The Elevator

She decided to leave the candles lit while she went out for a cigarette. She gently closed the door behind her and stepped into the hall. The green, Berber carpet was almost too thick for her stilettos. She pushed the down button and listened to the buzz of the elevator as it climbed for her floor. It dinged, the door slid open, and she stepped inside onto the faux-marble tile. Her heels sounded great against the floor, but when she looked down she saw that her Gucci shoes were now ruined from the puddles that had bled through the leather. She pushed the button to the lobby and paused to look at her reflection in the mirrored wall of the elevator.

She stood there with her head slightly cocked to one side as she swiveled on the smooth pads of her shoes. The top button of her coat had finally fallen off, revealing a hint of the flimsy material of her red dress that peeked out just below her collar bone. She pulled and twisted the frayed button string between her chipped, Twinkled Pink nails and tried to remember how long it had been since her last manicure. Grazing the tip of her nose, she reached to sweep her bangs out of her eyes and could smell the stench of the last cigarette that lingered on her fingers; now the smell was in her hair.

She studied her face and tried to decide if she looked pretty when she cried even with the black lines running down her cheeks. She furrowed her carefully-plucked brows and pouted her faded, Iced Raisin lips, mocking her own expressions. She practiced shock and sadness with her eyes, reflecting upon the details of her last exploit.

Watching herself, she reached into her shallow, silken pocket and pulled out a dull, silver lighter and a bent cigarette. Her eyes shined as she held the flame to the tip. She studied how she smoked. She pulled the cigarette to her mouth and wrapped her lips around the flattened filter. She watched her chest slowly rise as she breathed in the tar and nicotine, and she studied the lift of her chin and the extension of her neck as she exhaled a haze of white smoke. Her long fingers looked especially delicate when she held the thin cigarette.

Without finishing, she tossed the cigarette with a melodramatic flick of her wrist and ground it into the tile with the sharp heel of her shoe. Smoothing the front of her coat with her hands, she pressed her palms against the wool and slid them down from her breasts to her thighs. She wiped the lines from her cheeks, blew her reflection a kiss, and turned around to step into the lobby.