Outside a service access backdoor stood Justine holding a

cigarette

, her upper back leaned against the brick wall. All felt calm, honking and engines floated peacefully, muffled through the large alleyway between the Historic Center and the National Hotel.

The ordinary

urban

alley had a bad association. With trash inappropriately spilling out of its proper bins, stray animals, and stray people waiting for you. At worst Justine might feel

claustrophobic

, not just with the space, but the fear of other people's trash tickling her nostrils or her ears catching angry noises from the windows above.

But the alleyway shared by these two landmark buildings had none such attributes. All the trash was properly contained within industrial containers. There were no animals or stray people in sight. And the sounds of the city, which this alleyway was right smack dab in the middle of, sounded like it was far off.

She wondered how this could be as another long drag streamed smoke into her lungs. Her cigarette was almost complete. She would need to text one of her coworkers to let her back in. The Historic Center took security more serious than any other place she had worked for. None of the employees had access through the service door themselves. And when the door opened it would make a beep every two seconds. If the door wasn't closed within five beeps then an alarm would go off. During training the supervisor had shown them this.

"So none of you keep it open under any circumstance! Got it?"

Justine didn't smoke anytime or anywhere else. Only these

white glove

events would beckon her to do so, when The Historic Center would cease its usual functions, have extra security come in to make sure everybody was out, and then the catering staff -- all vetted -- would prepare an extravagant feast.

Such events were a hectic ordeal. More work went into them than your standard events, because the prep started long before the event itself, where you needed to get groomed and dress to a higher standard.

She spent more time preparing for these white glove events than she did first dates. And to be honest, the former excited her more these days than the latter. Who could she meet at a first date anyhow? It would simply be yet another man who was either a writer of 2nd rate 

fiction

or a burnt out academic or a mechanical tech worker or the worst: just another service industry employee like herself.

The clientele at these events excited her. Powerful people. Decision makers. She was aware they just saw her as a servant. But it was exciting enough to be in their presence. To listen to their voices. To study how they spoke. She would imagine what type of businesses they ran, in what kind of houses they lived in and what type of vacations they took. She would imagine the boring stuff too, like how they took their morning 

coffee

, what would they be doing? Reading the news on their phone or tablet? or would they be reading a paper version?

Preparing to serve such class of people took enormous effort. The entire staff went from feeling like a group of people doing a part-time job to operating like a sports team in the playoffs. The stress of it invigorated her and this is what made her find the peaceful solace of smoking a cigarette in the quiet service alleyway so much enjoyable. She had tried coming to smoke here on non special event nights and it did not hit the same. That time she had put the cigarette out even before it was even halfway done.

Justine's phone vibrated. She checked without any hope for it being anyone in particular. When she found out it was a text from a date she had gone out with last week she put her phone back into her purse without reading it. She considered smoking one more cigarette to stay out here just awhile longer. But that's when the deep growl of a very expensive car approached. She could tell just by the growl that this was a truly luxurious car. Not the type of pseudo luxury that middle class people bought once they got a decent white collar gig. This was she believed a

Rolls-Royce

. Its growl was not out there in the street but coming from right within the alley.

As it approached she instinctively reached for the service door to go back in, but was quickly reminded that it was locked. Even to her, an employee. She hoped that the car would simply drive by and go to the proper entrance for guests. But it came to a measured stop.

The latching sound of the two doors sounded foreign. This isn't what it sounded like when she opened the door to her

Prius

. A large man got out of the passenger seat, and then a tall, slim man -- most likely the guest -- got out of the back seat. They approached the stairwell leading up to the service door where Justine was standing by. She considered texting one of her coworkers to come open the door for her as she was sure that these men would want to enter through here and she couldn't imagine telling them that guests were supposed to enter through the main entrance.

As the two men's shoes made contact with the first steps, another door from the backseat unlatched and shut. A nervous looking man who looked like he was just getting off his phone and organizing a set of keys from his pockets came walking quickly to catch up with the calmer men who were now almost at the stairwell.

"Hello, dear." said the slim, tall man. 

"Good evening, sir."

The nervous man finally made his way and pulled out a keycard and held it up to the side of the door.

Click. The door opened and the bodyguard went in along with the nervous man.

Beep.

Justine no longer wanted that extra cigarette. But there was no way she could just go in with them. She would need to wait until they were already inside so that she could get in via a coworker letting her in.

Beep.

She noticed that the man was one foot inside The Historic Center, one foot out in the alley. His left hand casually held the door open wide enough that it was obvious that he wasn't trying to shut her out.

"Well aren't you coming in?"

Justine said nothing. She thought about affirming but the direct look of the man's stare into her stated that such was not needed, and maybe even that such unnecessary gibberish would be annoying.

Beep.

She knew that she would be entering before him. He was an obvious gentleman who wouldn't simply fling the door open so that she could walk in after him. He'd hold it for her. This made her nervous.

She went in feeling at the same time incredibly vulnerable but also secure. In the hall the two men in front of them walked about eight feet in front of them. 

Click. The door shut behind them.

Now it was the sound of their feet clacking against the hard surface, vibrating against the walls and ceilings. Until they emerged out into what could finally be recognized as a place for an event. The Historic Center's event room.

"I'll see you around," the man smiled. And then they left her as they joined the main guests' area. She could see that the nervous man was now informing him of things. He had not spoken a word the entire time they were walking through that service entrance hallway together. She wondered what it could've possibly been about.

"Hey, Justine!" a coworker said.

"Hi."

"Feels like it's going to be a hectic night."

"I always like these nights."

"Pshh. You and me aren't the same then. I despise these events. All these boujee people coming in and treating us like robotic servants. They think they're so much better than us."

The words of her coworker became muted by the beginning sounds of the live musicians. A few violinists, a cello, and a bass.