My feet slowly moved me forward as I strolled carelessly into the high rise and made my way across the lobby and toward the elevator. I stood with the others, waiting for the doors to slide open and swallow us inside. When I heard the familiar ring followed by the whoosh of the doors as they opened, I moved forward with the rest of the group as we crammed ourselves inside. We took turns asking the person closest to the panel where the floor numbers were to press our prospective destinations, which she did with a half-ass smile plastered to her face. It was an obvious attempt to hide the irritation that she was suddenly designated the door man.
When the car lurched and started upward, my stomach did a flip, like it always did. I didn’t care too much for small spaces ever since the accident and was often subjected to symptoms of anxiety and fear when subjected to them. Elevators were especially daunting as I always pictured them breaking down, trapping those of us unfortunate enough to be inside when its functionality ceased to exist. The thought started to make me dizzy, so I drew in a deep breath as quietly as I could before letting it out slowly. My lips were pinched together tightly with the tension as I breathed and counted silently inside my head in an attempt to regain my composure before anyone else noticed I was losing control.
The car stopped and started again at least a dozen times on the way up to the floor I needed. Each time lurching before starting again, causing my heart to skip several beats in anxious expectation of the worst outcome possible. After what felt like an eternity, the doors slid open on the floor I needed, and I practically flew out the opening, leaving those left behind to look on in wonder at my bizarre reaction. I didn’t care, I was free for the moment and ready to get far, far away from the elevator. As I turned and hurried down the hallway, I pulled my phone from my back pocket and bent my head down to draft a message to let Salley know I was in the house and would be there in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.
Chapter 5
Jessica
I sat nervously in the waiting room of my doctor’s office. In order to be employed at Threads, I had to do a pre-employment physical and while they have doctors that they pay to do just that, it was time for my quarterly shot anyways, so I figured I would kill two birds with one stone. As I filled out the paperwork to update my records, I reminisced about how long I had been seeing Dr. Serenity Larson. She was my first choice, and a good one, from a long list of primary care physicians contracted to accept my insurance. It took me several weeks to research all my options even though I had narrowed the choices down to only a couple dozen due to my preference for a female provider. I was a woman after all and it never made much sense to me to see a male doctor since they don’t possess the same parts as me. In the end, after reading hundreds of reviews and researching each one thoroughly, I had made a great choice.
During my first year at college, my first and only boyfriend during that time of my life, I had been convinced that it would be the best option to get the Depo Provera shot as opposed to relying on my own timing to take a pill. He had informed me early on that he never wanted to have any children and I was responsible to make sure that didn’t happen. Of course, our relationship only lasted nine months, but I continued to get the shots after our breakup, just in case. He was partially right, it was much more convenient and reliable. On the other hand, some of the symptoms I had experienced while my body got used to the additional hormones running rampant through my system, were less than desirable.
Fast forward three years and I was still a faithful patient of Dr. Larson. She was thorough, patient and always kind and I liked that. I hated being talked down to by an uppity white coat that thinks they are better than the rest of the population just because they had the opportunity to attend medical school. Dr. Larson was not that kind of practitioner. She gave it to you straight and had a way to deliver news that made you feel comfortable and in no way panicked. I appreciated her for that.
When the petite, scrub-laden nurse peeked her head out from behind a dark, wooden door next to the reception desk and called my name, I nearly leapt from my seat. I handed the receptionist back her clipboard which had a novel’s worth of writing on the pages it contained and followed her through the doorway into the back. On our way down the long corridor, we stopped at several stations to collect some vitals. Weight, blood pressure and pulse oxygen. Finally, she handed me a clear plastic cup with a bright yellow lid fixed to the top with a seal indicating it had not been used yet. I took the cup from her outstretched hand and walked toward the bathroom on the other side of the hallway that she had indicated.
Once my sample was collected and placed on a small tray on the edge of the counter inside the bathroom, I emerged from the bathroom and continued to follow the nurse down the hallway. She opened the door to one of the exam rooms and motioned for me to have a seat on the exam table that sat vacant and ready for me. I heard the crinkle of the paper as I lowered myself onto its surface and shifted my weight around until I was more comfortable. The young woman continued to scribble notes down in my chart as I answered a barrage of questions. By the time she was finished, I was mentally exhausted from trying to remember the correct answers.
I know it was only around ten or fifteen minutes, but it felt like an eternity as I sat inside the exam room alone waiting for Dr. Larson to make her appearance. The numerous, full-color posters of people with varying diseases in comparison to a normal person peppered the walls and did their best to entertain me, but I was on edge already, so they were of little help. I needed to speed up the process if I was going to get to my new digs soon. My new boss knew I had business to attend to this morning in connection with my employment there, but that did not keep me from feeling anxious that the doctor visit was moving at a snail’s pace. I was going to be several hours behind by the time I arrived at Threads and that gave me a refreshed sense of anxiety.
When I heard the knock at the door and she finally peeked her head inside the room, I was a bundle of nerves. I breathed an audible sigh of relief when she breached the entrance and walked into the room, my chart in hand. She flipped through several pages inside the manila folder she held, nodding to herself on occasion. It felt as though she was going to read each and every line, leaving me suspended forever as I waited for her to finish her review.
“Good morning, Ms. Goldstein. It is always nice to see you, even if it is only every three months,” her smile was genuine as she regarded me over the rims of her wire-framed glasses. Her face was soft, and her lips stretched across rows of perfect teeth. The look she gave me had me instantly at ease as she proceeded to ask me some of the same questions I had answered in the waiting room. I assumed it was her way of just double-checking the information since Dr. Larson was pretty thorough. “I see here that you need me to complete this paperwork for your pre-employment physical. That should be no problem as you are in tip-top shape, according to all of your vitals. There will be a nominal fee, of course. It is the policy of my practice, unfortunately, but it is only ten dollars. If you don’t have it this time, I will waive the fee until your visit in three months.”
“No, that’s fine, I have some cash. I just did not want to go to a strange doctor since I have you and you are the most familiar with my health history. They have doctors on staff, but since I also needed to get my shot, I figured it would take care of both issues at once if I just came to see you,” she nodded as I spoke. She was already writing away, completing the initial identifying information on the form I had gotten from Ms. Conrad at the Human Resources Department.
Dr. Larson busied herself with checking me from head to toe. Her stethoscope was cold as she pushed it underneath my blouse and onto my bare skin. As instructed, I took several deep breaths and let them out slowly as she moved the flat end of the device around my chest. Reflexes were next. She tapped the front of each knee with a rubber hammer, causing my leg to kick forward in automatic response. I always thought that was funny. No matter how hard you concentrate on keeping your leg from moving, the motio
n was unavoidable once she struck the right place on your body. Between each procedure, Dr. Larson scribbled more notes onto the pages inside my chart before moving on. When she had completed her once-over of my body, she reviewed the urine screen results before nodding curtly and indicating that I was good-to-go.
Dr. Larson finished up and walked swiftly from the room, informing me that a nurse would be in shortly to give me my shot, discharge papers and visit summary. She smiled at me over her shoulder as she disappeared into the hallway and out of sight. Her office was always extremely busy, and it was no wonder why. When you find a doctor as thorough and caring as Dr. Larson, you hold on to them for dear life.
I left the doctor’s office with several pieces of paper clutched in my hand and a bandage on my left arm. The sun felt good on my skin as I made my way to my car across the parking lot. When I lowered myself into my car and put the key in the ignition, I glanced at the pages that Dr. Larson had completed for my new employer. I was given a complete clean bill of health and was ready to tackle the next move at Threads, Inc. The engine roared to life as I turned the ignition. Backing carefully out of the parking space and pointing my car in the direction of Downtown, I readied myself for my first real day at my new office.
Fortunately, the freeway was behaving itself that morning. Of course, I had missed the morning rush since I was at my doctor’s office early. Most of the commuters having already reached their destinations long ago, I was left to face only the residual traffic that was left behind. It was smooth sailing all the way to the parking structure that was owned by the magazine I was fortunate to have been chosen to work for. I eased my car into one of the empty slots on the third floor and killed the motor. Pulling the parking brake up firmly, I pulled the key from the ignition and opened the door. After securing the locks with my key, I turned and made my way toward the elevators that would carry me back down to the ground floor where I would enter the high-rise I now called home.
Several passers by regarded me briefly as I crossed the lobby and worked my way toward the elevators on the far side. Once inside with the rest of the group that had crammed themselves into the small space, the doors slid shut and we were whisked upward. Several stops along the way and the car finally came to rest at my floor. I mumbled apologies as I pushed my way through the crowd and out the door. The doors slid promptly shut behind me as I emerged into the hallway just outside the elevator and turned toward the large, double-doors at the end of the corridor. Frosted glass greeted me, Threads, Inc. was stenciled across the front of both doors. My heart skipped several beats as I reached out and grasped the handle.
There were numerous people scurrying about inside. I could hear the distinct sound of papers shuffling and muffled conversations as I crossed the threshold into my new world. Greeted almost immediately by a tall, thin blonde who was obviously trained to inquire after my destination. When I told her who I was, a look of recognition swept across her features as she fumbled to press a button on the underside of the counter that separated us. I heard a buzzing sound and the half-door to my right clicked. She looked toward it expectantly, an obvious indication that I was to go through the entryway. I obeyed her silent instruction and rounded the counter to greet her on the other side.
“Good morning, Ms. Goldstein, or may I call you Jessica?” she prompted me with her eyes. I smiled up at her since she towered at least six inches above me. Partially due to the impossibly high heels that she wore I was sure, her height alone had me intimidated to say the least. “I am Lindsey Greene and it is wonderful to meet you finally. Ms. Schultz has been going on and on about the new intern, that would be you,” she paused and winked at me, “and it seems that you are quite the talented writer. Come, I will show you around before taking you to your new desk.”
I followed Lindsey around for nearly thirty minutes, familiarizing myself with my new surroundings. There were dozens of names that I now had to remember and the faces that went with them. I was sure in time it would become easier to recall their names, but for the time being, I focused on smiling and shaking their hands firmly, saying little to nothing in return. It was a little awkward, at first, but I soon realized that the people I was introduced to were all very excited to meet the one that their illustrious leader was raving about. That part was a little embarrassing since I was new to the scene and they already appeared to know everything about me. At least what was on the surface and was publicly presented anyway.
After making our rounds, Lindsey guided me toward the other side of the building, where I was told I would be working. Ms. Regina Schultz, Director, was what the sign declared on a brass plaque to the right of the doors we stood in front of. It was as though Ms. Greene did not dare enter the doors herself as she shifted nervously from one foot to the other, waiting for me to open them and step inside. Forbidden territory to those who are not worthy of entering Ms. Schutz’s domain. Apparently, I was deemed worthy long before I ever arrived on scene at Threads.
The air inside was cool and the space was eerie and silent. I could make out the faint clicking of a keyboard and nothing more as I walked through the door and into my new boss’ realm. I crossed the room to the other side where two desks sat across from each other on either side of another set of double-doors. To my right, an attractive young woman sat, staring down at her monitor as she typed away at whatever she was working on. She had noticed me come in and was a little startled when she glanced up and noticed me standing uncomfortably in the middle of the room.
“You must be Jessica!” The woman finally exclaimed as she popped up from her high-back office chair and rounded her desk. She approached me, hand outstretched in greeting and a huge smile plastered on her face. I took her hand in mine and pumped it up and down several times before releasing my grasp and lowering my hand. Her eyes twinkled as she looked me up and down, her expression changing quickly to one of amusement. I could almost hear her mocking laughter inside my mind as she turned toward the desk opposite the one she had come from. “My name is Sandra Fieldman and it is wonderful to meet you. It is even more wonderful that I finally have someone to share this immense office space with. I have been alone in here for nearly a year and, despite how busy I always am keeping up with Ms. Schultz’s demands, it always creeps me out to sit in here by myself,” she followed her statement with a nervous laugh as she turned her attention back to the empty desk.
It was a large, L-shaped unit that mirrored the position of Sandra’s. A telephone, computer monitor, keyboard and mouse sat on top of the very corner of the desk but nothing else. It was covered with a thick piece of glass, custom-made to fit the desk to ensure that no damage would come to the dark wooden surface. Sandra motioned toward it and spun on her heel to make her way around the front of her own desk. Walking slowly around the front of the desk, I pulled the office chair back and lowered myself onto its cushion. I noticed a slight hissing sound as the leather and foam rubber yielded to my weight, the sound almost too loud in the room.
Sandra looked on amused. She sat down gracefully on her chair, no creaking or hissing, which made me believe that she had done it intentionally so as not to repeat the sound my chair had given off. When my phone rang out of nowhere, I jumped at the sound and glanced down at the flashing light on the front of the device. Looking up at Sandra, she raised her hands palm-up and shrugged in an exaggerated fashion. It was clearly not her intention to help me out with what was my first call in my new office. I looked down at the caller ID display and noticed the name Regina Schultz printed across the screen. Fumbling to grab the handset as quickly as I could, I pulled it from the cradle and pressed it to my ear.
“This is Jessica,” I did not know what else to say. I assumed I would be trained later on how to properly answer the phone, among a million other daily tasks that I was sure to be given. For the time being, it would have to do.
“Good morning, Ms. Goldstein. I am very glad that you have made it in today,” Ms. Shultz’s soothing voice drifted through
the earpiece. Instantly glad that my new boss was not the dragon lady that some female authoritative figures could be, I settled back into my chair and waited for her to continue. “I have a briefing this afternoon that I would like you to assist with. Sandra will show you the materials I need copied, collated and ready by two this afternoon. Please do your best to arrive early as I will also need you to greet the incoming attendees and make sure any of their needs are attended to. Thank you,” she hung up the phone and I was left sitting there with the phone still pressed to my ear. I felt like a complete idiot but assured myself that, with practice, I would get much better at answering the telephone in a more professional manner and that I would be able to take the clipped conversations from my new boss, not as a sign that I was doing something wrong, but that was just how she was, all business.
Sandra was more than helpful getting me settled in. She showed me the documents that Ms. Schultz was referring to and how to use the copier. There was a high table set across from the machine that would serve nicely to place the stacks of freshly generated documents to sort for the number of attendees that Sandra had indicated would be present. I was also to provide them each with a legal pad and several pens to write with, just in case one quit working mid-stroke. Unfortunately, I learned that the conference room was almost on the other side of the building, near the entrance I had come through that morning when I arrived. Sandra made the suggestion that I start before lunch and carry as much over there to set up in advance as possible. That would just leave the few, remaining items for after my lunch break.
Make it Reighn (A Threads Inc. Saga Book 1) Page 6
