Beginning of something... but we'll see.

I opened the door and shut it. I shouldn’t. What was I doing? To hell with shouldn’t. Opening the door once more I walked to the reception desk. Hopefully, I appeared confident, at ease. “Hi, I have an interview with Randy Fox.” I said and somehow managed to make it a statement rather than a question.
The girl at the desk looked me up and down. “Huh,” she said and picked up the phone. “Randy, your interview is here.” She drawled with disgust. “Uh huh. Ya… probably not,” she laughed harshly into the phone. “Okay, I’ll tell her.”
“Randy is busy at the moment. You can have a seat over there.” She pointed towards a corner of the room adorned with a circular bed hidden beneath luxurious red fabric and a translucent canopy.
“Thank you.” I walked tentatively to the bed, not really wanting to sit on it. God only knows what a black light would reveal. I sat cautiously on the edge. “Ahh!” A little shriek escaped my mouth as I fell backward.
“Careful it’s a water bed.” The evil receptionist piped. “Try not to break it or anything.
Fuck. I smoothed my brown corduroy pants and tugged at the argyle sweater I had pulled on over a white blouse. Deciding that appearances were more important than the germs infesting the bed I plopped myself, gracefully, onto the middle of it and sat with my legs curled to one side. Ten minutes later I was sitting cross legged. Half an hour after that my legs were asleep and I got up to pace. The receptionist was oblivious. It was early and her phone had not rung since I arrived at the office. She was staring at her computer screen engrossed. Occasionally she would break the silence with an innocent child-like laugh that crashed harshly with her personality. I gathered from her occasional mutterings that she was catching up on celebrity gossip.
“Excuse me.” I had been waiting an hour.
Her crisp blue eyes caught my boring brown ones. The look said “piss off.”
Great, I thought, and resumed waiting, on the bed, for a man who may never appear. Bored to tears I studied the nameless receptionist. She was wearing next to nothing. A tiny t-shirt fit tightly to her obviously fake breasts. Thigh-high boots spoke of just how long her legs were and grazed the bottom of a pink and black school girl skirt. Surprisingly she was wearing very little make up. Her face didn’t really need it but I was shocked to see that she realized it. She looked like the type that would slather it on with a trowel to achieve a more “sophisticated” face.
“Pretty, isn’t she?” A woman in a black skirt and dress jacket was speaking to me.
I blinked. “Umm, yes.”
“Rhandi Fox.” She introduced herself.
“Oh,” I stammered, “I thought…”
“You thought I’d be taller? You thought I’d be white? Oh, I know, you thought I’d be a man.”
All of the above. “No. Sorry. I was just day dreaming,” I said. “Claire.” Giving my name, I stuck out my right hand like mama taught me.
Rhandi grabbed my hand and gave it a firm shake. I looked her square in the eyes and squeezed back until she released me.
“My office is this way.” She said and led me down a hallway to the left of the bed. The woman was 4’7”, a hundred pounds, black, and the owner of Fidelity, Calgary’s hottest female escort business. According to the ad all the girls working for her were hot, under 21 and come with limo service. They were an elite fleet.
Entering Rhandi’s office, I wiggled my hand trying to shake away the painful handshake.
“Sit.” Rhandi said.
This time I was allotted a chair across the desk from the madam.
“So,” She said, and reclined back in her seat to get a better look at me, “you think you can be a Fidelity girl?”
“Erm, no. Actually, I applied for the receptionist position.”