Tell Doe about the bag.

"See you tomorrow, John."

You nod to a co-worker as he disappears through the revolving doors and back into the real world. You pace slowly across the lobby of your building, and anxiously watch the escalator. Men in suits and women in skirts pour off the mechanical steps like widgets off an assembly line. Five o’clock, and time to clock out.

Finally, you catch of glimpse of Doe, her hair still mussed. She waits for the steps of the escalator to meet the ground before stepping gingerly off. She walks towards you with tiny steps, not with her usual confident stride. You can tell that she is trying to keep her torn skirt from flapping away from her thighs. As she nears, you can see that she has secured the tears with a few strategically place safety pins since she left your office. But they provide scant protection for her modesty, so Doe keeps her legs as close together as possible.

Despite her precautions, passers-by strain to steal furtive glances of Doe. Lascivious men try to sneak a peek of her sleek thighs, and hope beyond hope that the hem of the skirt will fly apart. Women do a double take, their faces contorted in catty disgust.

"Why John, fancy meeting you here," Doe greets you with a wry smile.

"I like your outfit," you banter back. "Is that a new blouse?"

"You like?" Doe tosses her hair over her shoulder, pushing her bosom forward. As she smoothes the fabric down, it stretches taut across her already visible nipples.

"Love it," you respond with a smile. "But I’m not here to compliment your fashion sense. Let me buy you a drink."

You wrap your arm around her and walk her out of the revolving doors.

One hour and three pints later, Doe is stunned nearly to silence.

"Clarice?" she incredulously. "No way!"

You smile silently and empty your pint with gusto.

"Dildos? A schoolgirl outfit?!! What do you think it means?" she splutters, a little too loud for your comfort. The other patrons at the bar turn and smile before returning to their own conversations.

"I was hoping you could tell me," you respond. "She’s your secretary."

Doe stares pensively into her glass for a few seconds. Suddenly, she bring it to her lips and upends it. She slams it back down on the table decisively and rises abruptly to her feet. She sways a little, in spite of herself.

"Well, let’s find out." She lays some bills on the bar and heads straight out of the bar.

Surprised, you rise to follow her. You catch up with her outside and grab her by the arm. "Where do you think you’re going?"