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While the sound is muffled, it is slightly louder. I look up and see an air vent. Next room maybe? I leave the office, returning the door to its original position, and proceed further down the dimly lit hall. The next door must be the staff washroom. It has the washroom decal on the door, but a little sign taped to the door says, ‘Employees only, patrons may ask for outside latrine key at counter.’ I try to open the door, but it is locked. However, the mumbling is louder, the voice is obviously gagged, but not very well. ‘Helb be! I’b stug ad I gan’d ged oud.’ A key slides out from under the door, coming to rest against my shoe. I unlock the door and slowly open it to find a tiny, well-lit bathroom with a toilet directly opposite the door and sink beside it on the back wall. The opening door comes to a bumping halt as it hits something wedged between the wall of the door and the wall of the sink. The attendant is lying on the floor with the front of his shirt up-over his shoulders,. I sense him leaning forward in anticipation. Instead of bearing the skin of my right shoulder to him as well, I slowly unbutton the blouse and slip it off completely. There is no bra to follow it. I sit upright in the chair, displaying my breasts to him for his attention, his enjoyment, his approval. His hand comes forward out of the gloom and rests gently on my right breast. He squeezes it lightly, so lightly, but I still groan in a strange mixture of agony and bliss. It is not just my breast he has engulfed. It is my entire body and soul. His mind reaches out and touches mine, our connection is so deep there is no need for words. There is no permission to seek. He knew long ago that with me there would never be a need to ask. His hand still resides on my breast as I slide off the chair and onto the floor. The Wurlitzer skips almost imperceptibly as it switches to a new groove in the record. I don't recognize the new song, and yet in some fundamental way I do. Still film noir, it is.
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