When I looked around the lift I saw a small smartly dressed porter in a white and gold outfit emerge from a shadowy corner and then ask me which floor I desired to go to, which of course I replied the penthouse bar.
When I turned around I saw old Mrs. Gates, Mrs. Gates was what some people would call a character and others an annoyance, but as she was rich and generous everyone was friendly to her. Mrs. Gates was not someone you would call fat, just pudgy, she had a pet St. Bernard called Luke who always welcomed people with a wagging tail.
“Mrs. Gates…” I said questioningly.
“Call me Pearl dear everyone does.” She said kindly.
“Is it because of your gorgeous pearl jewellery collection?” I enquired.
“No dear,” She replied with a slightly jolly laugh in her voice, “It’s much simpler that that, it’s my name, Pearl Edwina Gates.”
A few seconds later I heard a small ping, similar to that of a microwave oven when you have just finished cooking a macaroni cheese ready meal and it’s steaming hot just ready to be eaten (with it’s lovely rubbery texture), then the lift stopped abruptly and the doors drew open, almost apprehensively. I got out in a lovely gleaming white and chrome bar with some small tables around the edge that slowly revolved to let you see the skyline of what some people would describe as the big apple and others as purgatory. A man dressed in an all white tuxedo, which you would expect to see on James Bond, singing ‘Rise’ was on a tiny circular silver stage with six pointed stars on it.
Suddenly I saw a man with a short well-groomed beard and moustache sitting at the bar and I instantly knew it was him. He was nothing like the sort of person I had expected him to be, as I thought he would look something akin to a seventies hippy with shoulder length grey hair, a beard you could take off Albus Dumbledore and ankle length flowing robes that always seem to be ever clean and have that just washed freshness. But instead he was wearing a white long sleeved shirt and a pair of brilliant white chinos, but the strangest thing about him was the hardest to describe, it was his aura it was almost like an essence flowing around him.
“My child you have come at last,” he exclaimed in a voice that was not so much heard than felt.”
“My father, my God, is this heaven.”
“No it is only the beginning for you my son, it is only the beginning.”
