The Shape of Love

#10 Monday Afternoon "Slice of Heaven"

Exiting the publishing house Lacey's lungs puffed out an audible sigh. She'd been holding in air ever since she'd entered the 20s style building. It's smooth white brick formed four floors, each with it's own tin lip that stuck out over a set of lined windows.

The inside was more modern, though it held onto a nostalgic taste. Tiled flooring, like those Lacey had seen in old courthouses paved the lobby and caught the clicking of women's heels as they appeared and disappeared down corridors and stairwells.

Lacey's converse made only a quiet thud as she approached the attendant's desk and asked to be shown to Mrs. Meyers room for her interview.

Following instructions, she was sent to Mrs. Meyers' receptionist on the third floor. A surprise encounter with Marie had been enough to distract Lacey from her entrance into the building, but now in the elevator her blood pressure climbed with each second.

There was no way the receptionist would let her past her tightly organized desk. Her encounter with the lobby attendant must've been a fluke. Lacey must not have said her name correctly, and been mistaken for someone else.

And if the assistant didn't know Lacey was a fraud, Mrs. Meyers, the managing editor would. Surely she would laugh at her the moment she opened her door.

Could Lacey stand to be laughed at?

She held on to so little as it were.

But no one laughed. There was plenty of smiling - polite smiles and a few genuine ones. Mrs. Meyers, a stout woman with tightly curled hair and cheeks the shape of apricots when she laughed was intelligent and gentle with Lacey. The managing editor must've noticed Lacey's nerves after she immediately responded "thank you" to Mrs. Meyers inquiry of her morning.

Lacey answered all of the questions fully and to the best of her ability, but did not drag on. Something she'd learned in her business 101 course way back in freshman year.

"Be to the point but not bland" her professor had beat the ideal into their heads over and over again.

Thirty three minutes later Lacey stood in front of Thrift Me Not. Pushing on the wooden door handle, the same grain as the sign that hung fifteen feet above her Lacey felt a rush of air as she entered.

The store had a warehouse chic feel, one that she recognized from fashion blogs where designers would run across hard floors, rack to rack. The store was four times the size of Lacey's apartment and completely open. One wall sectioned off a rectangular chunk of the back left corner, Lacey assumed for changing rooms.

The rest was unfiltered, aside from the racks of clothing spaced evenly on the bare cement floor. Six rows of metal racks, three on each side of the doorway traveled parallel to each other until they reached the back of the store where cashiers awaited them.

The store was busy. Lacey counted at least thirty people riffling through neatly hung dresses and faded jeans and another five or so in line for check out. The space should've felt claustrophobic but Lacey couldn't help feeling at ease with the high tin ceiling and soft music that floated on the fan made breeze.

Walking down the center aisle, one that was wider than the others and made a beeline to the back of the store, Lacey searched for Marie. At first glance she hadn't seen her on the registers and as she walked she peered down each aisle. Row after row, no sign of Marie.

Maybe she was on break Lacey thought.

She was about to turn around and ask another worker when she caught a flash of canary yellow. Marie stood in the left corner of the store, at first blocked from Lacey's view. The coffee eyed girl spoke animatedly throwing her hands up and down, a broad smile painted on her face.