The Last Wild Flower

08| The garden's orchids

I marched in, far more boldly than I felt.

Only to be stopped dead in my tracks, when I found that the club was empty. Well, not entirely. There was a strategic hole on the marble floor, from where I could view the top steps of a curved staircase.

Standing between me and said stairs was a formidable man dressed entirely in black. He had a hand on the railing, and the other on the back pocket of his pants. My eyes grew wide in alarm. Was that the hilt of a gun, he was grasping? Why does he need a gun?

I clutch my books tighter to my chest, and force myself to remember the reason why I'm here: whatever was below the stairs, I was hired to be there. "Hi, Are these the stairs that lead to the Garden of Eden?" I attempted nonchalantly.

He glanced my way for half a second, before shaking his head once.

"What do you mean? The lady at the front desk said-"

"You can't go through."

I pursed my lips together and furrowed my brows. "But why?"

"Have to be on the list." He said in a gruff and automatic voice.

"What list? I don't see any list." I craned my neck to look around, but beside the two of us, the room was completely bare. I shrugged, "In any case, Mr. Alderidge will have put me on the list, he wants me there himself."

"You can't go through," the so-called security repeated.

That, is how I found myself sipping an iced water by the edge of the bar, pretending not to notice the suspicious looks the bartender kept throwing my way. He hadn't asked for my ID, but from the way he treated me, you would have thought he was serving a child. I was the only one that wasn't drinking here.

I should have been at home right now, reading about the many different polyatomic ions that exist. But instead I was still here, not moving in either direction.

Suddenly, the sound of an argument caught my attention.

I turned my head toward the hallway, where a woman with long blond hair and a cane, stood near a man. He had his hands directly in front of him, in a defensive stance, and one look at his panicked face told me he was afraid of her.

"I don't need you to tell me what I already know; you're incompetent." She was saying in a level tone.

"Ms. Hughes, we'll have the elevator fixed promptly. In the meantime, I can assist you to your room." He reached for her bag on the floor, but she intercepted him with the cane.

"Don't touch my things, I'm not headed to my room." She carefully picked up the bag with one hand.

"Please don't make a scene, I beg you." The man was now aware that they had an audience.

She made a noise that sounded like a scoff, and then pivoted, keeping her support on the cane. I turned my eyes back to the liqour shelf in front of me. Moments later, I could hear the tapping sound of her cane, as she approached the bar, then as she was settling down on the stool next to me.

"I'll have a vodka straight." She told the bartender, who rushed to make her order immediately.

I was swirling the melting ice in my glass when she asked, "That's it? That's all you're having?"

I swung my head in her direction, and was momentarily surprised as I took in the youth of her skin. I had foolishly dissmissed her for an elderly woman, in equal parts the cane and the authorative tone in her voice. The face across from me, couldn't have belonged to anyone over twenty-five.