The early morning sounds of the city continued on behind Sarah Jane Scott as she crossed the marbled lobby of US Financial Plaza, but they were quickly fading into the background. Sunrise was still a good half hour away, and the Financial District was lit in the waxing blue light that signaled a new day, new opportunities, new promises.
Elsewhere in the city, people were only just now waking, only just now getting showered and shaved, only just now picking out their clothes for work. They were saying good morning to their spouses or boyfriends or girlfriends with a morning kiss. They were checking their smartphones for new emails, social media for new pictures and updates from friends, the headlines for what was going on in the world that morning.
But for Sarah, "elsewhere" was just that -- elsewhere. The rest of the city was already a world away, and fading fast. Her world, her universe, was here: a forty-eight story skyscraper in Southern Manhattan that served as national headquarters for US Financial. The rhythms of other people's lives -- the normalcy, the decency -- were irrelevant to Sarah's life at US Financial Plaza.
Her heels clicked against the marble floor as she sped towards the security desk, David and Pedro greeting her with big smiles. She was immaculately dressed -- three inch black leather heels, a black pencil skirt so tight it constricted her every step, and a button-down white blouse with just a few too many buttons left un-buttoned at the top. Her cleavage bounced with each step, her natural, C-cup breasts playing peek-a-boo above the neckline, and the hint of her black lace bra popping just in and out of view.
She wouldn't have dressed this way when she started with USF three months ago, done up and put together like a sexual predator, as if hunting for a meal on Wall Street. High heels, tits on display, and ass swaying seductively behind her. But, then, a lot had changed over the last three months, and Sarah often found herself wondering what that Sarah Scott would have thought of this one. Or what this Sarah Scott would have told that one about what lay ahead. Or if that Sarah Scott were the real one, or this Sarah Scott was.
She was attractive. She knew that much. Long blonde hair framed a face that might have been chosen at random from a women's fashion magazine, complete with bright blue eyes, high cheekbones, and perfect teeth. And those lips -- thin, but sexy as hell -- when smiling, hinted that Sarah was in on a secret the rest of the world was not. She looked less a girl-next-door than a smart, cynical trouble-maker, sitting at the back of class and scheming about which boy to lure under the bleachers after detention. Which, for anyone who knew Sarah, was laughable, and completely at-odds with the girl in real life. She'd been a band-geek in high school, clueless about a world beyond her clarinet, who'd spent the better part of two years dating a closeted (but,in retrospect, obviously gay) cellist, and who'd carried her virginity embarrassingly late into college. She'd been summa cum laude at Pepperdine, and spent her time in Malibu significantly more in the library than on the beach. And, now twenty-six years old and four years deep into a PhD at Yale, she could still count the men she'd been with on one hand.
Reflecting on that Sarah Scott -- the straight A's high school clarinetist, the dual anthropology and sociology major, the anthropology-slash-women's studies doctoral candidate -- Sarah felt she'd been play-acting then almost as much as she was now. The provocatively dressed Wall Street siren, with the self-confidence and the come-hither smile, was every bit as much a fictional character, and didn't capture the actual girl beneath the clothes.
Sarah flashed her USF badge at the two security guards as she passed, but she needn't have bothered; they knew exactly who she was. The ear-to-ear grins told her as much. And even if they hadn't recognized her by sight, the full-body shot in the picture ID would have given it away, as there were only a handful of employees in the company whose pictures included more than a head-shot for identification.
Past the security desk was a set of escalators up to the second floor, and the main elevator banks beyond that. As she ascended, Sarah glanced over her shoulder. The first floor lobby was still mostly empty at six in the morning, as few USF employees outside of Sarah's department bothered to arrive this early. There were a number of the other girls -- Sarah's teammates, her colleagues for another thirteen-fourteen hours -- who arrived just prior to the start of their shift at seven, none too eager to spend more time at work here in the Plaza than they absolutely had to. But Sarah preferred a less rushed and harried start to her day, as there were consequences to being late. She would rather be prepped and ready for her day, waiting on the tick, tick, tick of the clock, than be stressing over traffic or worrying whether she'd taken care of everything she needed to prior to her shift beginning.
While the lobby, and the entire first floor, was open to the public, the second was restricted to USF employees, clients, and other guests. Downstairs, there were a handful of stores -- a bakery and coffee shop, a bookstore, a small sandwich shop, and even a boutique lingerie store among them -- as well as another set of elevators down to the basement levels and parking garage. Upstairs, the second floor was more wide open, save for four massive columns that housed the building's primary elevator shafts and access to the upper floors, and a picture-glass wall into what had at one time been home to a fitness center for USF employees. There was a coffee cart, already open, as well a shoe-shine service, a newsstand, and an ever-increasing number of café tables and chairs spread about.
Sarah smiled uncomfortably at the gentleman manning the coffee cart as she stepped from the top of the escalator. Even at this early hour, and in contrast to the mostly empty lobby below, there were already a good seventeen, eighteen people scattered about. They sipped their coffees and pretended to flip through newspapers, but all of them looked up to see who was passing by. Most were men, alone. But a few of them sat in pairs, and there were always more women present than Sarah would have expected; Jessica Cochran, from Finance & Accounting, smiled at her as she passed. Sarah steeled herself as walked past them all. It was her last day with US Financial, and this was the last time she'd flash her badge at the security guards, the last time she'd ride the escalator up to the main elevator lobby, the last time she'd have to parade past the early morning coffee club. Tomorrow, she'd be moving back to New Haven, the summer over and her time with USF come to an end. She wouldn't miss her job here, and wouldn't miss anyone beyond the girls she worked most closely with. At least, not exactly.
Sarah bit her lip, and hesitated.
She'd learned so much that summer, even beyond the research directly applicable to her doctoral thesis. She'd learned about a sadistic little kernel that existed seemingly in everyone, even if it was buried deep and often denied. She'd learned about a masochistic side that apparently could be found in a shockingly large subset of the female population. If not the entire female population. If not the entire population as a whole, gender aside. Sarah wasn't entirely sure how extensive this tendency truly was -- it was a part of her research that demanded further study, and a theory that even she and her faculty advisor disagreed on. But, regardless, she'd discovered it in herself, and Sarah Scott had learned more about Sarah Scott in the last three months than she had in all her years of formal education.
Sarah strode from the escalator, pocketbook over one shoulder and dressed to fit in with other young, successful women working in New York's financial market. She made her way between the two central columns - two sets of elevator doors on either side - that carried USF employees up into the building. But Sarah wasn't heading up, at least not yet, and she passed by elevators to the double-door entrance to the former fitness center.
