Love in a Lift?

I’ve had much strange stuff happen to me over the years, and had my fair share of moments. Some were good, some great, some just plain sucked. But the one that really took the cake was how I met my future wife. Hey, hey, hold up. Yeah, you, all of you who are beginning to run like hell. This is not a lovey-dovey romance. I don’t do flowery stuff. Well, not too flowery. So.1

It was any old day, just as usual. I was just a couple of months shy of my 20th birthday, and was working at an architectural company as an intern, and working on my degree at the same time. Monday it was, and a crap Monday too, at that. For a start, my shower refused to yield absolutely any hot water at all, instead deluging me in a cascade of freezing water. Would have been fine on a hot day, but not on a rather cold morning. No thanks. I could have also done without my first two slices of burnt toast. 2

Throwing on a pair of slacks and a linen coat over a white shirt, I grabbed my shoulder-bag, and hurried out of the flat.3

Damn that cat. That’s the fourth effing time it’s tripped me over when I’m in a bloody hurry.  It has got to go. Forever. And I mean it this time. 4

I got on the subway and made my way into the hustling mess of central NYC. If there are more people in a single place anywhere else in the world in so much of a hurry, please let me know.5

Anyway, I made it into the office block where the company I worked for was, and marched into the lobby. Giving the security guy a distracted smile, I punched the button for the lift, and waited. Funnily enough, there were no people for the lift I was waiting for when it arrived with a little ping. I got on, pressed the button for the 12th floor and watched the doors slide slowly close.6

“Wait!” A harried female voice rang out from the lobby I had just left, apparently directed at me. Instinct directed me to slam the ‘open doors’ button, and hold it to admit a panting woman dressed in the typical New Yorker business attire. 7

When she had sufficiently recovered her breath and composure, she looked in my direction and flashed me a smile, and said “Thank you, very much.”8

Did I actually hear what she said? Er, probably not. Why? Maybe it was that smile. And I don’t mean that fake smile that people flash without meaning, merely a twist of their lips, which doesn't reach the eyes. No siree, this was the real deal. Glittering white teeth and smooth full lips, with just a touch of lip gloss, may have had a teeny bit to do with it. Oh yeah. So how do I know what to put on this paper, as I am telling you this story? 9

Oh, I think I found a new talent that day. Lip reading.10

I mechanically answered, “Oh, no worries. Which floor?”11

“Twelfth, please.” What a lilting voice. And to think that I used to think that rock music was soothing to my ears.12

I gestured at the already lit twelfth button. “You work at Mason’s and Richard’s, too?”13

“Yes. You too?” 14

“Yeah. Intern. I’m under Ross.” She worked for my company? I must have been blind not to notice her before. 15

“How nice.” She gave me another smile, and turned away.16

She took out a mirror and began to check her tousled hair – oh the hair. (For those of you who don’t like people waxing lyrical, sorry.) Her golden tresses flowed down to her shoulders, beautifully curled at the ends, with strands falling over her finely chiselled face, with defined cheekbones, azure blue eyes, aquiline nose, and the aforementioned lips. Oh boyo. I could go on and on, and on and still on ….17

I was jerked back to the present when I realised she was giving me a slightly quizzical look. Geezers, I must have been staring. Ahem, staring ? Went a little voice in my head. Boy, you had your eyes popping out. 18

I flushed and turned my head and pretended to be very interested in the wooden panelling on the walls of the lift. I read and re-read the sign above the buttons, saying – Max. Twelve People Only. What a fool she must think me now.19

I could see that out of the corner of my eye that she was now just flipping through a folder she was carrying, full of blueprints of some kind. She was obviously a company head honcho or at least someone with her own office and a shiny nameplate on her door, for she certainly looked the part. Serious businesswoman and all that. Not some girly girl. And not some neeky nerd, either. And FYI, way out if my league. Ha. I felt unimportant and small next to her. Chrissakes, I was just an intern, with a little cubicle made out of canvas, and I spent my days running around after people at the office, notepad and pen in hand. 20

And, to make matters worse, I don’t think she was anywhere near my age. *Sigh.*21

And then, it happened, the turning point if my life. The happy incident/accident that until today I have thanked the guy upstairs for. 22

The lift broke down.23

It was kind of smooth and sudden, a tiny tremor went through the lift, and it shuddered to a halt. The lights blinked, flickered and went out, leaving us in the half glow of the emergency lighting.24

I glanced at the display over the door, and saw that we were somewhere around the ninth floor. Damn it! Why does this stuff always happen on a Monday? And always to me? Arrgh. I need to buy some more good luck. My stock’s probably expired.25

Wait a minute, though. It wasn’t only me this time. A beautiful woman was also stuck with me here, so, perhaps it wasn’t that bad. I looked at her to see how she was taking it.26

She was surprisingly calm, just looked back at me, with a small semi-shrug, and reached past me to push the Help button. You know, the bright yellow button with a bell on it, which you think you’re never gonna use? Want to know what happens when you press it? 27

A peal of a bell. Most irritatingly loud and shrill. Geezers. I’m not a wimp or anything, but, man, still …28

She grimaced at me. “Sorry. We just have to let the authorities know. It’ll stop in a minute.”29

Sure enough, it did. In the nick of time for my eardrums.30

Massaging my ears, I asked her, “Don’t feel scared? I mean, standing in a lift supported only by some thin cables hanging in a shaft? I’m normally stoic, and I’m a bit worried.”31

She laughed. (Dear me, I should have recorded that laugh. So I can play it over and over and over again … Anyone think I’m a bit too over the top here?)32

“Really? A big man like you scared of getting stuck in a lift? Come on.” She said, in a laughing way, but I still felt a bit shamed.33

Rule One for me hereafter. Never, never, NEVER admit that you’re scared to a lady. Does something for the old stereotype, you know?34

“Jesus,” I muttered to myself, and slumped down against the wall. “Looks like we’ll hafta wait this one out.”35

“Uh-huh.” She sat down neatly, placing her bag and file on the floor next to her, crossing her legs. Nice legs, did I mention? 36

A minute passed, and then two. I was occupying myself by looking everywhere except in her direction, counting the number of panels in the walls over and over again. She was – well, I don’t know what she was doin’ since I wasn’t eyeballing her, was I?37

“If we’re going to be stuck here a while, we might as well get to know each other,” I finally ventured. Why in the blazes is it so hot in here? Or is it just me? Maybe I should have passed on the cotton undershirt ...38

She merely smiled, and gestured at me. “Well then, you first.”39

“Oh, er, um, ok. I’m an – er – intern here at Mason’s and Richard’s, studying in my final year for my architectural degree, and, uh, I’m gonna turn twenty-one in a coupla months, so … that’s about it.”40

She grinned. “You forgot to tell me your name.”41

I slapped myself on the forehead. Idiot, I seethed inwardly. “Sorry. I mean, my name’s not sorry, I’m Randy. Randy Jackson.”42

“Oh, like the Idol judge?”43

Jesus. Does everybody watch Idol nowadays? For the hundredth time I curse my parents for giving me a name like that. “Yeah, just that I’m not black.” 44

We both laughed at that. 45

Hey, there were worse ways to start a conversation.46

Her name was Sarah Whitehouse. Lovely name.47

We talked for a long time after that, chatting about everything that popped into my mind. Turned out she had a cat too, but she actually liked the little bugger. Me, I keep the creature ’cos it has nowhere else to go. 48

We discussed architecture. She liked Frank Lloyd Wright and modern art. I muttered something about Doric and Romans, and she laughed. Damn it, I don’t give two hoots about who designed the building, as long as it does everything it’s supposed to do. I know, sort of not what an architect should think, eh?49

We talked about bosses. She kinda liked the supervisor, a dreamy dude who spent half his time doodling on a pad (All right, they were amazing designs, but so what?) and half his time with his head in the clouds, dreaming up more works of art. 50

I quickly changed the subject, and put the super on my list of The Top Ten People I Dislike. He just beat the current No.1. (My ratty landlord.)51

We talked about movies. She liked five out of the six movies I love. Cool or what? Something in common at last. 52

I was just beginning to get with the flow, feel more confident with her, when the fireman cracked open the door.53

I sighed inwardly, but she looked happy to get out of our boxy prison, so I went along. Gathering up my stuff, I clambered out of the elevator – had to do it myself, I might add, as all of the fire guys were helping her. Just goes to show, doesn’t it? – and thanked the men.54

Luckily there was no crowd of gaping spectators, so I ran to catch up with her. To my surprise and pleasure, she was waiting for me at the end of lobby. 55

I came up to her, and she smiled at me. “You were good company back there. Thanks.”56

I grinned. “No worries. So, erm, I’ll be seeing you. At the office, I mean.”57

She didn’t turn to go. “Actually, tomorrow’s my day off.” She paused for a second. “What about you?”58

“Erm, why?” I asked.59

“Well, because, if you are, maybe we could have coffee or lunch or something. I feel like I want to get to know you better.” She smiled a little hesitantly, as if worried she was being too forward.60

Tomorrow wasn’t my day off, but what the hell, I'd play hooky just this once. Boss might screw me later, but who cares? They can get in line. I would gladly risk a reprimand to spend the day with this lovely lady.61

I grinned once more. “Hey, it’s cool. Know what? Tomorrow’s actually my day off too. So, yeah, it’s a date.”62

She smiled and turned to go, waving goodbye.63

I stood gazing after her – not a bad view from here, either, but I don’t mean to sound lustful – and then I went my own way, a big goofy grin plastered over my face.64

Am I in love or am I in love?65