Greta parked her car half a block away from Flourishwood Community Center. She could just barely see the old building. The entire south wing was covered in an exoskeleton of scaffolding; a wave of new red brick had overcome the building, spreading from north to south like a bacterial infection.

She took one last drag from her joint and pressed the roach into the ashtray, then inhaled through her nose as her eyelids closed. Although she wasn't a particularly religious woman, Greta crossed herself and shook her head.

"Come on old girl," she said, catching a glimpse of her dark eyes in the rear view mirror. She leaned in closer, adjusting her lipstick. "You can do this. You're smart, funny, fucking beautiful. Just breathe, it'll be okay."

She reached into the glove compartment and pulled a bottle of perfume from the mess. One spritz, two, three for good measure. The soothing smell of lavender billowed throughout the car and she took another deep breath through her nose.

After one last word of encouragement into the mirror, she pulled the latch on her door and the cool autumn slipped in like a probing tentacle. Another shake of her head and she stepped out of the car.

"Ms. Quincey!" She heard a man's voice as she approached the tall double doors of the looming community center. "You're late, I hope that isn't a habit of yours."

Greta checked her phone, fifteen minutes . . . did that even count as late?

"No, sorry. You're Asad Karim, I guess?"

"You can call me Mr. Karim."

"Right, of course."

Greta allowed her eyes to crawl from the man's polished shoes, up over his elegant suit, right to the perfect jet black hair, complete with jettisons of gray at the temples. Such a shame he seemed like such a dick.

"If you'll follow me I'll take you to your office."

"I get an office?"

"Of course . . . well, actually your office is in the South Wing, which is still being refurbished. For now we've put you up in a slightly smaller room. Just this way, please."

"Right."

Just past the oversized doors, a woman hunched over a tall desk. Her billowing white hair seemed too thin, and her spine was visible through the layers of floral polyester.

"Has he called yet, Margery?"

Margery lifted her head and it seemed like a laboured action. She peered through her thick glasses and smiled at Mr. Karim.

"Oh, hello there. Can I help you?"

"Margery! It's me, Mr. Karim."

"Mr. Karim? I think he's helping the new counsellor downstairs."

"No, Margery, I'm Mr. Karim! I'm wondering if that call I was expecting has come yet?"

"Call? What call?" The old lady turned to Greta and smiled. "Oh hello! Our first visitor of the day, come, come let me show you around."

"Margery, this isn't a visitor. This is Greta Quincey, our new counsellor."

The elderly woman hopped off her stool and nearly disappeared behind her desk. She came around and stood at Greta's side, the top of her blue gray hairdo just graced the younger woman's elbow.

"Tell me, dear, what's your name?"

"This is Greta!" Mr. Karim rolled his eyes and squeezed his brows.

"No need to shout, now." Margery scoffed at him and grabbed Greta's elbow. "Come along, come along, I'll show you everything!"

"Why thank you." Greta smiled and patted Margery's knobby knuckles.

"We really haven't time for this."

"Don't worry, you'll get your tour next boy-o."

"I'm the executive director, Marge."

"Now, what did you say your name was, young lady?"

Greta smirked at her new boss as he grumbled to himself. She turned away and let Margery shuffle her down the shadowy halls. On either side of them there were tall doors which led to empty rooms.

"These are our program rooms," Margery said, it sounded well practiced. "Someday soon we hope to have each and every one of them filled again."

"Oh?" Greta's smile grew. "And what sort of programs would fill them?"

"Oh, well we already have a youth group. Great kids, a little rambunctious but you know how kids are. Do you have any children?"

"No, thank God."

"Oh dear, you know it's not easy when you get older. My Larry's wife wanted to wait. Didn't even start trying until she was thirty. Spent years with a fertility doctor, you know, only to pop out a retard."

"Margery!" Mr. Karim scolded and Greta jumped. She hadn't noticed the man was following them. "We've talked about that kind of language."

"Right, right. The poor doll has special mental handicap syndromes or what ever the politicians call it these days. Sweet girl though, and full of life."

"Well that's good to hear," Greta said.

"Don't worry though, I've got plenty of regular grand kids too."

"Marge!"

Greta snorted and Margery sighed. "Now, what was it I was doing?"

"You were giving our new counsellor a tour of the facility."

"Oh, she's arrived has she?"

Mr. Karim closed his eyes and started counting under his breath. Greta chuckled and bent over to make eye contact with the tiny old woman.

"It was nice to meet you, Margery."

"Oh, darling, would you like a tour? My grandson works out back in the garden, you know. Handsome young fellow, a bit young for you though I think." Margery's hand clamped onto Greta's face and she forced it from one side to the other. "Yes, he'd be better off with someone younger, fresher eggs you know."

"I think I can take it from here." Mr. Karim finally stepped up and pried Margery from Greta. "Why don't you go back to your desk?"

"Right, right, plenty of work to be done. We're getting a new counsellor today, you know!" She smiled and nodded at Greta, then turned to shuffle back towards her desk.

Greta laughed as Margery walked away, but couldn't stop herself from rubbing her lower abdomen. Her eggs were still fresh, weren't they?

"She was . . . interesting."

"Margery has been volunteering at this community center for sixty years. She ran the place single handedly for five of them. As long as there was at least one weekly program running, she was here to make sure it went smoothly."

"But now that you're expanding, doesn't she seem a little . . . " Greta's face twisted and she shrugged.

"A little what?" Mr. Karim blinked.

"You know . . . old? Maybe she can't quite do her job anymore?"

"I assure you, Margery Hamstock may seem senile, but there is nobody alive in this city who is better with investors than her."

"I'll believe that when I see it."

"We don't have time to argue. I do have a job to do, you know."

"Okay, lead the way then."

Mr. Karim led the way down the hall and Greta noticed a couple of people congregating in rooms. There weren't many though.

"So . . . what exactly is a counsellor supposed to do?"

"Excuse me?" Mr. Karim turned on Greta and she bumped into him.

"I . . . uh . . . you know . . . what exactly will I be doing . . . here . . . ?"

"Your resume says you have a masters degree in counselling."

"Well . . . yeah, but I--"

"So clearly you must know what a counsellor is better than I do."

"I know what a high school guidance counsellor does, I know what a psychologist does --"

"You are not a psychologist!" The words stung more than Mr. Karim could have known. "Do not attempt to diagnose anyone. If you come across issues you can't handle do not hesitate to refer them to the proper resources. All you do, is counsel."

"Counsel who, though?"

"Anyone who needs it."

"Well that's specific,"

"This is a community center, Miss. Quincey. Implying that any member of the community may take advantage of our services."

"I know but--"

"Honestly, we're all just trying to find our feet here. As long as you don't screw up enough to have us closed down then you're doing a good job."

"Right."

Mr. Karim came to the end of the hall. There was a a door which led outside and through its tiny barred window Greta could see a garden struggling to grow. Mr. Karim turned to another, windowless door and cleared his throat as it clicked open.

"Still with me, I assume?"

"Yeah, yeah, I didn't know you guys had a garden."

"It's supposed to be for the entire community, nobody wants to use it though. We've got two gardeners on part time, I'm sure you'll meet them eventually but for now would you please allow me to show you to your office so I can get back to work?"

The annoyed tone in his voice ran through Greta like a hot knife. She closed her eyes, smiled and turned to Mr. Karim. "Of course, let's go."

Greta's boss swung the door open and revealed a dark, narrow stair case.

"Oh . . . I'll be in the basement?"

"Like I said, it's just temporary. You're office is just being renovated."

"But . . . there are all these empty rooms up here."

"That one there hosts a weekly flamenco class, over there we've got a painting class, and starting soon that one will be a day care. Which would you like to share with?"

"Is that sarcasm? Has you're business time demeanour finally cracked?"

"Please, just keep moving."

"Fine, I'm coming."

The man led the way down into the basement. Greta could hear a pipe dripping and wished there was more light. Suddenly, Mr. Karim flicked the switch and Greta wished it was dark again.

"I'll admit that the basement has been neglected for some time now."

"Ya don't say. Is it even legal to make me work down in this mess?"

"I assure you, it is not only legal but we also have a stack of resumes filled with eager individuals who wouldn't complain."

"Okay, I get it, my mouth is buttoned."

"You know, you're not our first counsellor. The last one was only with us for a short time. She left in a hurry so much of her stuff is still in your office." He unlocked a small door and swung it open to reveal a tiny room with one naked bulb hanging from the ceiling.

"This is it?"

"Home sweet home."

"Kinda . . . small, huh?" Greta squeezed past Mr. Karim and touched the desk, which took up half the space. There were two chairs and a bookcase filled with information pamphlets about everything from testicular cancer to cyber bullying.

"You still have the option of sharing with Señorita Poloma's Thursday evening dance class."

"I get it, I get it. This is it for now."

"Mr. Karim?" Margery's head poked in through the door and she smiled. "I've been looking for you! That man from the bank called hours ago."

Mr. Karim shook his head and closed his eyes. "Ms. Quincey, if that is all I'm afraid I have a very important phone call to return."

"Yeah sure. Oh! Wait! I gotta ask for tomorrow off too. My sister's having a . . . thing."

Mr. Karim sucked his teeth and said, "fine."

"Are you mad?"

Mr. Karim didn't say anything. His sniffed the air close to Greta and looked at her eyes. "This is an important job, Ms. Quincey. Don't fuck it up."

With that the man left Greta alone in her tiny office.