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just what the general
population was doing.
    Up ahead was a billboard, the
only one she had seen in a very long time that had not some sexual
innuendo and some sultry models. It hang from a horizontal post
attached to a two story building to the left with a billboard
hanging from it and read “Richards and partners: Divorce
attorneys.,” in large bold letters.
    “ This is
it ,” s he muttered to herself and drove into their reserved parking
spaces.
    She cast a
final glance of herself in the rear view mirror and exited the
vehicle and walked to the entrance. The building was a quite
old-time building and she found that it appropriately suited Mr.
Richard's quaint old self. There were two glass doors, one with a
mark above it which read entrance and the other exit. She looked at
her wristwatch , noted that she was fifteen
minutes early and entered the building into the reception area.
Contrary to what she'd expected, the reception room was a mixture
of modern art and nature. The floor was carpeted with the fur
texture of a leopard, and here and there at the corners were
African violets, hibiscus and some flowers of which she had never
seen before. The receptionist's desk was at the centre and behind
it was a small pool with fish, with a stream of water falling above
it, an artificial waterfall, the water made to sparkle
scintillating-ly from the golden lights above on the white ceiling,
and to its sides were spiralling silver metallic stairs leading to
the upper floor. But she no ticed all this subconsciously for
her mood was much too gloomy to take in such allure. S he walked to the receptionist.
    “ Good
morning ,” t he
receptionist said warmly before Chantel could say the
same.
    “ Good
morning ,” Chantel replied, “I am here to
see Mr. Richards, I ... uh ... have an appointment with
him.”
    “ Your name
please.”
    “ Chantel
Wiggins.”
    “ O h, Ms. Wiggins. You’re quite early,
but Mr. Richards is free at the moment, follow me , I’ll lead
you to his office .” The receptionist stood up and
walked to the left staircase gesturing for Chantel to follow
her.
    Even he uses
sultriness , Chantel thought as she
looked at the short and tight skirt the receptionist was wearing
shaping and cupping her buttocks, her high-heels showing
beautifully French tipped toes and accentuating her
cal ve s, to her blouse, which she had not
noticed when the receptionist was seated but now from the back,
told of a tightness which could only be caused by large breasts.
She looked at the receptionist’s hands and saw that they also were
French-tipped and coloured pink. Very
sexy , s he thought cynically . She turned around as they climbed the
stairs smiling, and now attentive Chantel observed her red
lipstick and her eyelashes ... and wondered if she had been hired based on her
qualifications or on her sultriness . She
compared herself to the receptionist. I
look like a single mother. Oh, my shoes, when was the last time I
ever had on nail polish. How will Rikki look at me. I
thought I had done a good job before I left . The last time was on the day Rikki
accused her of trying to take his money when she told him she was
pregnant.
    “ I don't like
Rikki's music, I think it's degrading not only to women but to
mankind itself ,” The secretary said
catching Chantel off-guard. So she
knew , Chantel surmised, what else does she know? .
    “ It's easy to
make money ,” Chantel replied in such a way
as to shut off the subject. The secretary took queue and said
nothing until they reached the upper floor.
    “ Mr. Richards
is at the corner office, the other's lawyers haven’t arrived yet,
but when they arrive, the meeting will probably take place here.”
She gestured to her right at door with the words ‘Conference room ’ written on it.
    “ It's a very
lovely place.” Chantel said again in a tone that told she
wanted the secretary to ‘shut up’ and the
secretary did not reply.
    They reached
the corner office, which was on the