Chapter 5

Written by: Suraya Dewing

Personally I blame the elevator. Yes, I really do. What is it about those things that make people squeeze together invading each other’s personal space, breathing in each other’s germs? But the worst part about being in an elevator is the people you meet.

Sheila was one of many I have shared an elevator with but she lodged herself in my mind and would not budge.  I would say I ruined any chances I might have had with her for friendship and perhaps more, when I told her, well not in so many words, that she was a loose hussy with no morals. But you never know. In some things I am the eternal optimist. I planned another elevator ride very soon.

Unfortunately, Sheila was not travelling in it as I made my way to Feroz’s office to plead for my job. But it would happen if Feroz agreed to my petition. As I travelled I recalled the lascivious way Sheila’s husband had gazed at our lady serving sweet cakes and chai.

I knew how much consoling Sheila would need when she found out. I also knew how to ease her pain with my new anger management techniques. Yes, I was seeing another side to anger management now.

Feroz was at his desk showing a client the Tomato account’s advertising spread. I recognised the man leaning over his shoulder as Sheila's husband! He looked up and he recognised me. He even had the grace to blush bright red. He hastily returned his gaze to the campaign.

Even from where I stood at the door I could see the way the artist had tried to make the red bulbous fruit look sexy with sunglasses, a dinky hat and a broad grin. Whoever heard of tomatoes wearing sunglasses? Boring! Predictable!

I wanted to lunge at the faithless man and accuse him of betraying his beautiful wife. However, luckily, I heard a tiny voice that sounded as if it came from a can of tomato sauce saying… "That would be a very bad idea.”

I planted my brown suede shoes on the creamy thick piled carpet and one the falsest smiles I have ever generated on my mouth and I thrust my hand out to shake his.

As I did, I remembered the delicious taste of the chai my black haired beauty handed around at the meeting and I said, “I remember you from the anger management meeting.”

Sheila’s husband looked ready to explode. His face went bright red… very much like the sexy tomato from his ad campaign and he swallowed. His face looked as if his Adam’s apple had become a squishy rotten tomato. He stepped forward and held out a shaking hand. “Pleased to meet you,” he said.

The silence just kept stretching, longer and longer. I refused to speak. I wanted to see how he wriggled out of this one. After all, what man, especially a businessman of his caliber wants to be caught attending anger management classes?