Chapter One
Leighton dreaded this time of day; the low point between winding down her job at the office and preparing for an evening at home with her husband. Here, she moved in her own world. There, it was his planet. She found it hard to shift roles from her professional to her personal life. And the change from daylight to darkness in December had also come too fast. Isolated in her cubicle, she felt the earlier close of business contracted her workday. New salespeople gave up easily on adjusting, leaving early in search of other fulfillment. She’d been in real estate almost thirty years but still felt obliged to stay at the office. She was often the only broker around after five o’clock especially in winter. Working late at her desk, she worried about facing an intruder alone, like the one the receptionist surprised a year ago before the office was locked. Emergency procedures were printed clearly on the sheet behind her computer, upsetting her focus instead of assuring her peace of mind.
The office ventilation system had already shut down for the night and ceiling lights were off, except the bank at the end of each row of desks. Her work station cast an eerie glow through the gloom gathering around the other brokers’ deserted spaces. Empty silence drained her thoughts where the din of business had overwhelmed her just an hour ago, and stagnant air was already getting heavy. She was tempted to leave before she’d finished. But it was just a fleeting thought never expressed so she jumped and grabbed the receiver when her phone rang. The sleepy receptionist’s voice said there was a walk-in client in the lobby and no one left in the office to take care of him.
Leighton gave a deep sigh to calm her pulse roused by the call and placed the receiver back down slowly. The late duty assignment forced her out of her chair without enthusiasm, and she glanced at a small mirror on the shelf over her computer. An announced visitor could be a potential client and so required some effort on her part to present herself well. She leaned in closer to check her make-up. Unadorned brown eyes stared back at her, what little mascara she’d applied that morning long gone. She tucked fine stray wisps of platinum blonde hair behind her ears and pressed her lips together hoping it would bring them some color. Healthy circulation was the best cosmetic, but the combination of age and a long day at the office robbed her of that natural lift. A pleasant face and warm smile would have to do instead. She practiced her welcoming expression but knew it looked more apologetic than friendly. She’d have to do better than that. She was a professional after all.
Entering the reception area by a side door reserved for staff only, she paused for a moment to look over the elegant foyer. Glossy brochures reflecting overhead fluorescent lights reminded her of gaudy prostitutes offering themselves suggestively to potential clients. The polished marketing leaflets lined an entire wall under the raised chrome logo for Ridgeley’s Residential Real Estate. Leaning out invitingly from glass holders, the colorful flyers seemed to call out take me! to differentiate themselves from their neighbors. But apparently the man peering at them close-up wasn’t persuaded. Hands clasped behind his back, he leaned toward them to see better but reached out for none.
Her stealthy arrival gave her time for a quick impression of him. Tall, with thick white hair and a beautifully tailored European suit, he looked like the kind of client who makes an appointment for a private conference rather than casually dropping in as he had. Leighton thought there was something familiar about him, but knew she had to greet him formally as any reigning Madam might with the requisite query, can I help you? The phrase was supposed to be engaging but definitely wasn’t.
She was surprised by her own voice; too tired to fake enthusiasm. She should have escaped from the office earlier along with the other brokers, all too smart to get stuck with a late shopper who had no intention of buying anything. These customers got a vicarious thrill, especially the men, from looking at pictures of penthouses on Park Avenue and Manhattan townhouses sporting swimming pools and wine cellars. It was what Leighton’s grandmother had called ‘imagination shopping’ and it was safe, inexpensive and non-committal; all things that seemed to appeal to men in particular.
by Sidney S. Stark
Please click on the ‘Novel’ tab at the top of this page to continue reading Chapter One of Mistaken Identities.