As she waited
for its arrival, she lifted an antique hand mirror from a
display. Taking in her own reflection, she shook her hair and
checked her teeth. Her brown, Bette Davis eyes grew even more
expansive at the discovery of a pinpoint blemish just above her
eyebrow. She touched it and clucked. Swearing under her breath,
she returned the mirror to the glass counter and replaced her
sunglasses. She had to get out of these bright lights.
A bell chimed, signaling the arrival of the elevator. Turning
from the counter, she noticed a small, smiling elderly woman.
"Madam, can I show you some of our other fine silver mirrors?"
Greta Locke spun to hold the elevator door open. Wearing an
expression intended to come off as playful, she turned back to
the saleswoman. But when she noticed the woman staring at her
gloved hand holding the jutting elevator door, Greta's response
was anything but playful. "The last thing I need is an expensive
silver mirror to remind me to stop eating chocolate."
She boarded the elevator.
"Why Mrs. Locke, what a pleasant surprise!" said the attractive
salesman, all smiles, as Greta approached. He stood before the
Steuben crystal room situated at the end of the mercifully
subdued second level. Behind him there stood a row of ghostly
illuminated glass cases containing spectacular pieces of some of
the world's finest crystal.
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