The Answer - Part 2

The following is the second half of the previously posted short story.

            A week had passed and Janet still had not returned for any of her belongings. Admitting defeat, I had packed all of her clothes into her set of suitcases and placed them along the hallway downstairs so she could haul them out with very little effort. I had also left her a voicemail stating that I would not be home this afternoon, so “if you’re trying to avoid me, then that would probably be the best time to pick up your stuff.” I was too concerned with the only job interview I was able to cement to contemplate whether or not she would actually come.

            When I left the house I was every bit confident that I would make the job interview on time. I had a full ten minute buffer in case anything went wrong, and I did not expect anything to slow my journey into the city, not even traffic. It was the middle of the afternoon and all those that could potentially stand in my way had already reached their destination. I had not accounted for the office building’s faulty elevator, which unceremoniously malfunctioned half a minute after I had entered.

            But I was not alone. A blonde-haired woman dressed in elegant business attire was the elevator’s only other occupant. She was pretty; something nice to admire to help pass the time, and to help keep my mind off of the fact that I would miss not only my job interview, but also my chance for a position at the most prestigious law firm in the city. I made a mental note to sue whoever it was that was supposed to keep this elevator running smoothly.

            I frantically pushed both the Open Door button and the Emergency Call button, with no immediate results.

            “First time trapped in an elevator?” the woman asked distantly, as she tapped the buttons on her cell phone so quickly that my eyes couldn't keep up.

            “I can always spot the newbs,” she added.

            “There’s just some place I need to be right now. That’s all.”

            “Wearing out the buttons won’t do you or the elevator any good. Isn’t that how machinery breaks down? When we push it too far? When we expect too much from it?”

            I didn’t know. And I was confident that she didn’t expect a response. I gave up on the buttons, placed my recently purchased Pineider leather briefcase on the floor, and watched the woman wear down her phone’s buttons.

            “Does this happen frequently?” I asked, curious.

            She shot me a quick glance and then returned her attention to her phone, as if that would make me any less curious about the faulty elevator.

            She finished pummeling her phone and placed it between her breasts. I admired them for a split second and then forced my eyes away. She was wearing an open v-neck shirt that showcased more than half of her breasts. She either enjoyed watching men drool over her cleavage or she had still not figured out which size shirt she wore, and at her age the latter would have been downright difficult to comprehend. I stared at my reflection in the opposite wall panel and thought of all the films I had seen that involved a plain man trapped with a beautiful woman, nothing to do. I imagined all the possibilities.

            “These things tend to work themselves out at their own pace. Somebody in this building knows the elevator has stopped and is working to fix it. You just need to be patient.”

            I nodded, not really paying attention to her words. I was still thinking about her divine breasts. I realized that I still needed to cross off have-sex-with-a-beautiful-woman-in-an-elevator from my bucket list. This might prove to be my best chance. Actually, I had added that to my bucket list only moments prior, but I felt that it was a worthy addition. The job interview was gone. I needed something rewarding to replace it. And this woman symbolized rewarding.

            “What do you normally do?” I asked.

            “I’m sorry?”

            “To pass the time. You’re obviously a frequent victim of this elevator. How do you normally keep from losing your mind?”

            “I do what I’m doing right now.”

            I stepped closer to the back of the elevator, back where she stood. She eyed me defensively.

            “And what exactly are you doing right now? You don’t seem to be doing much.”

            “Is there something I should be doing?”

            “I don’t know. I’m the newb, remember? This is your territory. Paint me a picture of your journeys up and down the faulty elevator.”

            “I usually keep to myself and keep my mouth shut.” She proceeded to zip my mouth shut with an imaginary zipper and then flicked her fingers as if she were tossing away a key. I don’t think she realized that zippers don’t need keys, but I still realized what she meant by it. I nodded in acknowledgement and returned to my previous spot next to my briefcase. I had irritated her to the point that she clearly never wanted me to speak again. I obviously didn’t know what I was doing. I had already proved that with Janet. I wasn’t going to be able to pull this off. This woman wanted her privacy and I would give it to her.

            The woman’s breasts vibrated. I assumed it was because of her phone and not some weird medical condition. If it was a medical condition and not her phone, I probably would have ripped open the elevator doors like the Incredible Hulk and fled as quickly as possible, just in case it was contagious. But it was her phone, thank goodness. She retrieved it and once again began wearing down its buttons, which was apparently how she preferred to pass the time. I would follow suit. I pushed each and every elevator button numerous times, mainly for shits and giggles, though I did expect something to happen at some point. Nothing did. If somebody actually knew this elevator was stuck, that somebody was taking their sweet ole time doing something about it.

            I once again gave up on the buttons. When I turned around the woman was glaring at me, much to my surprise. What the hell had I done? And then it slowly dawned on me. I was pushing her buttons. This was her elevator. This was her territory. This was her happy place, and I was invading it. I briefly considered the notion that she was the actual cause of the faulty elevator. That she had planned it in some manner, maybe even working in conjunction with the “somebody in the building” that was supposed to be fixing it. I decided that that would be too much trouble for a woman who couldn’t make enough of an effort to buy an appropriately sized shirt. I stared at my reflection in the opposite wall panel and thought of all the films that involved a plain man being murdered by a beautiful woman over a simple misunderstanding, a simple, unnecessary act of fate. I didn’t want to imagine all of the possibilities.

            She returned her phone to its cushioned slot and proceeded to stand opposite me, glaring as if I had offended her in some manner. And perhaps I did. My happy place was my king-sized bed. If somebody I didn’t know invaded it, I would most likely be upset, as well.

            “I’m sorry,” I stated sincerely. “I won’t touch anything else. I’ll be on my best behavior.”

            She seemed to sense that I was being truthful about that. Her glare slowly dissipated, though she continued to stare at me, which made me slightly uncomfortable. I looked up at the continually blinking fluorescent light and thought of all the places I would rather be and all the things I would do in those places, such as fishing on the lake near my family’s summer home, an activity clearly stated on one of my bumper stickers.

            “You’re here for the job interview,” she stated.

            I returned my attention to her a moment after the light stopped its blinking, after it decided that it wanted to shine more than it wanted to fade away. I finally noticed that she was tired, physically and emotionally. I finally understood why she rode the faulty elevator.

            “You don’t want to work here,” she added unemotionally.

            Her breasts vibrated again, which I didn’t enjoy as much as last time. She sighed and retrieved her phone.

            The elevator suddenly came back to life and hummed with satisfaction. Too bad neither of its occupants was satisfied. I watched the woman as she stared in dread at the circular floor numbers as they lit up, slowly but surely, one after the other.

            I pulled the Emergency Stop button, effectively halting the elevator. I then snatched the phone out of her hands and threw it against the back wall panel, shattering it into so many pieces that she would need a magnifying glass to find the smallest pieces. 

            The woman stared at me, shocked at first, but then a smile slowly formed across her face. It was a beautiful smile, despite the fact that it was one of those closed-lipped smiles, a defensive smile. This woman clearly found very little enjoyment in her life. But I knew of a way to fix that. I stepped forward and kissed the woman. She didn’t seem to mind, so I kissed her again. It didn’t take too much tongue wrestling for me to realize that something was wrong. I pulled away from her and glanced at her closing mouth in time to spot braces. Braces! She wasn’t too fond of my reaction to them, but she also wasn’t surprised.

            “It’s okay. My boyfriend doesn’t like ‘em, either,” she said.

            I smiled in amusement. Why was I not surprised that she had a boyfriend? It seemed that every woman I wanted to bed had a boyfriend. Even girlfriends of mine had boyfriends.

            She reached into the space between her breasts, the space where she formerly used to carry her phone, and withdrew her business card.

            “But if you think you can grow accustomed to ‘em, you should give me a call,” she added as she handed the card to me.  

            “Anything else you keep in there?” I asked. She smiled and replied, “No, that’s it. We all have our limits.” I nodded in agreement, though I was sure her breasts could have properly secured many more objects. I wisely kept that observation to myself.

            I set the elevator back in motion as she knelt down to collect the pieces of her phone. When the elevator stopped I politely let the woman go ahead of me. I followed her halfway down the hallway, to the law firm that I could still have an interview with despite my tardiness, before I stopped to decide if this was really what I wanted. The woman entered the law office and was instantly berated by an older man. In response she simply showed him her broken phone. Not only did I turn around and leave – via the staircase, not the elevator – I also threw out the woman’s business card. This was how Janet had saved me. I learned through her departure that if I was going to be stuck, then I needed to be stuck on my own terms. The world had already forced enough of its own onto me. From this point forward I needed to assume full control of my life. 

            In the end I had no regrets about Janet, the woman in the elevator, or the job interview, mainly because by the end of the day I had found the love of my life – and because Janet had stopped by and taken away everything that would have reminded me of her. Instead of heading straight home after my elevator ordeal, I stopped at the pet store at the plaza nearest my house and purchased the puppy that should have already been my dog of two or three years. It was a female Rottweiler, Pit-bull mix, so she would probably grow up to be a terror, an adorable terror. But I didn’t care. No matter how much we wore one another out, we would not give up on one another, and, in turn, we would never find ourselves stuck. Those were terms I could live with.