elevation

a story

He almost didn’t hold the door. What time was it. Surely almost ten, or maybe a little past it. This was only his second week on the job and he was already behind schedule after taking way too long to find the first office building. This one was easier to find, and even the traffic wasn’t too bad, despite it being one of the oldest and most busy boulevards in the city. But he had to park the truck illegally, and be quick about it, otherwise he would surely get a ticket, perhaps even have it towed, and the money to pay for all of it would no doubt come out of his pocket. It had happened already. Of course restocking vending machines was only a temporary gig until he could find a publisher for his book and get an advance, but he couldn’t lose the job, at least not right away. He needed the money. More importantly, his girlfriend, at first so supportive and enamored of his artistic ambitions, and then so understanding of his artistic dreams, had now abandoned the benign words to call them fantasies, and was neither enamored nor understanding, and thus had given him an ultimatum. He was thirty three years old, for god’s sake, and should face the reality. Maybe he would one day get his break, but until then he had to do what everybody does, be a respectable citizen, or would he rather be a bum. He was already a bum, and he didn’t want to be a single one, so he got the first job he could find, but was already failing.

Despite all this, when he saw the leggy brunette of generous bosom striding across the lobby like a gazelle, no, like a cheetah, a wonderfully dangerous and beautiful carnivore, locking eyes with him from a distance and raising her hand to ask that he hold the elevator for her, he held it. It would be bad manners, for one thing, but really no man in his right mind would ever say no to such a marvelous creature. That word was for her to say, and never to hear. He left the pallets with food and drink behind and rushed to the electric door, placed his hand over the sensor and left it there until the beautiful woman waltzed past him, leaving her sensuous scent in the air for him to sniff. Was it caramel. Maybe marzipan. Whatever it was, it was intoxicating.

Thank you, she said. No problem, what floor, Thirteen. He pressed the button and was going to say something about the unlucky number, trying to make conversation, but instead said nothing and got behind the pallets again. She was not only extremely sexy and curvaceous, but truly beautiful. Ridiculously so. What was she. A model, an actress. At least she could be. Or she could simply be one of those women who doesn’t have to work, whose beauty is enough to make her lack nothing, the world itself opened with endless bounty, thankful for her mere existence. The kind of woman every other female secretly hated and envied, maybe not even all that secretly. She had one of those faces that any keen observer of the female species knows right away will survive the test of time. Even behind the make up he knew it was the case. In fact, he knew she would look even more beautiful and lovely without it. A mediterranean kind of beauty with bangs and a perfect little nose and impossibly large eyes, achieving that impossible balance, half girl next door half femme fatale, each side triggered at will for maximum effect at the right moment. A Monica Bellucci type, he thought, but his thought was incomplete, so he added, With something of Winona Ryder. Yes, that’s it. In their prime, of course. She probably had men give her unwanted attention since before it was appropriate, and will continue to have it well beyond what is normal or fair to younger and less stunning women. If he had to guess, she was likely in her mid twenties, but with these types it is always impossible to tell. She could very well be in her mid thirties and simply keep her girlish looks effortlessly. That is until she turns on that other part of her, and becomes a sort of hyper sexual vampire ready to suck the life out of some helpless male. From angel to devil in a minute. He’d seen it happen. And she was the most exquisite example, no doubt. My god she is gorgeous.

Now that she had her back turned to him, he could examine her curves in detail, which her tight black dress more than facilitated. The tightness and the dark color, not to mention the curves themselves, invited examination. Demanded it, in fact. Any student of female anatomy, even an amateur one like him, would be hard pressed to not look at it in detail. Those curves were surely sculpted by the most dexterous and talented hands in the heavens, every arch, every angle, every bend and every swerve along her body a masterpiece. In her presence no one could believe in darwinism, chance alone was not sufficient to produce such a flawless specimen. No, it had to be created, with purpose, and an eye for the platonic patterns of eternal beauty. She was a statue, a goddess, a statue of a goddess. Except made of flesh and blood and bone and skin, the hardest materials to work with. The dress was not too short, and not too long, stopping just above the knee, the suggestion of thighs even more exhilarating than if they had been bare. Upward from her wide hips into an almost obscenely thin waist, wasp waist they called it, certainly not only because of the shape, but due to the predatory nature of the animal. A hint of side breast, perfectly sculpted like the rest, and then he almost felt sorry that she had such wonderfully lush brown hair descending in soft curls down her back, since it hid the naked top of her spine and neck. Thankfully there were still her naked shoulders, or most of them anyway. He wished the elevator had mirrors everywhere so he could see all angles of her, but the only mirror was behind him.

An overwhelming urge to say something to her, to call her attention, to ask her out, almost took over him, but he quickly remembered that, one, she no doubt had access to better men than him, men with money and status, if there is one thing she certainly does not lack is a long list of suitors. Thus she would want nothing with a penniless author slash delivery driver like him. That’s just how the world works. She probably would laugh at his presumption, and it would be deserved. And two, he remembered probably a little later than he should that he had a girlfriend, that he liked her, and that she was also out of his league. More importantly he remembered that she paid for everything, he had nowhere else to go. With all this in mind, he resigned himself to simply watch her for however long the elevator took to get to the thirteenth floor.

The only way a man like him would have a chance with a woman like her was if they were somehow the last survivors of a nuclear holocaust or a zombie apocalypse, stranded on an uninhabited island or safe within an unconquerable fortress, the two of them being the last chance humanity had, not only of surviving, but of continuing, where and when it would not only make sense but be for the greater good of mankind for them to copulate, and that often. Either that or some other absurd scenario. If he was writing one of his stories he would have the power go out, the elevator would be stuck right there, between the seventh and the eight floor, and it would stay stuck long enough for them to get acquainted, perhaps even fall in love, or at least have passionate sex to relieve the stress.

Maybe this was why he had failed so far to get his novels published. They were too unrealistic, not to mention offensive or whatever. What the agents always accused him of, censoriously, was the objectification of women, or sexism if they were in a rush to dismiss him. He suspected it was because, although they were usually female, they were probably rather ugly, and maybe fat, or at least misshapen, and thus envious of any woman with any modicum of sex appeal, spitefully against the very idea that a woman’s beauty could move mountains, bring down empires, or save the human race. Obviously they knew nothing about history or reality, but he was tired of rejection, and by now had resigned himself to the fact that literary agents did not take kindly to heterosexual feelings. Which is why he had forced himself to write a new book without any sex or mention of beautiful women at all. This was hard for him.

The elevator hadn’t stopped along the way to make his fantasy come true. Soon it would reach the unlucky floor. The doors would open and she would just walk out, one amazing leg after another amazing leg, until she disappeared behind a corner, and he would never see her again, except perhaps on television, or even the movies, if she ever became famous. Then he would say to whoever was next to him in the theater, You know, once I held the elevator door for her, and for a couple of minutes we rode together, alone. Then they would ask, Was she as hot as she is now. And he would say, Yeah, such a knockout. But he was no longer focused on the woman’s bare shoulders or the magnificent sway of her hips or even the perfection of her ankles over stiletto heels, but rather thinking about how much longer he would have to wait to hear back from the agents on his sexless book, when the lights went out, the elevator stopped, and everything was quiet. Not a minute later the emergency light came on, dark orange tending towards red, and right after the ventilation system begun to whir, and then hum. But they weren’t moving.

Brilliant, she could not help from exclaiming, ignoring him completely. At least she wasn’t panicked, he could tell from her tone that she was just annoyed. She started pressing the emergency button repeatedly, but nothing happened. Then the alarm button. It rang for less than a second every time she pressed it, but that was all it did. She reached into her purse, got her phone and found it had no service. Then finally she turned to him, who until then had done nothing but watch her, and said, Do you have a phone. He said yes. Just like hers it had no service. Damn it. David offered a solution, We don’t need service for the emergency number. It took only a second for the call to be picked up, but not by a human. Instead an automated message informed that there was an unusual high volume of calls, apologized for the inconvenience and requested patience, and then once the message was delivered, there was a thirty second bit of inspirational electronic muzak, a forty five second loop, with no beginning nor end, the kind of lifeless corporate music that is both forgettable and also somehow offensive to the ears. After a few loops the message was played again, and then again the muzak, and so on, over and over.

Still nothing…, Nope. She turned her back to him again, and again pressed the emergency button repeatedly, to the same lack of result. He could now see the tension in her movements and imagined that maybe she was afraid of being stuck in an elevator with a stranger. A man, no less. Are you ok, Yeah, just annoyed…, What’s your name, Alma, That’s an unusual name… pretty… I’m David, nice to meet you. She didn’t reply, and after a minute or so said, Maybe I should try calling from mine, which she did, and got the same message, and then the same muzak, and then the same message, just like him, and then finally David said, Look… there’s no point in both of us being on the line, we’re only adding to the queue, and wasting battery… I’ll put it on speaker. She agreed, and seemed to relax a bit, perhaps reassured by the reasonable observation. He added one more bit of reassurance, There are probably people in the building already working on getting us unstuck, But then why doesn’t the emergency button work, why haven’t they said anything through the intercom. He had no answer other than, These things happen, they have contingency plans for it, it’s just a matter of time.

The muzak gave way to the message again. He could see she was still tense, and probably tired from standing, especially in those ridiculously high heels. He rehearsed a couple of lines but there was no way to ask if she wanted to take her shoes off without sounding somehow sexual, so instead he said, Do you want to sit down, to which she replied, No… it’s ok. She was probably thinking, Sit down… in this dress…, but David took off the first few pallets with food from the top, until he reached the ones with cans at the bottom, setting one down next to her and then another on top, and then he did the same across from her, sitting down first without venturing even a glance at her lovely figure, even though he wanted to. She sat and said thank you, with the tinniest hint of a smile during the briefest of microseconds, and then added, I’m gonna take off my shoes, if that’s alright. He had no objections. Her dress was raised over her thigh as she sat, just enough for him to catch a glance of the laced end of her black stockings. He couldn’t look away fast enough for her not to notice, and she pulled the dress down enough to cover the lace.

They sat there and avoided looking at each other. He was trying his hardest not to be a creep, pretending that she wasn’t the most attractive woman he had ever laid eyes on. The elevator wasn’t small, but the more time passed the more the space seemed to contract. He looked at the mirror and she was there too, so he looked at the doors and then the panel with the buttons and then the ceiling and then the remaining pallets on the cart and those on the floor, and then at his phone, over and over again. Everywhere but at her. The automated message and muzak from the emergency number kept going. Just turn it off, she said out of nowhere, …it’s annoying, we’ll try again later. The silence was first welcomed, and they both sighed with relief, but then it was uncomfortable, as now he had one place less to look at, though he kept trying, but it was too obvious, why was he looking at a phone with no service. Maybe I could try and connect to the building wifi from here. It was unlikely, but worth a shot. No wifi. And then they were back to square one, awkward silence, nowhere to look, the dim orange red light by now almost hallucinatory. Alma’s wonderful leg had started twitching, soon he would see the end of her thigh high stocking again.

I wish we could smoke, she said after a bit. Why can’t we, was his reply. It’s not allowed…, Well, if they didn’t want us to smoke then they shouldn’t make us wait so long. She was only half convinced, but he added, The ventilation system is working, and that clinched it. She reached into her purse and took out a tall pack of slim cigarettes, then put one of them between her lips and tried to lit it, but her lighter was out of gas. Do you have a light, she asked, but he was distracted now, watching her movements, every one of them more attractive than the last, then getting back to earth fast enough for her not to notice, he lit her cigarette, and couldn’t help looking her in the eye as he did. Her eyes were so large and captivating, even as she squinted taking the first deep drag of her slender cigarette. A few nervous puffs, inhaling deeply and holding the smoke in her lungs before expelling it, while he rolled one of his own, distracted. When he lit his cigarette he started to relax, and she too was puffing more slowly and absent minded, getting over her nerves. The elevator was full of smoke, the ventilation system was not able to clear the air quickly enough. Was it dangerous, he wondered, but the relief from the nicotine was too welcome to worry about it, and she didn’t seem worried either.

Not a word while they smoked. Every once in a while their eyes met, David did his best to look non threatening and disinterested, and probably failed at the latter. No doubt Alma knew the effect she had on men, any pretense of neutrality was absurd, and she saw through it. But she smiled innocently a couple of times before moving on to look at the panel with the buttons, or the pallets, or at herself in the mirror. They put out the cigarettes in a corner and then Alma said, Let’s try again. And again the same automated message and the same muzak. What the hell is going on. David had no answer, other than, I need to get up for a bit, stretch my legs. She thought it was a good idea and did the same. Because the pallets were occupying so much space on the floor, they were now very close, and when they noticed this they instinctively turned their back on each other, after half a minute where David considered they might be drawn by some centrifugal force into each other’s arms and have no option but to kiss, at the very least. Instead he picked up the food pallets from the floor and put them back in the cart to release some space. They stretched their bodies as far away from each other as the elevator allowed. Then he sat down again. Alma remained standing on her naked feet, her calves lost none of their perfection without the high heels. He could not help noticing.

Still he tried not to look at her at all. Except by now even if he wasn’t looking he was seeing her in his mind, and that was somehow worse. Like all writers, he had an active imagination, and nothing prevented it from straying. In reality she was just standing there, but in his mind, if he wasn’t careful, she would probably complain about it being too warm, and start to remove her dress, though not the stockings, no, not the stockings. Thankfully she interrupted his inappropriate thoughts, Do you like your job, What, Your job, she said looking at him and then the cart with the remaining pallets. Oh, right, well, it’s fine… I’ve only been doing it for a couple of weeks, and anyway it’s temporary, this is not my real job… I’m a writer. She sat down again, and said looking straight at him, That’s interesting, what do you write, Fiction, Anything I might know, No, probably not, Why not, Have you ever heard of hypnagothic magazine, No, Yeah well, that’s the only place so far where I’ve been published, What did you publish, A couple of short stories, What were they about, One was about a funeral business… but with a twist, What’s the twist, Oh I don’t want to spoil it, if you ever want to read it, Just tell me, Ok… the twist is that the funeral business is for spirits before they are born, What, It’s something like… before we’re born we actually die, except, you know, in another world, and then we come here, so just like when we die here, there is stuff to take care of, for the funeral, That’s a little morbid, It was supposed to be funny, but you’d have to read it, the humor is in the prose, not the topic, And what was the other story, The other story was about this washed up jazz musician who falls in love with an escort, That’s it… that’s all that happens, Well one day she tells him she is getting married and that it will be the last time they are together, and he sort of loses it and goes after her and then gets beaten up by her pimp, or her fiance, it’s not clear in the story, And then what, Then nothing, the story ends there, with him bleeding on the curb in front of her apartment, Hmm… feels like there should be more to it…, If it comes to me I’ll write it, And what else, What do you mean, What else did you write, Some other things… but enough about me, what do you do, do you work in the building.

Before she could answer there was a voice coming through the intercom, Hello, is anybody there, can you hear me. They both jumped to their feet and got close to the speaker. David didn’t even notice their arms were touching. Below the emergency button there is a little compartment that can be opened, in there you will see a little black button, press it so we can hear you. They did as told. Hello, can you hear us. Hello. Hello. Anyone there. But nobody replied. Then they heard a little far off the same voice say, They can’t hear us, and another, Maybe we can’t hear them… or maybe there’s no one there at all, There is somebody there for sure, at least a few people judging from the weight, It could also just be cargo, Who would put cargo in an elevator and leave it there, It can happen, maybe whoever did it went back to get more and the elevator was called before they could… ge… ba…, Shit, David said, we’re losing them. Alma and David started banging on the walls and shouting, trying to make their presence known, but for nothing. Soon the sound from the intercom was clear enough again for them to hear the two voices finish their dispute, they were talking about the delivery truck being left outside, and then the original one, speaking directly at the microphone, If there’s someone in there… just be patient, there is no danger, I repeat, there is no danger, the elevator is stuck but the vents are working, the maintenance guys say they can’t get the backup system to work properly so that’s why the elevator isn’t moving, but they are not authorized to go get you…, there is a country wide power outage, the fire department is overwhelmed with calls but they will come as soon as they can, so just… you know… hang in there. They still heard the other man say again, There’s probably no one in there, and then a click.

They sat down again. It had now been almost an hour since they got stuck, and while the message was meant to calm them down, it rather made them more aware of the seriousness of their predicament. Luckily neither one was claustrophobic, but there was no doubt that the more time passed, the more anxiety pressed upon them. Even a zen monk would start to fidget, if not worry. Country wide… sounds serious, David could not help himself from commenting. Alma concurred with her eyes, now obviously a little troubled, and said afterward, I need another smoke… I wish there was something to drink, There’s soda, and ice tea, David said referring to the cans in the pallets, but Alma meant something with alcohol, and he knew it. He didn’t really think before he offered the only alternative he could, We can smoke a joint… if you want. But she said no. Now that he’d said it out loud, it was in his mind, and wouldn’t disappear, so eventually he asked, Well… do you mind if I smoke. She wasn’t sure, so deflected, Do you smoke every day.

I used to… then I stopped for a few years, and now… I guess I do again, What changed. He laughed as he pinpointed the reason, It’s because I have a full time job now…, So it’s to numb you down, No… the opposite, it’s so I can find some enjoyment even in mundane tasks and mundane situations while my mind keeps working in the background until I am free again, Working on what, On my stories. Now Alma seemed pensive, so David asked, What about you, did you ever try it, Yeah of course, And do you still smoke it, Yes, but not every day… far from it, mostly with company, Well… you have company now. She was still unsure. Don’t you think it might be dangerous, Why would it be dangerous, You hear of people who get paranoid and go crazy with it even when they’re not trapped in elevators with strangers, …no offense, Did it ever happen to you… to go crazy on it, Not that I remember, Me neither… so I don’t think there’s anything to worry about… and besides I don’t have enough to get anyone paranoid…, Ok…, …Will you smoke with me. The question was utilitarian. He wanted to adjust the proportions of tobacco and hash appropriately for either one or two smokers. Alma was stressed enough to consider it a moral question, and to accept.

He prepared it in a hurry, although he wasn’t sure why, and didn’t talk while he did so. But it took ages to complete, and she too seemed uncomfortable with the silence, or maybe her decision, but said nothing, and only fidgeted, or prevented herself from fidgeting. Alright… here. He offered the joint but she said, You start. He lit it, inhaled with determination a few times, then handed it to her and watched. She didn’t say anything and looked at herself in the mirror as she smoked. You never told me what you do. When David said this Alma turned from the mirror and looked straight at him with such cunning and stunning eyes that he felt dizzy for a moment. She took another long drag, held the smoke in her lungs for a second, squinting to avoid it in her eyes when it came out, and then said only a word as she handed back the joint, Guess.

It took him a while to get over his lust, after which he tried to act nonchalantly and said in as neutral a voice as possible, Actress… or model, Hmm… why do you think that. Her reaction and tone gave away nothing of the secret. What could he say. Maybe the drug was wearing down his inhibition, though that was very rarely the case, if anything the opposite. So it must have been the cramped space and unusual situation that was to blame, because instead of offering a reasoned response, saying for example something about there being both an advertising and a talent agency in the building, he said, Come on…, What…, You know what, Do I…, Yes... you must know, What must I know, That you’re a beautiful specimen of the female race, Yes… I do know…, a pause to look herself in the mirror before saying, But I’m not an actress, or a model, Then what are you, Keep guessing, Oh I have no idea, those were my best guesses, Then I suppose you will never know, Can’t you just tell me, What’s the fun in that. The way she was looking at him… it was… sinful, that was the word he used to himself. He felt something stirring, but refused to give in. Maybe she was being like this because she considered him so non threatening that it would just be fun and harmless to toy with him, like a cat pawing a helpless mouse. Meanwhile she got up, and he decided it was best to remain seated, especially as she turned his back on him and stretched, parading all her curves for him. Or that’s what he was seeing. He tried to put himself in her shoes, and decided it was best to assume the drug and the situation were responsible for her behavior.

He got carried away with the smoke, searching out distractedly for reasons and backstories and found himself asking, in the most natural and clear of tones, Do you have a boyfriend, No…, she said as she sat down again. Only then did he consider the question somewhat improper, and unprompted. But that didn’t stop him from following up, maybe the drug really was having its way with him, How is that possible, What kind of question is that, The obvious kind, Why is it so obvious…, It just is, It’s only because of how I’m dressed, No, it’s not, Yes, it is, believe me… I don’t usually dress like this… in fact I never do, Why not, Because it’s stupid, it’s too much, don’t you think, Maybe a little… it depends, On what, On the context, if you were going to a fancy event… a dress like that wouldn’t be out of place…, Well I think it would still be too much, Regardless… you would be attractive whatever the clothes, And that somehow means I must have a boyfriend, No… I mean… I guess what I meant was that a woman like you is only single if she wants to be, Who said I was single…, You don’t have a ring, so you’re not married… are you a lesbian, Isn’t every woman, You’re just messing with me…, Yes..., Ok, so why are you dressed like that. His glance was dangerously drifting from her eyes down her neck and into her cleavage, and then towards the lace in her stockings, peering again below the skirt. But she didn’t flinch, pulled the dress over her thigh again, and then said with those ungodly large and warm brown eyes, If I told you I would have to kill you.

At this point he had two mutually exclusive options. He either kissed her, and then nature would take its more than justified course, or he would change the subject and try the emergency number again, see if they had cellphone service, or try to communicate through the intercom. He decided on the latter. Yes, she was teasing him, but that didn’t mean anything, it was not necessarily an invitation for something more, though he of course was hoping it was. But in that small space, in such conditions, he didn’t want to risk scaring her. This train of thought, difficult though it was to follow, as all the voices of lust kept trying to contradict the one of reason, gave him some confidence. He didn’t even think about his girlfriend until he was already getting up and checking his phone. She had tried to call, but the service was only strong enough to deliver a silent notification of the attempt. There’s no point calling the number again, Alma said all of a sudden. Why not, Because the firemen already know about us, supposedly, Yes… that’s true… do you want to try the intercom again, We could. So they did.

But just like before, they couldn’t get through to anyone. They sat down again feeling defeated, and tired. Then Alma said, My mouth is so dry…, and David asked, What do you want. The options were cola, lime flavored soda, and two types of ice tea, lemon and peach. Alma chose the cola without thinking twice, but changed her mind at the last second, No, ice tea, peach. She was sitting over the pallet that had it, and moved her wonderful legs out of the way, carefully so the dress wouldn’t rise over her thighs again, and he knelt equally carefully, avoiding even a single look at her magnificent flesh, tearing the plastic with his fingers, taking out a can and then handing it to her before getting up. She accepted it. Then he got back to his seat and watched her quench her thirst. Don’t drink too much, Why not, Because eventually you’ll have to pee, Right… let’s hope it doesn’t come to that, is what she said, and David imagined she hadn’t considered the possibility until now, but Alma had considered it immediately when the elevator first stopped, and every ten minutes was reminded.

She must have been worried about the prospect of having to pee not only in a closed elevator but also next to a stranger, and kept looking at the ceiling, while he was looking at her lovely neck. Then her gaze came down and she said, pointing upward, Do you think you could try opening that hatch, And then what, We’ll try to get out, Might be dangerous…, We’ll never know unless we try, maybe we’re really close to the next floor, Ok. They both stood up. David stacked the pallets with cans to climb. It was not particularly stable. One hand on the ceiling for equilibrium and another pushing the hatch. It wouldn’t open easily. Should I try and force it, Sure. He banged his closed fist against it as hard as he could a few times, but it was impossible to exert his full force, or even half of it, given the precarious balance of standing over pallets with soda cans. He successfully made a lot of noise, but as for the hatch, it wouldn’t budge. He felt a little emasculated. He couldn’t be the hero who would save them from confinement. Someone stronger or more athletic would probably have done it easily, or at least that’s what he thought.

He gave up, climbed back down and asked, Now what. Alma’s stomach was the one replying with a growl. The food pallets had only snacks, the machines with sandwiches and salads and pot pies and other such foods were restocked by another company. Chocolate bars, potato and tortilla chips, candy beans and oatmeal cookies. That was it. Alma was having trouble deciding, so David said, Let’s get one of each, starting with the chips, which ones do you want first, Tortillas. He handed the small packet to her, opened his own of potato chips and said half as a joke, Bon appetit. The crackling of the packets and their munching was louder than they imagined. They both noticed it and laughed. Do you want to trade, Alma asked, and David said, I don’t like tortilla chips, but if you want these you can have them. She wanted them. He watched her finish the potato chips, and then before she asked him he offered the open can of ice tea for her to wash the snack down. Ok, so what’s next, cookies, chocolate or candy beans, Maybe a bit of chocolate… for desert. There were two kinds, praline and coconut. They both grimaced at the coconut, so it was decided. The chocolate bar was broke in half, an almost religious moment, and each of them ate absent minded. Another gulp from Alma and she offered the drink to David, who finished it. And now a cigarette, he asked or declared, but either way she agreed. After lighting hers and then his own he decided to check the phone for a signal, or something, and she did the same, but there was no change.

We’ve been here for a while, we broke bread, so now you can tell me what you were coming into the building to do, No I can’t, that would be cheating, you have to guess, Why not just tell me, Because I don’t want to, Ok. It had now been almost four hours since they got trapped there, and he had imagined the prolonged confinement and now the meal, improvised and insufficient though it was, had bought some proximity between them, but obviously he was wrong, and his thoughts went back to when he first saw her. None of it changed anything. She was still way out of his league and would always be. She knew it as well as he did, and would never allow any intimacy to grow between them. Only in his fiction could they get close in any way. In reality, it would never happen. She noticed the change in his demeanor and was uncomfortable with it, so asked him, Are you from around here, Yeah… well, from the west side, but yeah, how about you, No… I was born in a village up north you probably never heard of, When did you move here, When I was nineteen, So you grew up in the village, No, my parents moved us to venezuela when I was nine, How old are you now, Don’t you know it’s impolite to ask a lady her age, she said playfully, and then ignoring his apology, I’m twenty nine… you, Thirty four in the summer... why did you come back, To study, What did you study. She seemed embarrassed to say, so he added, If you don’t want to say because it will reveal your secret occupation you don’t have to…, No, it’s not that, it’s just… it’s stupid. She took one last drag of her cigarette and put it out. I studied journalism…, Why is that stupid, Have you met any journalists, No… maybe… I don’t know, Well, let’s just say it’s a stupid business, So I gather that despite studying journalism you are no longer a journalist, Never really was one, Why did you study it, To be honest I don’t know anymore… I had this idea of being a reporter, going to war zones and disasters… that sort of thing, War zones…, Yeah… it’s dumb, No, just unusual…, What about you, what did you study, Guess. Now it was her turn, and she accepted the play. Hmm… let’s see, it has to be something that basically leads to underemployment… but it would be too convenient for you to have studied literature… definitely humanities though… I’m gonna say history. As a reply he mimicked the noise played on game shows when the contestants get things wrong. Ok, so it wasn’t history… but I bet it was something close to that… sociology… no, philosophy, Wrong again, Ok I give up then, Believe it or not I was supposed to be a lawyer…, And why aren’t you, Well… by the time I finished my degree I kinda hated it, and then when I finished my masters I really really hated it. She laughed and said, Then we’re not so different, that’s more or less what happened to me.

He didn’t know what to say after that. The more she let her guard down, the more natural her demeanor, the more beautiful and lovely and attractive she became. He wanted to kiss her, but instead offered to make another joint. Having nothing else to do and nowhere to go, she accepted. She got up to stretch again as he rolled the joint, and neither of them spoke again until it was lit. He passed it to her after a few drags and thought of something to ask. What was it like growing up in venezuela. She inhaled and exhaled with a sigh as she said, Not great, Why, Because it’s a dangerous place, don’t you watch the news… people getting robbed, killed, kidnapped, that sort of thing, Do you know anyone that happened to, Yes, and it happened to me too, What did, Kidnapping, Wow… I’m sorry…, It could have been worse… they didn’t rape me, Were you afraid, What do you think, How old were you, Twelve, And how did you escape, My parents paid the ransom. He didn’t know what to say after that except to repeat that he was sorry. But it wasn’t all bad… growing up there… it’s just all the good things were mixed with the bad ones, Give me an example. She had to think for a bit. So, basically, the way it works over there is, the europeans and their descendants live in these enclaves, separated from the natives, because otherwise what happened to me would happen even more often to everyone, and that has some advantages, Like what, Like for example, besides spanish I also learned italian and french and english, and even a bit of german and swedish, because my friends and schoolmates were from all these different backgrounds, Yeah I guess that makes sense, But then normal things that kids do here I wasn’t allowed to do, Like what, Like riding a bicycle… I never learned to do it properly because I was not allowed to ride outside our building. David was taking the last drag, deep and pensive, and said without thinking, When we get out of here… I will teach you. The emergency orange red light within the elevator made it so that David couldn’t notice she was blushing. But quickly her expression changed, and she seemed rather worried. He didn’t have time to wonder what the reason was. I have some bad news… I really have to pee.

He said it was ok and went to a corner near the door, facing the wall. She was uncomfortable, obviously, and took a while before she decided on how and where to do it. She chose the opposite corner from him, and perhaps by instinct decided to face him rather than turn her back, that way she could check if he was peeping, even though she knew he wouldn’t. Before she crouched and pulled up her dress and down her panties he said, Wait… I have an idea… can I turn. She said yes. It’s a little ridiculous, he said, …but I think this might help. He picked up a bag of chips, opened it, then crushed the contents before handing it to her and saying, This way the chips will absorb the liquid, maybe even the smell, so it won’t reek, but at the very least there won’t be pee all over the floor. Both of them were embarrassed now, but especially her. Still, it was a good idea. He faced the wall of the elevator again, and she did her business. It worked, but now he had to go too. They changed positions, another bag of chips was opened and crushed, and then filled with urine. The two bags were put in the corner behind the pallets. It was the best they could do.

How much longer can this take, Alma asked, now clearly a little exasperated. They had been there for five hours. Still no cellphone service, no way to get through to the building management, and no sign of the firefighters. They weren’t yet at the point of desperation. But who knew how much longer they would have to be there still. And sooner rather than later indignity would pile up on indignity, and each would have an exponential effect on their already meager comfort inside the elevator. But even setting aside these more extreme considerations, they were by now very tired, their bodies battered by the lack of space, their minds starting to drift. Legs and back and neck aches, and sometimes all of them together, and when not engaged in conversation, fuzzy thinking and mild disassociation. In the moments of clarity David didn’t know what to do or say except to offer more food, or drink, or another joint, or another cigarette, but Alma didn’t want anything. Tell me one of your stories, she said eventually. No… I’d rather not, was his uncomfortable reply, Why, Because… my stories only work in writing… it’s hard to explain, Ok… then tell me something else, Like what…, Oh I don’t know just talk about something, anything… do you have a girlfriend. She was asking but not really because she was interested in him, she just wanted him to both distract and keep her awake. Yes I have a girlfriend, What’s her name, what’s she like, It doesn’t matter, Why not, Because it’s not gonna last, Why not, It just won’t, it ran its course, How long have you been together, Almost two years, So you’re going to break up with her, Either I will or she will, Ok. Another dead end. I know you don’t want to, but do you mind if I smoke, Go ahead. The whole time David’s now clammy hands took to roll the cigarette, he said nothing. And she didn’t either. Both of them hypnotized by the hum of the ventilator, and the orange red light, which seemed to become ever dimmer, without ever going out. One shot of nicotine was enough to get at least his mind moving. And from there he thought of opening a can of cola, it had caffeine and sugar in it, it would help dispel their sluggishness. They both got up to drink and stretch, and then David said, I’ve thought of a story to tell you, but it’s not something I’ve written… it’s just something that happened…, Can I smoke. She took his cigarette, ready to hear the story.

Ok… we were like… nineteen, early twenties… and back then we used to spend most of our free time parked in this cul de sac, getting high and listening to music. Now, one of our friends, Johnny, he was the one who really banked most of it. He was the oldest, and had a job, and earned more money than the rest of us combined. And he also smoked more than all of us put together. So anyway, he met a new dealer, and not long after that this guy made us a business proposal. We would give him a thousand bucks, then he would go to Tunisia and get us twice the quantity or more than could be gotten here with the same money, not to mention higher quality, and variety. We passed on the deal, but Johnny was sold and fronted the whole sum. The dealer was supposed to return a month later. By the third we knew he was never coming back. One day, more than six months after the deal was made, we were parked in the cul de sac like always and someone remembered the story. We started making fun of Johnny, of course, but he hadn’t lost faith, and said, You’ll see, he’ll be back. And I swear to god, a minute later or so, we hear a knock on the window, and it’s the guy.

Did he have the drugs, He had about half of it, but it was a lot, and he gave the rest of the money back. Incredible, Yeah…, we laughed for ten straight minutes after he left, we were pretty happy… then we drove to another friend’s beach house, and played pool and table tennis all night, and even made a space cake..., anyway, I still buy from that same guy, to this day..., he’s a real character. Without asking he started preparing another joint but stopped to say, This will be the last one, would you rather save it for later. The idea of an undefined later that at this point could very well be after forever, and the prospect of having to ration things and what it implied, disturbed Alma a little bit, No, just do it…, Look Alma, don’t worry… I’m sure this will be over soon, we just need to wait a little longer. Even he could detect how uncertain the tone of his voice was. What will you do when you get out of here, If the truck is still there, which I doubt, I will call my boss and tell him what happened and then drive to the warehouse, what about you, Go home, get out of these ridiculous clothes and take a shower, Where do you live, Not far from here… you, Outside the city.

I’ll probably end up writing a story about this… when I get home, And what will you write. He considered his words briefly, but was too tired. I’ll probably write about the two characters getting it on, falling in love. She replied, Yes, that makes sense for a story. Literary dreams mixed with the smoke in the room, the humming sound around them, and his present desires. Until David said, Look, we’ve been here far too long, you have to tell me… to reveal the secret. She thought for a moment, all the while her gaze was fixed on him, examining his features for signs of trustworthiness, or lack of it, and then finally said, Ok… I’ll show you, and took out some papers from her purse. He was a bit confused but accepted them. They were divorce papers. So you’re getting divorced…, Yup… I came to give the papers to my husband, or ex husband…, And that’s why you’re dressed like this, to make him regret it, It’s stupid… I see that now… trust me, It’s hard to believe someone would dump you.

Without any prior indication or warning, the orange red light went out, the ventilation system stopped, and for a second they were really worried. But quickly the normal light came on, and the elevator began to move. It stopped less than a minute later, on the thirteenth floor. They got out as the doors opened, disoriented. The floor was quiet and empty. They stretched, and then Alma asked, Can you get my things. He trembled as he got back in, then picked up her purse and shoes, looked around one last time, and got out again.

Down the stairs only the sound of their steps, tension trapped inside their bodies. A security guard came to meet them in the lobby and asked what they were doing there. They told him. He was confused, but let it go. Just then the firemen came in and rushed to the front desk. David and Alma kept walking. Outside the building there was traffic, and noise, the street was full of people, and the delivery truck was no longer there. So what is it that you do, if it’s not journalism and it’s not in this building. This time Alma replied right away, I work in a museum. And what do you do there. She took her time, looking around, and then said, My car is parked just around the corner, walk with me and I’ll tell you on the way.