To describe her, I begin with basics. Arlene was one of those women who could be pretty or plain, an eye catcher or part of the environment.
It depended on how she held herself, the expression on her face. One could pass her a dozen times a day and not notice her, or would be dazzled the second your eyes brushed her.
As she approached the desk she went from an ignoreable blob to a pretty woman, as if she were a shape shifter.
As Arlene came before me, she discarded her humble entrance and garbed herself in ‘imperious’. She announced her name as if one should be impressed, than stated whom she needed to speak with.
The transformation from the phantom who entered with trepidation and this over confident beauty queen, set off an alarm.
I did not betray anything.
Speaking in my usual voice, directed her to where she was to go.
In moments I was involved in other things, so my first impression of Arlene was shoved into the corners of trivia.
The next time I noted Arlene was when I saw a certain look on her face. It was the expression which screamed she saw something she wanted.
She was looking at Cord.