THE BAGGAGE EXCHANGE

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐰𝐨

Goulding Film Productions was what I expected it to be. It towered the rest of its surrounding buildings and you see the prestige it oozes just by simply looking at it. It is a high rise building with around fifty to sixty floors and floor to ceiling windows that overlooked the rest of Los Angeles. The color was a dramatic shade of grey, almost black. And you could see the lights that would immediately glow when nightfall came.

I always pictured myself going into this building wearing an impeccably tailored blazer and a matching pencil skirt and a clipboard in hand. In my imagination, the first time I'd come here would be the time where my name would hit the big leagues and I had finally gotten my big break and will now be the scriptwriter of a major motion picture. And I would be a highly valuable employee who worked here with A-list celebrities. But that was all in the imagination.

In reality, here I just was in front of the building's big glass double doors looking as disheveled as a person who hadn't gotten any sleep (which was the truth). And I wasn't here for a job. Instead, I was here to exchange a bag.

The building loomed over me with its commanding presence. As if daring me to enter in my lousy state of dress. I almost felt naked just standing there in the rumpled clothes of yesterday. People who were going to enter gave me and my clothes strange looks. No doubt looking at the bag I brought along me with suspiciously. Everyone was dressed with clothes that looked expensive, a stark contrast to mine.

Mustering up the courage to get inside, I took a deep breath and took a single step forward. And then another. And another. Until the guards stationed at the entrance opened the squeaky clean glass double doors for me.

One of them looked at the bag held firmly in my hand for a beat too long. "What's inside?" he asked, voice gruff and meant to sound intimidating.

"It belongs to Mr. Alexander Goulding. I'm here to return it to him," I answered. This situation probably seemed odd. I mean, who wouldn't think that a random girl (who doesn't look put together) says that she's returning the bag of the current heartthrob of Hollywood. Sounds like bullshit to me.

He gave me a weird look and reached the walkie talkie strapped to his waist and said, "Sir, there's a girl here and she says that she's here to return your bag." While he was speaking, his partner kept eyeing my bag as if it carried a bomb.

"Bring her up," came the simple answer of the man of the hour. Voice still husky, and replies concise.

The other one nudged me forward and in I went. The interior looks as spectacular as it did on the outside. Everything polished, including the people scurrying about with deadlines to catch.

My eyes gazed in amazement at everything. Well mom, here I am in the big leagues in a big industry. Not quite with a job, but I'm getting there. For now, the goal is to return the bag. And then we'll think about what happens next.

The guard, who I didn't realize was still beside me the whole time I took in my surroundings, spoke. "Go directly to the fiftieth floor, ma'am," he instructed, leading me to the shiny elevators on the corner of the wide expanse of the lobby.

My jaw dropped yet again (this time it happened in my head and not in public, thank God). I knew the building was tall and is basically considered a skyscraper, but I'm amazed at how many floors it actually has. Call me ignorant or whatever.

The guard didn't leave me until the elevator doors closed in front of his face and the fiftieth floor button was lit up. I chalked it up to him still being wary about my intentions here. If I were him, I'd be wary too. I looked like roadkill.

Music flowed through speakers from inside the elevator to make you feel at ease. As if confronting the person I accidentally bumped into, wasn't nerve-wracking enough.