Love in an Elevator

The romance started quietly enough; I held the door for a woman. I wasn’t so much attempting to be chivalrous as simply polite, but she must have read more into my gesture than I intended. The smile she cracked lit up the hallway like a sudden dawn over the limb of the earth.

I turned slightly, took a closer look at the beneficiary of my courtesy. Shoulder-length brown hair framed high cheekbones, a pert nose, and disturbingly blue eyes. Her lips were twisted upwards on the right, a sardonic grin quickly replacing the beaming smile she’d displayed only moments before, perhaps realizing the ludicrousness of appearing so grateful for my not letting the door slam in her face.

“Thanks,” she said, with the barest hint of a laugh at the tail end.

“No problem,” I muttered. I was shocked at how gravelly my voice sounded, but upon reflection I realized I hadn’t spoken aloud in several hours. Paperwork and the drive home had given me the voice of a B-movie villain.

I cleared my throat and licked my lips, dried out from the winter air. There was a high-pressure system sweeping down from the Arctic, hugging the eastern edge of the Rockies and sucking the moisture – not to mention most of the fun – out of the city.

She raised an eyebrow quizzically, noticing my wandering tongue. Shit, I thought. She thinks I’m coming on to her. I thought some more. Wait a minute. Maybe I want to come on to her.

I let my eyes flicker downwards, just long enough for her to notice, but not for her to know that I knew she noticed. She was wrapped in a nylon parka, in the same red that would adorn a Chinese restaurant, for luck. She’d opened the garment in the parking garage, however, and practicality parted ways to reveal a deep brown sweater, horizontal stripes highlighting her breasts, the sweater tight enough to reveal a bra worn one size too small.

I moved through the door into the hall, and repeated “No problem” with a voice suddenly clear. Her mouth dialed up to the right even more, and for some reason she reminded me of Elvis Costello: Little sniggers/on your lips. I broke eye contact, turned, and sensed her follow.

We passed through the next door into the lobby, repeating the same social niceties – “Thanks no problem” – but with that sudden undercurrent of eroticism throbbing beneath.

I leaned against the mahogany rail, and stretched. The far edge of my vision caught her eyes searching me as I did so. Long-quiescent capillaries suddenly dilated, and I felt a surge of blood. I looked at the ceiling, my mouth a parody of her smile, and hoped she noticed.

We found ourselves the only two passengers on the elevator. She pressed the button three floors below mine, and our hands briefly grazed. Her skin was warm and just barely damp with sweat. She withdrew quickly, embarrassed, taking in a small breath through suddenly parted lips.

I smiled in a way that I hoped was reassuring, but which probably came out looking predatory. She smiled back, her cheeks now reddened.

The elevator jerked to life, grinding slowly up the rails. It was an old seventies model, the electronic beeps announcing the passage of each floor now as grating as my voice had been. We tried not to be caught looking at each other, failing miserably. Finally, somewhere around the tenth floor, I fixed my eyes on hers. She drew in a deep breath this time, her nostrils flaring from what I assumed was her arousal.

“Jesus,” she said. “Was that you?”

What? “Um…” I forced out.

“What the hell did you eat? Oh, Christ.” She looked away as my eyes began to water.

“Oh… oh, shit. God, I’m sorry,” I stammered, my deflating erection revealing my penis’ disappointment with me. “Look, I just started this new medication, and it’s got all these intestinal side effects…” The words rushed out despite the awful and immediately apparent futility of the situation.

“Yeah. Whatever. Just…” She broke off in disgust as the door clanged open at her floor. Her figure, mirrored in the battered steel side of the elevator, shook its head as it stormed down the hall. She gleamed through the film of tears now standing on my eyes.

Gasping for oxygen, I stumbled out of the elevator and into my apartment, sagging against the wall, too tired to move. Eventually, I picked myself up, tossed off my boots, and went into the kitchen to search for a meal with no simple carbohydrates whatsoever.