Page 49 of Cakes for the Grump
“Good luck,” mutters the last man exiting the elevator a few floors down from me.
“Excuse me?”
There is no answer. He’s already left.
Alone, I rise to the top floor. When the doors finally open, the first thing I see is a sweeping view of Barcelona’s sprawling architecture.Wow. If height equates to luxury, I’ve stepped into the most expensive square footage in the city.
My shoes clip on the black tiles. Going around the next corner, I’m stopped by a reception desk manned by a woman wearing a gray blouse, beige cardigan, and what looks to be a high-waisted skirt. There are pearls dangling from her ears and matching pearls as buttons on her sweater. Brown hair is swept up into a tidy chignon. Age-wise, I would put her down as early forties. Even her wrinkles look carefully maintained.
She blinks, surprised by me.
“Hello,” I say. “I’m here to see Lu—Mr. Abbot.”
“He’s in a meeting.”
“Oh. How long?”
“It depends. Who are you?”
“His…chef.”
She smiles placidly. “That doesn’t tell me much.”
“Right. It’s just that—well, I’ve brought food for his dinner. And if he’s busy, maybe I can drop it off at his office? Or you could do it for me?”
“Sorry, I can’t. Security risk. You shouldn’t even be here.”
“Okay, is there some way to tell him Rita is here?”
She gasps. “Oh,Rita.I’ve heard of you.”
I’m surprised, and now desperately curious about the details. “You have?”
“Yes, I didn’t expect you to look—that is, you aren’t what I was expecting.”
That can mean a number of things. It can mean she didn’t expect me to be bigger, or it’s a reflection of my casual summery outfit, not befitting this building or the professionalism of its occupants so far. Either way, I shore up my own self-confidence and ignore any slight.I’m amazing, and not everyone will see that I’m amazing and that is their business, not mine.
“Youareon the list,” she tells me. “Well, the phone list. I’m supposed to forward any calls from you directly to the boss. But he’s never mentioned anything about in-person visitation.”
I quickly dig out my ID and show it to her. “Just so you know, it’s really me.”
“Um—”
“Please, I just want to give him this food and then go home.”
“I don’t know?—”
“Please.”
Her brows furrow. “Alright. He’s in a meeting, but I can put you in our waiting area further inside. Then I’ll let him know you’re here and see what he says.”
She takes me to a couch. I sink in, grateful for the cool leather against my legs. Is it warm in here? I’m patting my forehead, feeling clammy.
The receptionist leaves. And then I wait again. I’m not sure how long, but I decide I should use the bathroom to splash water on my face before anything else. I’ll ask her where it is when she comes back. Though it’s taking a while…
Minutes string by. Then some more.
Feeling more and more uncomfortable, I finally get up and poke my head around the corner to see if a bathroom is nearby. Nothing is obviously labeled and so I explore a little further…and then a little further than that…and soon I’m disoriented and lost.
