She surfed into the room on a wave of perfume. We’d heard her stilettos clacking percussively as she approached, and both Pam and I looked up with more than usual interest when she entered the reception area.
We work for the mayor, acolytes of the outer office, answering phones and greeting visitors for His Honor. While always polite, we make it a point not to be bowled over by the high and mighty, especially those who proclaim their own height and might.
Our visitor was definitely a proclaimer.
“I wish to see the mayor,” she announced, her eyes focused somewhere above our heads.
“Yes, ma’am,” Pam said. “Do you have an appointment?”
“No, young lady, I do not. Tell him his most generous campaign contributor is waiting. The name is Virginia Payton-Price.
Still no eye contact.
“Yes, ma’am, I’ll do that as soon as he’s free. He’s on the phone now.”
“Do you know who I am?” Virginia Payton-Price asked, her voice rising.
“You just said.”
“Then I strongly suggest you notify the mayor immediately.”
“Please have a seat. I’ll tell him you’re here as soon as he completes his call.”
“You’ll regret this. I’ll visit the ladies’ room while I’m waiting. Show me where it is.”
Pam rose and silently led the way.
“What a sweetie!” she said when she returned. “It was hard to resist giving her a swirly. I think I could’ve done it, too. She doesn’t have much traction in those shoes.”
We heard the clacking heels coming our way again and Virginia Payton-Price swept back into the room, but this time with a difference: the hem of her soft silk dress was caught up in the waistband of her pantyhose. Fully displayed, her ample derriere gave literal meaning to the phrase, “showing one’s ass.”
Pam’s smile radiated pure joy.
“The mayor will see you now,” she said.