Going Down: The Elevator Series (3 page)

I tapped my foot as I waited not so patiently for the elevator. I should take the stairs, but that was too much effort. My stomach rumbled; all I’d had to eat was a granola bar and a soda from the vending machine. My workload was daunting when I realized how much Cameron had left undone. The only break I took was to check YouTube. As I feared, “Mime Smackdown” was one of the top videos. I should have my own channel at this point, with all the Internet cameos I’d made. All I wanted was to get some food and curl up on the couch with my cat and my remote. It was quite the glamorous life I’d carved out for myself.

When the elevator dinged its arrival, I lunged toward the doors, only to stop short when I took in the specimen before me.
Oh my.
If I had pearls, I’d clutch them. To describe this being as only but a mere man would be an egregious slight. He was tall with light brown hair and eyes such a vivid blue I audibly whimpered. He wore a suit that looked like it was crafted by tiny elves specifically for this body. It looked black at first, but when you looked closer and harder—and I was—it was more of a very dark blue. He probably modeled this suit at some point and the designer told him to just keep the damn thing because there was no hope of ever selling it to any common man. In fact, the only way this suit could look any better was if it were on my bedroom floor.

A blaring buzzing sound broke me from my spell, and I realized Mr. Suit God held the elevator door open with his Suit God arms, and it was protesting loudly. Something told me if he were touching me with those arms I’d be screaming, too.

“Would you care to join me?” Mr. Suit God said with a slight chuckle. “I’m not sure how much longer I can hold this open.”

His voice made me feel things in places that hadn’t received attention from a second party in some time. It was deep, but not like disembodied-voice-in-a-horror-movie deep. My palms were so sweaty, I rubbed them against my skirt without thinking.

“You—I—what?” This was not going well.

Holy crap, Carrington. Get your shit together. Stop violating him with your eyes and talk to him like a human being. Deep breath, aaaaaand
…

“Are you going down on me—
with me
? Down. Are you going down? To the first floor, I mean. I didn’t mean anything else.”

Way to get your shit together.

The latest victim of my social ineptness coughed, choked, and sputtered, “Uh, yes. I’m—I’m headed to the lobby. You?”

The elevator sounded like it was about to launch itself into the stratosphere and Mr. Suit God was now using his full suit-wearing body to hold open the doors while they jolted and did their best to close. I jumped on the elevator—not the man, unfortunately—and managed to utter a thank-you without tripping over my tongue. I subtly checked out his reflection in the metallic doors and looked away quickly all nine times he caught me staring. He was quite fetching.

Fetching? I think I suffered head trauma earlier and repressed it. Whatever you do, do not open your mouth and speak to this demigod.

“So,” I began against my better judgment. “You come here often?”

I tentatively lifted my hand to my forehead to see if I could actually feel the lobotomy scar. No one with a full brain said things like that.

“Do I come to this elevator often?” My wet dream incarnate asked. He laughed and it sounded like a combination of all the happy sounds ever. “No, I’m a first timer.”

“A virgin? Lucky for you, I can show you the ropes.”

I did not just say that. Please let this elevator plummet through the basement and let the earth swallow me whole.

As if on cue, the aforementioned elevator jerked, groaned, and screeched to a halt. The sudden stop flailed me about the cabin, where I landed the most ungraceful right hook across Mr. Suit God’s left jaw.

That did not just happen.

“Sorry! I’m so sorry!” I was doing my best impression of Van Gogh’s
The Scream
.

He rubbed his jaw, flexing it from side to side. “Speaking as the token virgin here, is that normal?”

I just punched him in the face. Scratch that. I accidentally asked him to go down on me and then punched him in the face. I’ll be lucky to leave this elevator not hog-tied and tasered by the authorities.

Hoping to physically hold back the asinine word vomit, I covered my mouth and spoke through my hand. “No! I don’t make a habit of hitting handsome men!”

His smile could foster world peace. “Handsome, huh? Well, thank you, I think. Actually, I was wondering if this contraption typically stopped between floors. You’ve got one heck of a right arm, by the way.”

“I know. I’ve been using that arm more than usual lately. I—uh… What was the question again?” I seemed to be having more trouble than usual getting my bearings in an awkward situation. You would think my body would be acclimated to it by now.

“The elevator. Does it always break down?” He stepped closer. “Hey, are you all right? You look a little pale. You’re not claustrophobic or anything, are you?”

This was not happening. This had to be some kind of barbaric psychological experiment for one of the universities. I did not sign a release for this.

“Um, no. It’s just really warm in here. I haven’t eaten much today, and I was in an invisible cage match with a mime earlier and this day has been a little overwhelming. But to answer your question, no, the elevator is ancient, but typically the only reliable thing in this building.”

He laughed as I refilled my lungs after that word vomit. “Well, let’s try the emergency phone.” Since I was standing in front of the phone, he had to lean around me to open the tiny door. “Maybe they can at least drop a pizza down to us.”

His face was much closer to me than it was a moment ago. Being the classy lady that I was, I resisted the urge to lick across his jaw line. He was easy on the eyes. I wondered what Emily Post would say about licking a stranger.

My reverie was interrupted when my cellmate cursed. “Shit. I’ve never actually used one of these red phones before, but I think dead air is a bad sign. Let’s try this button with the red bell on it. It looks promising.”

He could push all the buttons for all I cared, as long as he stayed this close to me. He mashed the button and the circular piece fell back into the control panel somewhere. I wanted to make a pun like “Well, that’s alarming!” but I kept that one to myself.

He rested his head against the wall for a moment. He then pulled out his cell phone and cursed again. “Shit, shit! I don’t have any bars. What about you?”

I started digging through my oversized bag in search of my phone.

Why didn’t I put the damn thing in the side pocket like a normal person? I’m shoulder deep inside, fumbling around like an imbecile.

After an inordinate amount of time, I finally located my phone in the very bottom of my purse.
Of course.
“Nope.” I sighed. “No signal. I bet this elevator could double as a fallout shelter. They don’t build them like they used to.”

“No,” he grumbled. “Now they build them to actually work. I’m going to be so late.”

I slyly checked his left hand for a ring or telltale tan line. Nothing. “Oh, are you missing a date with your girlfriend or other partner of a romantic nature?”

Subtle, Cici. Real subtle.

“No. No girlfriend… or other partner. I was supposed to meet some friends for a celebratory dinner. I just landed a new job.”

He lost me at no girlfriend. My inner five-year-old boogied around like a Peanuts character. He probably could’ve confessed he was late for a ritualistic killing, and I wouldn’t have heard.

“Will your, uh, boyfriend… or other partner of a romantic nature be worried?” He rubbed the back of his neck and looked off to the side a bit.

“No, I don’t have a boyfriend.”
Am I blushing? I think I’m blushing. Crap.
“But I will have hell to pay with my cat later.”

“Well, feline vengeance aside, I was really hoping for that pizza. I skipped lunch today.”

“It must be the day for poor nutrition choices. I would do horrible things for a Klondike Bar right now, or even a sandwich.” My stomach growled in assent.

“A sandwich sounds like heaven.” He rubbed his flat stomach. Not that I was staring.

I wasn’t sure if it was the hunger or the sensation south of my stomach that was more dominant. I could listen to him talk about food all day. Sandwiches never sounded so sexy.

“Oh! I think I have some snacks in my bag!” I squealed. “It’s not much, but maybe it will at least keep us from going all
Donner
Party
until help arrives.” There was a reason I carried around this huge bag.

“A mint sounds like the perfect remedy for cannibalism.” He didn’t even try to hide his sarcasm.

“Hey! You know what they say about beggars. Let’s see. I have some graham crackers, a granola bar, half a bag of plain M & M’s, and some trail mix.”

“Did you recently rob a convenience store?” Again with that smile.

He’s got a good smile.

“A good Girl Scout is always prepared. Plus, I’m on the go a lot between the office and the gym, so I have to eat when I can.”

I’m lying about the gym. I only go when Maggie guilt trips me into it.

“Boy Scout.”

“What?” I was too focused on looking at his mouth to make sense of the words coming out of it.

“A good
Boy Scout
is always prepared, and I don’t remember anyone who looked like you in my troop—that’s not something I would forget. I also don’t remember anyone who carted around a sack full of junk food.”

I ignored his compliment because people shouldn’t be rewarded for being that smooth. “Don’t hate on the purse. Zagat rated this bag a twenty-six in service and décor.”

“I wouldn’t dare hate on the purse. I’m hoping Jimmy Hoffa crawls out of there before this is all said and done. What should we eat first?”

“I’m not sure that there’s a proper course schedule with this type of menu. Would you like to start with the graham crackers?”

“That sounds perfect.”

I ripped open the travel-sized bag. “They’re shaped like bugs.”

He pulled back the hand he had begun to extend as if he developed a sudden cracker aversion. This might be the first documented case of cracker phobia.

Cute graham crackers were a guilty pleasure of mine, except I really didn’t feel any guilt about it. “Yeah, I can’t resist a sale at Target. It’s a sickness. I bought lawn furniture before just because it was on sale, and my 352 square foot apartment lacks a lawn in every sense of the word. Do you want a caterpillar or not?”

“Given my limited options, I would actually love a caterpillar. Thank you.” He extended his hand again and smiled.

I took absolutely no notice of how strong his hands looked. My thoughts didn’t dwell on how big they were either or what they would feel like running down my body. I didn’t think about any of those silly things.

“These are pretty good,” he said. “Would I have to cash in my man card if I asked for a butterfly?”

“Here you go. I swear I’ll never tell a soul.” I placed another cracker in his hand and most definitely did not let my fingers linger there longer than necessary. At least that’s the story I was telling myself.

“Again, thank you. Would you care to have a seat? It looks like we might be here a while.”

“I’m afraid you’re right. There’s a night watchman downstairs, but I’m sure he’s already asleep by now. I lowered myself to the floor, folding my legs under me. He sat down, took off his tie and jacket, and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. I said an inaudible prayer of thanks to the pantless Good Luck Cat as we polished off the crackers and split the granola bar in companionable silence.

***

Shortly after the M & M’s were devoured, my fellow inmate turned to me. “I, for one, will be writing a scathing letter to Zagat. Your purse deserves at least a thirty in service and décor. What a dreadful slight.”

“Your patronage is appreciated, sir.” I did this weird tipping of my invisible hat thing that I immediately regretted.

His smile slipped from his face momentarily. “I also must apologize for my appalling lack of manners. I normally introduce myself before sharing dinner out of someone’s feed sack. I’m Cole.”

He extended his hand as I attempted to suck a stray piece of candy from the roof of my mouth in the most ladylike manner possible. I struggled to distract myself from how warm and competent his hand felt. “Coal, like a future diamond?”

“No, it’s short for Coltrane—like John Coltrane, the jazz musician.”

“Oh, is your mother a fan?” I was greedy for knowledge about him. I wanted to know his favorite color, his favorite foods, his shoe size in third grade. I wanted to hear it all.

“Actually, the charge nurse in the hospital was a fan. My parents couldn’t agree on a name, so I was Baby Danvers for the first three days of my life. They wouldn’t let me leave without a name, the nurse suggested Coltrane, and here we are today.”

“Interesting.” I could listen to him read an airplane vomit bag and be riveted. There was something about the way his mouth moved and the tenor of his voice. It was almost pornographic how his lips caressed words. I wanted him to keep talking forever. “Do you have any brothers and sisters, or did your parents throw in the towel on baby naming?”

“I have a younger brother and sister. Their names were picked out of a hat—quite literally. Mom and Dad put all of their choices into a baseball cap and let me draw a name at random. I remind my sister regularly that she can thank me for being named Felicity instead of Tunisia.”

“That’s hilarious.” I giggled. “What name did you draw for your brother?”

“Kelvin. I’m lucky he still speaks to me. He goes by his middle name of John, though.”

“Your family seems like a lot of fun. Do they live close by?”

“My parents and John live in Connecticut, where we grew up. My sister and her husband live in Boston. I don’t get to see her as much as I used to. She’s expecting their first baby in a few months, so she’s cut down on traveling.”

“You’re going to be an uncle!” I clapped my hands. People having kids always made me happy. “It’s the greatest gig in the world. I have a three-year-old nephew, and I can’t get enough of him. My brother and his wife live in Queens. They claim I’m the only one they trust enough to babysit, but I think it has more to do with me being the only
free
babysitter they know. He wears me out, but it’s worth it to hear Jacob say, ‘I wuv you, Aunt Cici‘.”