White Collar Girl by Renée Rosen Page B

“The Smart Way to Wear a Pencil Skirt and a Peplum Top.”
    M and Gabby invited me to lunch, but I begged off and instead went to Norm’s Diner around the corner by myself. The thought of food was still unappealing, and I couldn’t be in their company. I needed time alone to brace myself.
    I took my seat at the counter and ordered a cup of coffee. The stools were set close together and the woman next to me accidentally elbowed me as she removed her cat-eye glasses, setting them on the counter while she read the menu. She smiled, apologized and placed her order. I went back to thinking about my plan, thinking that it wasn’t too late to back out. And if I did, then what? The fraud would continue and I would be stuck writing about skirts and sweaters, celebrities and secretaries.
    The woman next to me accidentally elbowed me again as she reached in her purse and put on her sunglasses. It wasn’t until shewas done paying the cashier that I noticed she’d left her other pair of glasses on the counter. I picked them up, about to call out to her just as she pushed through the front door. I realized then that I was holding more than her glasses in my hand. I was holding my disguise. After a quick glance around the diner, I slipped them into my handbag.
    I went back to the city room, my stomach gurgling from too much coffee and nerves. I watched the clock, time moving in slow motion through the day until finally I was ready to leave.
    I went on foot and made it to the Pittsfield Building at a quarter past four. People filtered through the lobby, filing out of the elevators, rushing to catch trains and hail taxicabs. The cleaning crew was out in full force. Blue uniforms were everywhere, emptying wastebaskets and ashtrays, polishing the banisters on the stairwell. I needed the place to thin out, so I went to the newsstand and bought a package of Juicy Fruit to pass the time inconspicuously. My hands were shaking as I placed a dime on the counter. I wiped the sweat from my palms down the front of my skirt and tried to steady my breathing.
    When I was ready I rode up to the seventeenth floor and waited until I saw one of the cleaning women heading down the hallway. Surprisingly I calmed down. It was showtime. It was as if a switch had kicked on inside me, and I moved into action, knowing exactly what I had to do.
    I followed the cleaning woman and in the midst of her sweeping, she stopped, startled. “Can I help you?”
    I approached with my heart in my mouth, but said as evenly as I could, “How would you like to make five bucks?”
    Her eyes hardened, and after what felt like an eternity, she said, “What would I have to do?”
    I began to breathe again. I knew I had her. “I need to borrow your uniform. And your office keys.”
    Five minutes later I was dressed in a blue smock, carrying a bucket, a mop and some cleaning supplies. I pinned up my hair and put on my pilfered glasses. The woman they belonged to must have been blind as a bat because I felt like I’d just entered the fun house at Riverview Park. The walls and ceiling were distorted, moving with each step I took. Because I couldn’t see straight, I was walking like a drunk and heard the water sloshing about inside my bucket. I hoped I wasn’t leaving a trail behind me.
    I worried the ring of keys in the pocket of my uniform as I approached Dr. Zucker’s office. I saw a figure moving about behind the frosted-glass window. The door was still unlocked, and my hands were clammy again as I turned the knob, my breathing shallow. I could only hope I didn’t look as guilty as I felt.
    Mrs. Carson looked up from the receptionist’s desk. “You’re new.”
    â€œYes, ma’am,” I mumbled, busying myself with the mop and bucket to avoid making eye contact. Despite the pinned-up hair and glasses, I was worried that she might recognize me from my previous visit. I kept my head turned away,