"Ya like that, sweetheart? I've got more fun stuff."

But Carmen had heard it before. She looked at her reflection again in the mirrored panels of the elevator. Just a white blouse, and a tight, pencil skirt that rode up in the worst way.

Her hands flew to the blouse, checking for the war paint that have been there only a second ago.

Both men laughed. Their reflections roared in amusement, doubled off in each panel, so that it felt like she was surrounded by a multitude of men.

Trapped.

She gripped the pen until her palm cramped. Part of her wanted the vision from before to melt into reality. When it didn't, she stared helplessly at the shining elevator buttons, the lights behind the small numbers fading until there was nothing.

~*~

That was the day Carmen quit the office.

She didn't try to hustle for a recommendation or severance. Just walked out and never returned.

Davis and Cronin's laughter followed her out of the elevator, all the way onto the first-floor lobby.

She heard their triumph with every click of her stupid heels on the marble floor. But she knew how to drown them out without drowning herself.

The sign on the door beckoned:

MAIN FLOOR MANUFACTURER

Carmen sighed from the sweetness of relief.

Probably on her way back from the bathroom, the woman from before shuffled to the door. As she crossed in front of Carmen, their eyes locked. The blankness swimming there was startling. Her cheeks were smudged with grime, stringy hair hanging in her face. Her patched coveralls were as dirty as her face, barely hiding a bony frame.

"Whaddaya lookin' at spic?"

The audacity of the question and slur bordered on comical. Carmen had a strong desire to reach out and slap the woman, anything to drive out that blank, dead stare. Pity stayed her hand as she slowly realized the woman was little more than twenty years old.

A shadow passed over the doorway. Given the slow pace, it wasn't a person. A creeping cold followed, with Carmen hugging herself for warmth. In a crawl, the darkness settled over the stranger's face, and Carmen thought she had never seen anything as sad, or as terrifying as that.

Then, their eye contact broke, and the door was pulled shut.

A nagging dread swept through the triumph she had felt.

Since she had no other choice, she grasped the door handle, and pulled back to open the next chapter in her life.

Inside, the whir and bang of the machinery swallowed all other sounds.

"Help you?" asked a grimy man at a battered desk.

His teeth protruded from his thin-lipped mouth, wreathed in a shockingly red beard. From his tone, it sounded as though he doubted if he could help her.

When she inquired about a job, yelling to be heard above the machines, he chuckled.

With every second, her dread increased.

"Don't need no secretary," he assured her. "'Specially one like you."

Even with his lilt and dirty countenance, he thought himself above her brown skin.

Carmen squared her shoulders. "I'm a fast learner, and I work hard."

He squinted at her, nodding begrudgingly. "Ay, I've seen your kind in action. Hard workers, indeed. But this work'll sully your nice clothes."

Carmen knew there was no going back to the office. If she stayed, something horrible would happen.

She peered down the hall, but couldn't see much. The way behind the stranger was dark. Still, the machines groaned in the background.

"I'll wear coveralls, like you." As she spoke, she unbuttoned her blouse, peeling it from her shoulders.

Although she had a thin camisole underneath, this was far from what a presentable lady should do in public.

The men from the office would have whistled and howled in approval, but this man merely raised a brow. He reached into desk drawer, pulling out a blue bundle.

He tossed it at her.

"Here."

Carmen caught it near her middle, surprised at how heavy it was.

In looking back a year or so later, she would consider the coveralls. Of course they were heavy. Any new decision came with weight.

She was no longer the secretary. She was now a floor worker.

Coveralls done up and ready, Carmen approached the humid factory floor, sure that she'd made the right choice.

~*~