A very bad weekend

Friday - 10:10 am

The first four floors of this building are occupied by the communication agency I work for. Five, in truth, if we also want to count the mezzanine floor with the bar and offices open to the public. On the sixth there are numerous conference rooms, stunning with their wood panels on the walls, spotlights and elegant blue velvet armchairs. The top floor is an attic where the management holds its refreshments. It's a very chic place, with enamelled steel and strange shiny materials whose names I don't know. There are pots of green and shiny plants to divide the tables and a well-stocked café counter. I know this because I went there once (that day when I was wearing a black suit), and I got a huge fruit cocktail that costs me a fortune. And that's where I'm heading, because, when I got to the fourth floor, Rebecca wasn't there, dragged away by I don't remember what important executive. Or at least that's what Riccardo told me, when I met him, five minutes ago, while I was wandering fearful in the open space, under the inquisitive and curious gazes of two guys in suits that I have already seen but do not I remember the name.

Perfect.

If I have problems going to the fourth floor, you can imagine my embarrassment to go to the top one. I will be a fish out of water. I know. I already told you I've been there, right? I went there six months after my hiring, convinced by Miriam to explore the building and blend into the crowd. Incidentally, it was she who recommended the black suit, so I could get more confused.

Thank goodness today I'm wearing a beige suit, not my very comfortable jeans. Who knows what would have happened if I had worn them today. I don't even dare to imagine it.

Come on, Ludovica, you can do it!

You just have to get out of this elevator, locate Rebecca, give her the brown file and maybe make an appointment for... I don't know... this afternoon? Of course, I would have preferred to chat with her for a while, but so be it.

I can do it! I just have to avoid looking around, stumbling or doing something equally stupid that attracts everyone's attention to me. I'm sure I go unnoticed. In any case, how long do I have to stay in there? Ten minutes? Fifteen? And, then, I can go back to my third floor and my obituaries.

The lift ding brings me back to the present and immediately the doors open onto the carpeted entrance and the quiet buzz of the patrons. Now and then I can hear glasses or bottles rattling and the sound of porcelain being set down. Two girls, all dressed up, hint at me a smile that I exchange briefly, before exiting the elevator and starting to look around a little bewildered. If I have to be honest, I remembered it larger, and much airier, but today there are also many more people and finding Rebecca could take longer than expected.

Ok, let's get started.

I approach hesitantly to the bar counter right in front of me and start reviewing all the faces sitting against it. Only three women and none of them is Rebecca, unless yesterday she cut her hair very short and got meshes, or she suddenly lost enough weight to wear a 38 (and then I want to know how she did it, so I can do it too) or has not suddenly aged ten years (which is highly unlikely, even if yesterday she spent an evening with Filippo and his nasty little friend).

Resigned, I look around for a while, investigating the tables closest to the entrance, while inviting smells and flavours reach my nostrils. Out of the corner of my eye I can see stiff waiters as they pour cocktails or weird fruit drinks, arrange mini portions of appetizers and snacks, or pour fingers of brandy or some sweet strong liquor - not that I want a liquor! I can't even handle it! It's just to say... Further away, a boy with a tie and a coordinated waistcoat arranges succulent pastry products and another does the same thing with sandwiches filled with pink grapefruit and shrimp sauce, or who knows what other delicacy.