Scarred Beautiful (12 page)

“Fran? Are you all right?” I ask, concern lacing my voice.

When she lifts her hands away, I notice the milky white color of her cheeks before she staggers backwards, bracing both arms flat against the wall. Her eyes are cloudy and unfocused, her breathing accelerated. I think she might be having a panic attack. Immediately, I push the emergency button on the wall to tell whoever is on the other end that the elevator is stuck and we need help right away. A man’s gravelly voice comes over the speaker.

“We’re aware of the issue and we’re working as fast as we can to get it moving again, and apologize for the inconvenience.”

I take a couple of steps to get to Fran. She still isn’t making eye contact, but rather staring right through me.

“Fran.” I take her face in my hands. “Fran, look at me.”

She turns her head and meets my eyes, looking dazed, beads of sweat breaking out across her forehead and neck. “We’re…going to…die…a-aren’t…we? The cable’s…gonna snap…I just… know it.”

“Fran,” I say again, holding her chin and forcing her to look at me. “We’re not gonna die. There’s a problem with the elevator and they’re fixing it right now. Come on, you need to sit.” I pull her down to the floor and sit cross-legged in front of her, taking both her hands in mine, noticing how clammy they feel.

The only response she’s giving me to let me know she hears me is the hard squeeze of my hands, her nails practically digging into the skin there. I’m trying to control the panic gaining momentum inside my chest. That won’t help Fran. I need to stay calm and figure out how to get her through this.

“Fran, I want you to take some deep breaths, okay? Come on, count backwards from ten…and breathe.”

She starts to inhale through her nose and exhale through her mouth slowly, and with each breath she takes, her fingers relax beneath mine.

“Better?” I ask her when she finally reaches one, and she nods her head in response. “So, I guess you have an issue with elevators, huh?” I joke, hoping to relieve her anxiety in some way.

She finally looks up at me, a scowl turning down those pretty lips of hers. “Are you… making fun of me?” she says, her voice choppy, still working hard to regain control of her breathing. Her eyes thin, making me realize I better do something to redeem myself pretty quickly.

“No, of course not. I just didn’t realize you had an issue with elevators.”

She tips her head back against the wall, the curve of her throat staring me in the face, taunting me. “Well, I honestly…thought that I’d gotten over it. I did have anxiety about them when I was younger, but had worked through it.” She lets out a wry laugh. “I guess not,” she says, her tone lighter, and with that her breathing evens out a bit and a feeling of relief washes over me.

“So…I’ve got a phobia too.” I pause, hoping this might make her feel better. “But I don’t know if I can share it with you.”

She leans her head forward, surprise making its way to her eyes. “You can’t share it with me? I practically just fainted in front of you. So spill it, Dixon.”

I like that she used my last name. That was kind of hot.

I exhale a breath, biting the inside of my cheek. “Okay, I’ll tell you but you have to promise not to laugh.”

“Promise.” She makes an
X
across her chest and I steel myself for her response.

“I have coulrophobia,” I say, knowing full well she probably has no idea what it is.

She cocks her head to the side, her nose wrinkling in confusion. “What’s that?”

I fill my cheeks with air and blow out with a popping sound. “Okay, so this is the part where you promised not to laugh, remember?”

“Yes.”

The words spill from my mouth as quickly as possible, anxious to be rid of them. “It’s a fear of clowns, not restricted to evil ones, either.”

She barks out a laugh, pressing her lips together to stifle it, but failing miserably. “Clowns, really?”

“You said you wouldn’t laugh.” I grimace, but her laughter is contagious so I start laughing, too.

She tries once again to compose herself, but it’s pointless. “Clowns? How did that come about? Did you have a circus experience gone wrong?”

I chuckle, knowing full well I never went to the circus
because
of the clowns. “When I was growing up my sister Clara had this stuffed clown with bright red, crazy hair and a striped suit. It wasn’t a happy looking clown. Anyway, she knew I didn’t like it and every night before I went to sleep, she put it under my bed so only the head was sticking out, and it scared the shit out of me. It reminded me of that scary clown scene in the movie
Poltergeist
, and that was enough to ward me off from clowns forever. Without even realizing it, her little prank ultimately scarred me for life.”

I expect her to laugh, but instead she winces and something flashes in her eyes. Whatever it was fades into the distance when she looks down, making me realize that I’m strumming my thumb back and forth across her palm, her skin warm under my touch, and she’s letting me. “You must miss her a lot,” she says in a hushed voice.

“Yeah, I do. We were really close. We’d talk on the phone every other day and try to see each other at least four times a year. She’d always make fun of me when she came out to visit, too, because all of my food was alphabetized in the cabinets. She told me I was neurotic but I preferred to title it ‘supreme organization.’ So, what about you? Any identifiable neuroses you care to share?”

Her eyes drift upward in thought, while her finger raps against her cheek. “Hmph. Well, let’s see. You already know about the elevator thing. I do have this fear of planes, too.”

“What happened to cause that?” I ask, and she finally removes her hand from underneath mine, clasping her fingers in front of her, and I already miss her touch.

“Nothing. I’m aware it’s completely irrational. I just don’t like being that far away from the ground. There’s too much of a chance to drop out of the sky, fall to the concrete, into the ocean. You name it, I’ve got a scenario worked out.”

“But you made it to California. So you overcame,” I say with a smile, contemplating whether she would push me away if I grabbed her hand again.

“Yeah, I guess you could say that, I…I flew once before, too,” she replies, and it looks like she wants to add something but changes her mind. Her eyes make their way around the elevator then come back to land on mine. “Hmph. So what shall we do now?” she asks, making my lips curve into a wicked grin.

“I don’t know. Let’s see. Umm, we’re alone in an elevator with nothing but time on our hands and you smell really fucking good.”

She edges forward, close enough that I can see the dots of gold in her eyes before she whispers seductively, “You think so?” Then she giggles and knocks me on the shoulder so I fall flat on my back—not a bad position to be in if she’d just acquiesce. “Unfortunately for you, the ambience in here doesn’t work for me.”

I’m sure I could change her mind.

Fran’s cell phone buzzes and she scrambles to find it in her purse at the same time mine beeps indicating a text message. I sit back up and grab my phone, seeing it’s a message from Caleb.

Where the fuck are you? You’re late.

I type out a quick reply.

Stuck on an elevator…with Fran.

He responds immediately.

Okay, I’m not worried then. Enjoy
, which in turn makes me smile.

Fran finishes typing out a note on her phone.

“Who is it?”

“It’s Peyton,” she says, as she continues her reply, “she’s reminding me that the conference started today.” She laughs and sticks her phone back in her purse. “I told her I remembered, but I’m a bit indisposed.”

Fran and I spend the next hour or so discussing everything from what constitutes good design and how I ended up in architecture, to various other aspects of my life. It suddenly dawns on me that we’ve spent a good portion of that time talking about me.

“So…now that you know I alphabetize all of my food and my shirts and pants are all arranged in my closet according to color, tell me something else I don’t know about you.”

“Hmph.” She taps her finger against her mouth and my eyes can’t help but follow her there. I fight it, but I’m drawn to her lips. But it’s not just her lips, I’m starting to realize, it’s her, which means I’m royally fucked. There’s something about being with her that makes me want to throw caution to the wind, to mess up my orderly little world that suddenly seems so incredibly boring.

“I have a bit of a Twizzlers addiction,” she states, latching onto her purse and rummaging through it. “Crap, I thought I had some left.”

“I think you mean Red Vines,” I correct with a cocky smile, leaning back on my hands and crossing my legs.

“No. Red Vines
suck
. I
meant
Twizzlers.”

I ruffle my hair with my fingers, pushing it away from my eyes. “Well, I know all about Twizzlers from growing up on the East Coast, but you’re on the West Coast now baby, and we’re Red Vines all the way.”

She plays with the strap of her heel, sliding it off to rub the bottom of her foot. “Well, lucky for me then, I’ll be back on the East Coast in eleven days.”

Of course she’s going back to New York, she has a life there, but something about the thought of her leaving turns my stomach.

“Wait, what do you mean eleven days?” I ask, because the conference is over in four, but somehow I’m excited now that I might get the opportunity to spend more time with her.

“I’m staying on for a week after, you know, kind of like an extended vacation.” She releases a long, drawn-out sigh. “I haven’t had a vacation in a while, plus I want to try to see my mom.”

“What about your dad?” I question, just as the elevator roars to life and starts moving again. Fran’s eyes grow dim and she frowns, making me think that wasn’t a topic she was too interested in discussing anyway.

“Fuck!” I happen to glance at my watch and notice it’s eleven o’clock, which means I missed my presentation.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, gathering her briefcase from the floor.

“Well, the CEO is probably not going to be pleased that I missed the presentation.” I shake my head, not in the mood to face his wrath when things don’t go according to plan.

“Yeah, well, it couldn’t be helped, Matt. We were stuck. I’m sure he’ll understand that,” she says, before pressing the button for the next floor, and I rub my chin and eye her suspiciously because we’re going in the wrong direction.

“What are you doing? We need to go to the lobby.”

The elevator stops on the twelfth floor and she grabs my hand, dragging me through the doors as they slide open, pushing the up arrow on the car next to it.

“Where are we going?” I furrow my brow, looking to each end of the hallway, trying to make sense of what the hell she’s doing.

“Let’s play hooky,” she says with an excited gleam in her eyes, and for some reason my whole body tingles in anticipation at the thought of doing something spontaneous…with Fran.

“Hooky? What about the conference?” My insides have already begun their internal duel over what I should do in this situation.

“Matt, come on. It’s the first day and it ends at one today. We already missed two hours anyway. Come on, let’s get out of here,” she urges, flashing me that irresistible smile as she waits for me to answer.

I bite the inside of my lip and I’m sure she can literally see the wheels turning as I debate with myself. “Okay, why not?” I agree, just as the elevator opens and we step inside.

“Great!” She claps her hands and looks pointedly at me. “So what should we do?” she asks, with the face of a small child about to embark on a new adventure.

An idea pops in my head and I eye her clothes realizing we’re not appropriately dressed for what I have planned. “Okay, I thought of something we can do but we’re going to have to change.”

She looks down at herself and then back up at me. “Why?”

“Because you’re going to need comfortable clothing. Throw on a pair of jeans and some sneakers and I’ll be down to get you in a few minutes.” When we reach her floor, I hold the doors open and she gets out, stopping just a few inches from me.

She stares at me with those effervescent green eyes and it’s so hypnotic I can barely remember my own name. “Thank you, Matt, for being there and helping calm me down. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t been there. I probably would’ve freaked out.” She giggles. “Oh wait, I did.”

“I’m glad I was there to help and I think you did really well,” I tell her with sincerity, “because if it was me, and there had been a clown on there, it might not have ended as well.” I throw her a wink and she strolls off, her carefree laugh echoing through the hallway.