to her desk to start on her work.
“Did you see that?” asked George.
Henry asked, “Who was that?”
“That was Elizabeth, you dolt.”
“Elizabeth? Are you crazy? That wasn’t Elizabeth. Elizabeth looks like a retro girl from the sixties. That was someone else entirely,” said Henry, with confidence.
Charles looked up from his desk and stared at his two sons. “What’s wrong with you two? Of course that was Elizabeth. It sounded just like her.”
“She didn’t speak, Dad,” said George, flicking a piece of lint from his lapel.
“Nope, she didn’t. You just handed her a list, and she sashayed out of her in three inch brown pumps.”
“George, are you sure? Elizabeth was wearing high heels?”
George pointed toward the door, saying, “Well, I don’t know if Elizabeth was. But that girl sure was.” George was silent a moment then said, “Mom isn’t going to like this.”
“Like what?” asked Henry. He was a little slower on the uptake.
“She’s not going to like Dad having a hot woman for his secretary.”
“George, if you don’t stop talking in riddles I’m going to throw you out of this room on your ear. What hot woman are you talking about?” asked Charles.
“I’m talking about Elizabeth. Haven’t you been listening?”
“Apparently not. Elizabeth isn’t what you’re saying. And by the way, I don’t like you referring to her as such. She is a very fine lady.”
“Well, now she is real fine,” said George, lifting one corner of his lip in a sideways grin.
Apparently, Elizabeth was wrong. She is definitely being noticed!
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