As they clamoured into the elevator, the old woman turned and glared at the elevator operator.

“Excuse meee,” She said, now in a deep drawn out English accent, “But my name is not Miss Bellafonte, my name is Elizabeth. Elizabeth Taylor. But I wouldn’t expect you to know that would I?” The pomeranian, sensing the edge in her voice, growled profusely and yipped at the unfortunate man.

Reid leaned in towards Zooey, “I swear this woman is mad. Everyday she thinks she’s someone else. Yesterday she was Scareltt O’hara and the day before she was Marilyn Monroe.”

Zooey giggled silently sneaking a glance at ‘Elizabeth Taylor’. The elevator man, overhearing their conversation chimed in.

“I live for this stuff,” he chuckled.

“I know you’re talking about me!” Elizabeth Taylor snapped, “They are always talking about me!” She put her nose in the air and dramatically waved her right hand and twirled around. The elevator stopped and the doors opened.

“Here you go Miss Taylor,” the man said bowing.