He stepped from the elevator into a reception area comfortably furnished with overstuffed chairs and couches and fronted by a broad, wraparound desk and typing station. An attractive, thirtyish woman sat behind the desk, absorbed in a phone conversation. Rows of lighted buttons blinked on and off on her console.
She finished her conversation, hung up the phone and smiled pleasantly. “Good morning. May I help you?”
He nodded. “My name is Holiday. I have an appointment at ten with Mr. Meeks.”
He might have imagined it, but he thought her smile faded slightly. “Yes, sir. Mr. Meeks does not use offices on this floor. Mr. Meeks uses offices on the penthouse level.”
“The penthouse level?”
“Yes, sir.” She pointed to another elevator in an alcove to Ben’s right. “Simply press the button labeled PL. That will take you to Mr. Meeks. I will telephone to let his receptionist know that you are coming.”
“Thank you.” He hesitated. “This is the Mr. Meeks who is in charge of special ordering, isn’t it?”
“Yes, sir. Mr. Meeks.”
“The reason I ask is that your directory lists Customer Service, special ordering, on this floor.”
The receptionist brushed nervously at her hair. “Sir, we post no listing for Mr. Meeks. He prefers that his clients come through us.” She tried a quick smile. “Mr. Meeks handles only our specialty items — a very select collection of merchandise.”
“The items in the Christmas Wishbook?”
“Oh, no. Most of those are handled by regular personnel. Mr. Meeks is not in the employ of Rosen’s. Mr. Meeks is a privately employed sales specialist who acts as our agent in certain sales transactions. Mr. Meeks handles only the most exotic and unusual of the items offered in the Wishbook, Mr. Holiday.” She leaned forward slightly. “He designates his own line of sales items, I understand.”
Ben lifted his eyebrows in response. “Quite talented at his work, then, is he?”
She looked away again suddenly. “Yes, very.” She reached for the phone. “I will call up for you, Mr. Holiday.” She pointed to the second elevator. “They will be expecting you when you arrive. Good-bye.”
He said good-bye in response, walked into the designated elevator and punched PL. The doors closed with the receptionist glancing covertly after him as she held the phone receiver to her ear.
He rode the elevator in silence, listening to the sound of the machinery. There were only four buttons on the panels above and next to the doors, numbered 1,2,3, and PL. They stayed dark for a time as the elevator rose, then began to light in sequence. The elevator did not stop for anyone else along the way. Ben almost wished that it had done so. He was beginning to feel as if he had stepped into the Twilight Zone.
The elevator stopped, the doors opened and he found himself back in a reception area almost identical to the one he had just left. This time the receptionist was an older woman, in her fifties perhaps, diligently engaged in sorting through a raft of papers stacked in piles on her desk while a harried looking man of like age stood before her, his back to the elevator, his voice high-pitched and angry.
“…don’t have to do everything that old bastard tells us, and someday he’s going to hear about it! Thinks every last one of us is at his beck and call! If he doesn’t quit treating us like lackeys, then, damn it, I’ll take this to…”
He cut himself short as the receptionist caught sight of Ben. Hesitating, he turned and stalked quickly into the open elevator. A moment later, the doors slid shut.
“Mr. Holiday?” the receptionist inquired, her voice soft and graveled. It was the woman he had spoken to on the phone the previous afternoon.
“Yes,” he acknowledged. “I have an appointment with Mr. Meeks.”
She picked up the phone and waited. “Mr. Holiday, sir. Yes. Yes, I will.”
She placed the receiver back in its cradle and looked up. “It will only be a few moments, Mr. Holiday. Would you have a seat, please.”
He glanced about, then took a seat at one end of a sofa. There were magazines and newspapers on a table beside him, but he ignored them. His gaze wandered idly about the reception area, a well-lighted, cheerful center with solid wood desks and cabinets and cool colors on the walls and floors.