This is not the original version I posted here. I actually edited it and cut chunks out a while ago, but I have only just now gotten around to posting the new updated version. "Exciting" stuff ;).....

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Renata pulled the elastic hair band out of her hair and flicked it out across the office at Malcolm's fat, sagging backside. It looked like a pair of deflated water balloons, water sloshing around in the bottom halves. Malcolm let out an irritated cry, slapped his rump as if something had bitten him, and glanced around. Renata let out a bored sigh and turned back to her computer. When had living become so dull? Nothing had changed, but during the past few months things had been getting her down. The noise, the people, the rush on the streets every morning to work, the forced smiles and laughs covering over so many frustrations. The stuffy atmosphere in this office. The city was enduring one of its worst heat waves to date and the effect was stifling.

She pulled off her cardigan as she felt the first trickle of sweat run down her neck. She really shouldn't have thrown away her hair band. Now her hair was loose it gave an insulation to her neck that she didn't need.

She was tired with life. Unbelievable, she was not even thirty yet. She supposed she needed a change, to get out, to do something to shake things up a bit. She needed to get back to basics, to feel alive again. This state of mind was the curse of consciousness. If only she was an animal. She wouldn't have to think then. She eased her feet out of her shoes, smiling as she flexed her bare toes. That felt a little better.

Renata looked up as she heard her department boss's voice ring out as he stepped out of the lift. He looked like a film star, sauntering through the office, flashing smiles at Maria and Cindy and ignoring everyone else. Renata felt she was going mad. Her eyes drifted back to the lift. She had to get out of here.

Forgetting her shoes, she wandered over to the lift, hoping no one would see her. Paranoia burned through her skin, and she began to feel uncomfortably hot. Frustrated by everything. They always said life was beautiful, but she had seen nothing but a grey monotony for so long now. She needed to open her eyes again, return to basics. A strange urge came upon her, something she could not explain, and in years to come she would be as equally baffled. It was out of character, it would never be repeated, but her mind was near to breaking point and something had to give. Unbuttoning her blouse, she tossed it onto the photocopier before stepping into the lift.

The security guard's eyes widened in a mix of shock and horror as the lift on ground floor opened and a woman stepped out in only her underwear ' skirt and petticoat lying in the lift behind her. 'Er, Miss'�'� he started awkwardly as she headed towards the exit. He really wasn't sure what to say. This kind of thing wasn't covered on his training course. He jumped up from his chair and hurried over to the exit through which the woman had just departed. A shriek from the streets went up as he stepped out onto the pavement in time to see Renata streaking down the road, her pale, chubby backside wobbling along behind her.

Fifteen minutes later, after a thousand car horn honks, cheers and jeers, clapping, shielded eyes and shocked looks, Renata was picked up by a blushing policeman outside a distinguished law firm. She was dancing in the fountain and laughing, oblivious to the bemused but entertained group of Japanese tourists on the other side of the road who were taking photographs. A large dark grey blanket was thrown around her shoulders by the policemen and she was lead dripping wet with a large, relieved smile on her face, to the car.

By ten o'clock she was sitting in an interview room at an inner city police station. She was now wearing an oversized blue shirt and a very baggy pair of shorts she had to hold on to so that they would not fall down around her ankles. Both items were old unwanted police uniform that they had found to put her in until her mother arrived with more suitable attire.

After several hours in police custody, she was eventually released with a warning. Her mother had arrived with trousers and a very large jumper ' clothes that concealed every inch of her body with utter thoroughness. Dressed in clothes that she had not worn since that skiing trip to the mountains five years ago, she had driven home with her mother.

Her mother had been surprisingly calm, perhaps the shock had yet to register, and had given her daughter a bemused look as they left the police station, as if to say 'are we really related?'

'Why did you want to do such a thing?'� the elder woman asked as she parked the car outside Renata's block.

Renata shrugged her shoulders. 'I suddenly felt like it. I felt so tired of everything that I just had to'� I just had to shake things up a bit.'�

'Yes, but did you really have to shake them about in the centre of town?'�

She had needed to do it, although she could not really explain it any better, even to herself. She had been born into the city a shining a beautiful gem in the riches of this metropolis, but over the years she had become dull and smothered by pollution, disappointment and car fumes. In that spontaneous moment she had ripped off the dirt and emerged as a diamond. Naturally, it was not a method of therapy she would recommend for just anyone, and Renata would never do it again but that in moment dancing in the fountain she had felt truly free.

The following morning was soon drained of ideological meanings when she caught sight of her photograph in the morning newspaper. It was front-page material, very little text, but there she was, her massive bottom glowing brightly like two lumps of mozzarella in the black and white photograph. Renata blushed despite the fact that she was at home alone. At least the paper had done her the courtesy of printing a photo of her turning away from the camera, so as to save most of her dignity, she supposed, but even so, it was all very humiliating. And as she looked at the kitchen clock she realised it was going to get a lot worse before it got better. She was going to have to go to work. And if she did not go today, she would only have to face them another day. It was better to get it over with.

In the lobby to her workplace the security guard seemed more alert than usual, tipping his hat in her direction as she walked past. Renata immediately stared at the floor and hurried to the lift. There were eight people in the lift, two with newspapers. Renata cringed every time she heard the crinkle of paper, a page turning, catching sight of that photograph out of the corner of her eye. Paranoia made her convinced everyone knew and everyone was staring at her.

The lift doors opened and she stepped out onto her floor. They must have been waiting for her, and they must have arrived to work especially early that morning, because she was the last one in the office and she was five minutes early. Someone hissed 'Renata's here' and a silence came down upon the office, papers rustling, people rushing to the side of the room. A tape cassette player was switched on and stripper music blared out across the office space. A mix of cheering and laughing ripped out through the large room and Renata, all alone at the head of it, went bright red.

Someone had put a small electric fan on her desk with a note attached saying 'In case you get too hot again'. She was embarrassed by the further recognition of the thing she had done, but later in the day, when the sun-powered heat was at its strongest, she was grateful for the anonymous gift.

Across the room she heard conversations throughout the day dissecting her behaviour. It was the most attention she had ever had, and she did not care for it.

'It's such a sad, attention-seeking stunt,'� Cindy added to the discussion she was involved in with Maria and the section manager.

'Oh, I don't know,'� he drooled in response, staring at Maria's skirt. 'A friend of mine said that it was a great piece of art, what she did. An expression of innocence, simple joys in a chaotic world.'�

Maria took the pen she was sucking out of her mouth and laughed. 'What, you hang around with art professors now?'�

'Well, no,'� the boss started awkwardly. 'He runs a pornography shop, but it's very high class stuff.'�

Cindy sniggered. 'I suppose he'll be wanting to buy the rights then. Although I don't know why she did it. It's not like she's got anything worth flashing.'�

Renata slumped in front of her computer and hoped no one would notice her ever again.

'I saw your picture in the paper.'� Malcolm stopped by her desk, an arm full of photocopying in one hand and a plastic cup of water in the other. 'Black and white photography always looks very atmospheric. Of course, it's not the best photograph of the bunch. There's a lot on the Internet when you look.'�

Renata's eyes widened in horror. The Internet? Already? Not even twenty-four hours had past. 'You've been searching on the Internet?'�

Malcolm reddened. 'It's just what I heard,'� he muttered, hurrying away to his desk.

Renata closed her eyes and prayed for a localised earthquake that would tear this building down and bury her alive. She really should have thought about the consequences. Spontaneity just did not pay.

She worked late that day to give the majority of employees chance to leave for home before she had to show her face away from the computer. In the lift, apart from Renata there was only Joel. He was a notoriously quiet man who stared at anything other than people. He was currently staring at his shoes. He had unbelievably thick lenses in his glasses now that she really took a good look; it reminded her of her old grandfather before he had passed away.

'I really admire you,'� Joel unexpectedly burst out, suddenly looking her straight in the eye ' a jolting movement that made Renata stagger back in embarrassment, realising she had been staring at him like a new found bug pinned out under a microscope.

'What you did yesterday, to have the guts to just get out there and do, regardless of what anyone else might think or say. Spontaneity, that's really it, isn't it? The courage to actually live. It was a really beautiful gesture.'�

Renata wrinkled her nose. 'It's not all it's cracked up to be.'�

Her mortification only continued to grow when she got home that evening. The post had arrived in her absence, including two fan letters from local perverts (where had they got her address from?); a large, glossy black and white print from the newspaper photographer who had included a note thanking her for being the subject of one of his best pieces of work to date; and an official invitation to the nudist society of the city. Renata wailed in distress. She was neither a nudist nor an exhibitionist by nature; not a pornographic plaything nor an artist's muse. Why were these people bothering her? Skipping her evening meal, she went straight to bed and indulged herself in a long session of self-pity.

The following weeks proved to contain some very curious events, and although they were unconnected to Renata, she could not help but wonder privately to herself if they were all born of the same origin.

The security guard at her building was seen to be sitting behind his desk less and less, instead moving around the lobby, nodding to people and genuinely smiling rather than the plastic thing handed out at training school for people of the security profession. He always gave Renata a little extra attention, and one day, as he trotted away back to the desk, his footsteps clicking extremely loudly against the polished stone floor, Renata could not help but stare incredulously out of the lift and wonder if they were tap shoes he was wearing.

The newspaper photographer arranged his first ever exhibition of photography, comprising mostly of private pieces he had never allowed the public to see before for fear they would be declared ugly and uninspired. It was a success. The city's nudist society finally came out of their very comfortable but concealed closet and registered themselves as an organisation in the city telephone book. Her mother fulfilled a life-long dream and sold her old car, buying a classic motorbike, complete with red leather jacket. An airport worker ripped off all his clothes one afternoon and stomped violently in an ornamental pond in front of the departures entrance, shouting: 'It's all for you, Renata!'

About a month after the incident, when most of the office jokes had been worn out and thrown away, Joel came up to her desk at the end of the shift. He had not spoken to her since the brief conversation in the lift, and had to all intents and purposes crawled back into his strange little shell.

He had a local poetry magazine in his hands, flicked through to a page and handed it to her without saying a word. A little confused, Renata took the opened magazine and quickly glanced over the poems, not really sure what she was supposed to be looking at. Then the name at the top of the page caught her eye. Joel Garcia. She looked back up at him, considering him in a new light. 'I didn't realise you were a poet.'�

'I'm not really, it's just something I do in quiet moments here. I'd never dared send anything in, but after what you did, I thought I should take a chance and do it.'�

'Well, that's great, Joel,'� she smiled warmly, handing him back the magazine. 'I really hope you keep this up now that you've started.'�

'Oh no, keep it,'� he gestured towards the magazine. 'I wanted to say thanks, you inspired me to do this. I admire you.'�

'Yeah, you said that last time we spoke, in the lift,'� she spoke, closing the magazine and smoothing down the cover. 'Remember? You said you admired what I did.'�

'That's not what I meant,'� he started awkwardly. 'Although I do admire your courage, what you did. But I meant that I've always admired you. I never understood why your boyfriend left you.'� He stopped talking abruptly, wavered indecisively in front of her for a moment before nodding. 'Better go shut down my computer and head off home.'�

Renata sat silently, shock slapped over her face. Everyone in the office had known about her boyfriend of course, he knew Cindy, and when he had left Renata, Cindy had been sure to let everyone know, on a supposedly sympathetic pretext of course. The poor girl who was 'a little bit fat'. Renata watched as Joel moved uncomfortably through the room to his computer. God, he was shy. And that was what he had been doing so secretively over there in the corner, pouring his heart out into words.

Opening the magazine again, she flicked through to the page filled with his work. The longest piece was entitled 'My Muse' and described a beauty at the narrator's place of work, an amazing creature that inspired him. Renata's eyes widened and she felt a warm pink touch her cheeks. She was not vain and she certainly did not have an over-inflated opinion of herself, but it was so embarrassingly obvious that she was the object of the poem.

She raised her head, snapping the magazine shut as Joel shrugged his jacket on. Dark green. The colour suited him very well. 'Hey, Joel,'� she called over to him, surprised by her boldness, but pushed on by the thought that she might regret it if she did not take the chance. 'It's too hot for cooking. I can't be bothered, so I was going to go down to that Italian café on the corner, you know the one? Do you want to join me?'�

Joel smiled. 'Sure.'�

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