Toupee of Tower Power
They wouldn’t allow me to go to the elevator. Was I a guest or was I visiting someone? Did I have credentials to be in the building? Shyness is not my forte, rather when men look at me or other women, they are shocked to see how forthright I am. How much power I exude, even my voice commands respect. I am not soft spoken at all. though my worn leather greyish coat has marks on it that won’t or can’t be erased. My boots are scuffed and my hair has five points where it decides to do different things. People stop and stare at me. Is it my blue white eyes that turn grey when angry? Is it the white light I walk in that glows as I cross a room? Or is it my smile when a smile is not called for?
“Yes” I am with so and so.
They ring the apartment.
“Okay, you may proceed to the elevator.
There a man waits in full uniform to take me to the top floor.
He escorts me to the front door.
I am let in.
Later I go out into the lobby with the people I came to see.
There he was, not much taller than me, with an entourage. He suddenly looks at me and stops, his entourage piling into him like a set of domino’s set off on a table.
“Beautiful” he mutters.
I smile and the smile was called for.
I turned to my employer, a very elegantly dressed and well to do man in his own right and said to him, He just called you beautiful.
We laughed. I am still a nobody with a gift.