The woman wore a long grey overcoat, and next to nothing underneath it. She was relieved when the elevator she’d entered was empty, and thankful for the costume ball that was going on. She’d heard that most of the staff would be working the party, and that they’d be allowed to eat there, so the cafeteria was closed. She was still nervous. She’d been told in no uncertain terms to not enter the cafeteria once it closed, but she’d gotten sidetracked and hadn’t gotten down there earlier. Now, she’d need to sneak.
When she arrived at the second floor, it was very quiet and empty. Just as she’d expected. She couldn’t help wondering what the big deal was? She’d go in, get the cake, and be gone. She realized the problem once she’d pushed through the cafeteria doors; it was very dark. They were probably worried she’d trip or something. The kitchen lights were on, she used them to guide her across the room. If someone was in there, she’d just take her overcoat off; one look at her nearly naked body would get her out of any trouble she might be in. However, she hoped the room was empty and luckily it was. She looked around, her fake cake would likely be in the pantry. Then again, she had done gigs where the cake had actually been kept in the refrigerators alongside the real cakes. Go figure.
Just as she was about to open the pantry, she heard someone at the back door. She had just a second to decide what to do; hide in the pantry or stay and prepare to explain why she was there. Being a stripper paid the bills, but it wasn’t something she was proud of. When she danced in front of drunk men, she felt detached. They didn’t know her, and she didn’t know them. But, standing there in the kitchen, she didn’t really relish the thought of having to either talk her way out of trouble or flash her way out. She’d also had one or two unpleasant experiences, it was never a really good idea for a stripper to find herself alone with a man she didn’t know.
She quickly opened the pantry door and stepped inside. Oh, good, my cake. By the sound of the wind, rain and even the occasional thunder outside, she could tell the back door had finally been opened. She opened the pantry door an inch and peeked out. A tall, muscular man was there, he was making a sandwich. She’d just wait him out. The lights in the kitchen flickered on and off, then on again. Suddenly, another man came into the kitchen. Jeez, I’m never gonna get out of here. The tone of his voice concerned her, he seemed annoyed, maybe even angry.
“What are you doing in here?” she heard him ask.
At least I’m not the only person in the kitchen that’s not supposed to be here. The other man didn’t answer, he just picked up a rolling pin and hit the guy on the side of the head, hard. The man fell to the floor with a thud. His head lay just outside where she was hidden, through the crack in the door, she could see blood on the side of his head, and his eyes wide open and vacant. She swallowed hard, and willed herself not to freak out. She’d need all her composure so she didn’t give herself away. She watched, shocked, as the big man picked up the dead guy like he was a sack of potatoes, and walked outside.
She wasn’t thinking straight. Should she wait, see if he was coming back? Should she run like hell and hope he didn’t see? She did what any good stripper would do. She went to the other side of her cake, bent down, and with all her strength pushed that cake out of the pantry, through the kitchen, and out of the cafeteria. She pulled the hood up on her overcoat and kept it there until she arrived at her destination.