“Do you have a rare
weekend off, Max?” he asked.
“Yes, and I’m
really looking forward to it.”
“Me too.”
The elevator door
opened and Max followed the others inside. Howard pushed the button
for the ground floor. The car started its descent, shuddered
violently, and abruptly stopped.
“What was that?”
Joan asked.
“I think it was an
earthquake,” Peggy replied.
“We’re stuck!”
“Yup.”
“But, I mean… we’re
trapped between floors.”
“That means the
elevators did what they’re supposed to do,” Howard told her.
Joan gave him an
annoyed look. “I thought they were supposed to go up and down.”
Everyone ignored her
comment. Howard reached for the emergency button, but Max stuck his
hand in the way.
“I wouldn’t do
that.”
“Why?”
“Because it sets off
an alarm, and the bell is louder than hell. Believe me you don’t
want it banging in your ears if it’s going to take them more than a
few seconds to shut it off.”
“So you’re saying
we should let some poor bastard in another car bruise his ears.”
Howard smiled. “I like it.”
Joan disagreed. “We
have to do something.”
Howard was a man who
liked being in charge. “I’m afraid our options are reduced to
making ourselves as comfortable as possible while we wait.”
“It was a dark and
stormy night.”
This non sequitur made
everyone look at Peggy. “What? Haven’t any of you told ghost
stories around a camp fire?”
“Do you always begin
your stories with a cliché?” Howard asked.
“Everyone’s a
fucking critic! Cliché or not, it was a dark and stormy night.
Thick clouds blotted out the moon and the stars. The only light came
in the form of blinding flashes and streaks of lightning. Powerful
gusts of wind hurled half frozen drops of rain against windows that
were already rattling from the crash of thunder. All that was
missing to make this the perfect cliché was the baying of hounds.
The hounds were there somewhere, but they were quietly whimpering as
they tried to hide from the fiery blasts of the dangerous storm.”
Joan now interrupted
Peggy’s story. “And here I am, a very pregnant lady. A baby is
sitting on my bladder, but instead of driving home to a nice, warm
toilet-seat, I’m trapped in an elevator with someone who is
determined to subject me to the “Hounds of the Bastardvilles!”
A loud alarm bell added
an exclamation mark to the end of Joan’s last sentence.
“Okay kids! School’s
out!”
“Up yours, Peggy!”
Joan was obviously in no mood for comic relief. The voice coming
over the intercom indicated that she was not the only one who was out
of sorts.
“Settle down, people!
We’re trying to contact our technicians. They should be here
before long.”
“Trying to contact
them! You mean they aren’t here?” There was no reply. Either
the intercom only provided two-way communication if the emergency
button was pressed or the people at the other end of the intercom
were ignoring Joan’s questions.
Howard snorted. “If
those bastards left work early it is unlikely that they’ll pull
their heads out of their asses to answer a telephone.”
The strain of shouting
over the ringing bell stifled any desire anyone might have had to
comment on Howard’s unpleasant thought. The next ten minutes
seemed like an eternity to the people trapped in the elevator cars.
At last, at long last, the ringing stopped.
A cheery male voice now
filled the elevator.
“See, it’s better
already,” the voice said with some pride over the fact that he or
someone, presumably not a technician, had finally figured out how to
turn off the alarm. “We should be able to get the elevators
running again in thirty or forty minutes.”
This was good news and
bed news. At least the damn ringing had stopped, but the thought of
spending another thirty or forty minutes in the elevator brought a
collective groan.
“This really sucks!”
Joan said.
“It blows!” Peggy
said.
Howard offered the
opinion that it could not suck and blow at the same time.
“Oh, I don’t know
about that,” Max said, “we have a senior partner who can suck on
a cigar and break wind at the same time.”
Peggy giggled. “That
makes him equally stinky at either end.”
This prompted Joan to
express her gratitude for the fact that he was not in the elevator
with them.
Max smiled at Peggy.
“You know your idea of telling stories to pass the time was not a
bad one.” He then looked at Joan. “And your title, “Hounds of
the Bastardvilles,” adds a nice touch of humor.”
“But why do scary
stories always have to be set in remote locations?” Howard asked.
“As I’m sure you can all now attest, high rises can be scary
too.”
Nature illustrated his
point by providing an after shock that bounced the car off the walls
of the elevator shaft and turned off the lights.
“See!”
Joan pointed out the
obvious. “No, Howard. The damn lights are out!”
They came back on in a
few minutes, but they were not as bright as they had been.”
“I think we’re now
on the backup generator,” Howard said.
This meant that the
earthquake must have knocked down an electrical line going to the
building. There was no telling how long it would take for the power
company to re-attach it. Joan expressed everyone’s concern over
that by saying: “Well, I hope the generator can provide enough
power to get the elevator moving again.”
“I think we need a
diversion more than ever,” Max said. “Maybe we can do a
Canterbury tales sort of thing by having each person tell a story or
joke.”
Joan must have been
thinking about the musical version of the Canterbury tales because
she said: “If you start singing about your cock I’m going to sock
you.”
“No music. I take my
Chaucer straight. How I’m hung remains unsung.”
Peggy flashed him a
mischievous grin. “That’s not what some of the girls in
accounting say.”
Max laughed. “I hope
they’re not revealing any proprietary statistics.”
“They didn’t give
me the long and the short of it, but I suppose I could ask.”
Joan cleared her
throat. “Him or them?”
Peggy looked at Max as
if contemplating the question before turning her attention to Joan.
“Are you hoping for some show and tell?”
“Are you?”
Peggy laughed off the
question.
“If you keep talking
like that someone is going to need a cold shower,” Howard said.
Joan rubbed her tummy.
“Too late for that.”
Her comment made
everyone laugh. A drop of water plopped on Howard’s head.
“Shit!” He stepped
to the side and looked up at the ceiling. Everyone else also looked
up at the ceiling to see drops of water forming in several in spots.
“Not good,” Max
said.
Peggy tried to make
light of it. “If the water gets deep enough no one will know who
couldn’t wait.”
Joan was showing signs
of discomfort and did not find Peggy’s joke funny. “You don’t
get invited to many pool parties, do you?”
Howard spoke before
Peggy could reply. “If the water gets that deep it will exceed the
weight the elevator was designed to handle.”
Max took a visual
survey of his fellow inmates to see how they were reacting to
Howard’s statement. The last thing they needed was for someone to
panic and freak out.
“I don’t think we
need to worry about that because it’s unlikely that the doors are
water tight.”
“Thank God for small
favors.” Howard looked down at his watch. “What time was it
when they said the techs would be here in thirty or forty minutes?”
“It’s been about
twenty-five minutes,” Joan replied.
Some of the drops of
water had now turned into trickles and the trickles were becoming
hard to avoid. Within five minutes the carpet was soaked. The
danger this presented was not great, but it gave a whole new meaning
to term water torture.
“At least the people
in the Canterbury Tales were going somewhere,” Howard said.
“And they weren’t
standing on a wet sponge with water pouring down on them,” Joan
added.
There was now a thud,
followed by a jolt that caused the inmates to gasp.
“To avoid a water
landing, please press two now car number four!”
Howard mumbled as he
reached out and pressed button number two. “He must think he works
for fucking NASA.”
The car descended to
the second floor and stopped. The doors opened to reveal a crowded
hallway. An official looking gentleman was trying to control the
crowd there.
“Step aside and let
these good people out, folks! Do not get in this car. Car number
one is the only car that will take you to the ground floor.”
Joan pushed through the
crowd on her way to the ladies’ room.
“I feel bad about
being such a smart ass now,” Peggy said. “She really has to go.”
Max took Peggy’s
hand. “She’ll forgive you. Come on!”
“Where are we going?”
“To the stairs.”
“Good idea!”
The stairs were as
crowded as the hall, but the people there were kind enough to make
room for Max and Peggy. When they entered the ground floor all of
the lights came back on.
“I don’t know if a
want to trust another elevator,” Peggy said, “but I don’t want
to hike up three flights of stairs to my car.”
“It should be okay
now.”
Peggy was obviously
nervous when they entered the elevator car in the parking structure.
Max pressed button number three and looked at her. She appeared to
be holding her breath.
“I’m proud of the
way you acted during our ordeal,” he said.
She exhaled. “It was
you. You made it easy to remain calm.”
The elevator stopped at
the third floor and the doors opened. She quickly stepped out of the
car and he followed her.
“I hope this won’t
make you afraid of elevators,” he said.
She took his hand and
stopped walking. “I’ll get over it.”
They stood there facing
each other. Max could feel the magnetism as he stared into her eyes.
He was tempted to ask her if she would like to join him for a drink,
but he knew she was in a serious relationship. She ended the awkward
silence by kissing him on the cheek and telling him to have a nice
weekend.
“You too,” he said.
That was the thing
about Max. His reputation as a Casanova was exaggerated. He could
get away with suggestive banter that would get other men into trouble
because he was very observant. He could usually tell who would
object to such banter, who would enjoy it, and who was likely to be
interested in something more.
First published in macsbackporch.fictionforall.com on Feb 8, 2012
