Marta

You go to one of the elevators and are reaching out to press the button when your hand collides with that of a beautiful, ambitious young socialite who normally wouldn't give you the time of day, much less talk with you. Sparks fly, and there's a moment of awkward silence. In dazed amusement, she looks at you, standing in a momentary eye of the storm of her life, and says with her habitual entitled tone I'm going to 'P,' please.