Going Down: The Elevator Series (14 page)

Vera looked like Maggie just asked her for a ride to the airport. “One black coffee. Got it.”

“Oh no, what I actually want is a half-caff latté with—”

“One black coffee. Got it.”

“I—um—I guess that will do.” Maggie’s charming smile didn’t belie her nervousness to me. She was close to breaking. If I had a villain’s mustache, I would twirl it.

“You want food?” Vera asked.

“Food would be wonderful!” Maggie kicked the charm up to a new level. “Now I don’t see it on the menu, but I’m sure your chef could whip up a simple frittata with some shallots and heirloom tomatoes. Do you have Brie?”

Vera swiped the menu out of her hand without a word. Addressing me now, she barked, “You want food?”

She had a look about her that said prison might actually be a nice vacation, so it was in my best interest to stay in her good graces. “Coffee. Scrambled eggs. Toast.”

“Got it.” She took my menu and disappeared as quickly as she came.

“Do you think she got the Brie part?” Maggie sounded concerned while she fumbled with the spotty silverware on the scratched table. “I don’t want the frittata to be dry.”

“I think a lack of cheese in your entrée should be the least of your worries. What happened to the Maggie who wanted to eat nothing but jerky and gravy?” She wasn’t getting out of this one easy.

She had the decency to look thoroughly chastened. “I panicked.” Maggie peeked at the tables closest to us. “I love this culture, but you know I have texture issues with food. I can only push the envelope so far.”

“Do you want to leave now?” I tried to sound more concerned than hopeful, but I could immediately tell I overplayed my hand.

“No!” she yelled and banged her fist on the table.

Everyone in the establishment turned in our direction. Suddenly I was on the set of my own personal
Deliverance
. I wished I had paid closer attention to that movie now. I couldn’t even remember how it ended. Who knew I would need those skills at this juncture in my life? My naked left eye convulsed more than ever.

“Pipe down, Ellie Mae!” I whispered in my loudest whisper voice.

“It’s Maggie Mae!” she whispered.

“Same thing.” All eyes were still on us. “I simply asked if you wanted to leave after confusing a roadside diner with Spago. Don’t get your knickers in a wad.”

I took several long, slow breaths, attempting to calm the nervous twitching in my eye, but the aforementioned eye was actively trying to detach itself from my body. I put my hand over it to hold it in place, bringing everything in sharp focus. It was then that I noticed the female driver at the table to our left was winking back at me.

Is she missing her contact lens as well? What a crazy coincidence.

I smiled and waved to acknowledge our newfound solidarity. She winked again.

Vera returned with our food, thus ending the prolonged eye contact. She slid two plates across the small table, followed by two cups of coffee so black it must have sold its soul to Lucifer. My plate was exactly as ordered—scrambled eggs and toast, with a package of something on the side called “margarine substitute.” I thought margarine was
already
a substitute, but I must have been ill informed. Maggie’s plate was predictably not what she ordered.

“Excuse me, ma’am. I must have someone else’s plate. I ordered a frittata—”

“You got biscuits and gravy.” Her certainty and brevity didn’t dissuade Maggie.

“There must have been some confusion. You see, a frittata is—”

“You got biscuits and gravy. Got a problem with that?”

Maggie was in a crisis. She would sooner eat a live human than eat what was on her plate. “Well, you see, my nutritionist has me on a very low carb—”

With a groan, Vera was gone.

“Do you think she went to go check on the frittata?” Maggie shoved her plate away.

I took a sip of my coffee, which could’ve doubled as a presurgical laxative. “No, Maggie, I don’t think she went to check on your frittata. I think she went to slash your tires.”

“Don’t be silly. How would she even know which car is mine?”

“It’s the only Mercedes parked in a sea of eighteen wheelers. I doubt she’ll need to ring up the Long Island Medium.” I took another sip of my coffee and felt my kidneys start to shut down.

“Damn it. You’re right. That was a stupid oversight! Nice going, Maggie Mae. Next time I’ll rent a pickup truck to blend in better.” With a shaky hand, she took a gulp of her coffee and tried in vain to hide her gag reflex.

A rough disembodied voice came from somewhere behind me. “You all right, miss?”

I turned to reply that I was, in fact, not all right in any possible connotation, and I would no doubt need years of intensive therapy to get past Maggie’s trucker fetish phase, when I realized the gentleman in the
No Fat Chicks
T-shirt wasn’t talking to me at all.

“Oh yes, sir. I’m mighty good.” Maggie’s tone wasn’t as convincing as it had been when we first entered. Her voice lacked the awe and wonder it projected in recent history. “This looks like right good eatin’.” She took another swallow of her coffee without breaking eye contact with him. Her whole body convulsed like it was resisting an exorcism.

That was my cue. “Check, please!” Vera was nowhere in sight. I prayed she wasn’t actually out slashing Maggie’s tires. I didn’t want to have to run all the way back to the city. I would, but I didn’t want to.

Maggie was already on her feet. “Nope! No, we can’t wait for the check. I thought I could do this, but I can’t.” She grabbed several twenties from her purse and tossed them onto the table. “I’ve got your phone; you just grab your purse, and let’s hit the road.”

Salvation!

I ran like wild dogs were nipping at my heels. That was, until I heard the one thing that could stop me dead in my tracks.

“Who’s Elevator Sex God?”

Shit.

I’d picked up more momentum than I should’ve been able to in that short distance. My sudden halt caused me to lose my balance and I fell into a display of Hostess snack cakes.

Maggie rushed over and helped me up. “What the heck, Cici? Are you okay?”

I dusted chunks of a Snoball off my novelty shirt. “Yeah, I’m fine. Fine.”

Hopefully my lack of grace distracted her from her prying.

“Good. Now who’s Elevator Sex God?” One hand was on her hip while the other held my phone aloft.

Damn. I need to buy time.

“Who? What?”

Buying time isn’t my strong suit either.

“Who’s Elevator Sex God? He just texted you and said, ‘Can I see you later?’ This sounds like a story I need to hear. Spill.”

I wanted to be anywhere but standing in the middle of a truck stop with my stupid outfit covered in processed cake, and Maggie asking me about Cole. Except she didn’t know she was asking about Cole.

“I—uh—it’s—uh, the maintenance man from my building.” I became very consumed with getting all the food off my shoes. I wanted to avoid eye contact, but not look like I was avoiding eye contact. Which I most definitely was.

“You’re screwing Mr. Melman?” The look of abject horror on her face was alarming. Not to mention, we were drawing a crowd.

I hate my mouth.

“No! I’m not.” I fumbled for something remotely believable to say while her expression shifted from horror to confusion. “But somebody is. I caught him in the elevator a couple of weeks ago getting it on with a woman.”

“Really? Wow. I never would’ve pegged old Mr. Melman to be freaky like that. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.” Her hand moved from her hip, so I exhaled slowly. She looked confused, but not disbelieving.

“I meant to, but I guess we’ve had so much going on at work that it slipped my mind. I’m sorry.” I took my phone back before any more damage was done.

“No, I’m sorry you had to see that. What a shocker. I mean, can you imagine having sex in an elevator? Especially with all the cameras everywhere these days. That’s someone with some issues right there.”

My laugh was so loud and forced I nearly cracked a rib. “Yeah, someone would really have to be messed up in the head to do that.” It wasn’t a lie; I was feeling less mentally stable by the minute.

“Right? I mean, talk about daddy issues. And think of all the diseases you could pick up in an elevator. Blech!” Maggie pretended to gag for extra emphasis. Not that it was necessary. I was pretty sure I knew where she stood on sex in public spaces after she caught two people getting it on in an abandoned phone booth in college.

I wiped more cake from my elbow, taking a chunk of my dignity with it. “I think I’ve had enough of this day. Let’s get out of here.”

We moved toward the door, me looking like the loser in a one-man food fight.

“Ma’am!” a shrill voice called from my right. I foolishly looked over to see a gray-haired woman in an apron behind the cashier counter scowling in my direction. Prudence would’ve told me to keep walking, but I had not been much of a prude lately. “You’re gonna have to pay for all of those.” She pointed toward the mangled Hostess display, with its cakey guts strewn about the floor. I hesitated just a second too long, allowing her to block the exit with her body. She, too, had her hands on her hips. I knew how this would end.

Two hundred and twenty-seven dollars and thirty-four cents later, our freedom was purchased, along with a beach towel embellished with the torso of a bikini clad woman. The latter was a demand from Maggie before allowing me entrance into her car.

“You better not get any of that crap on my seats, Strawberry Shortcake.”

“I can’t believe you made her box up all those smashed cakes. What in the hell are you going to do with them?” Maggie drove at her normal speed, just shy of breaking the sound barrier. She was intermittently glanced at the road while checking her phone, scanning through radio stations, and touching up her eye makeup. I always put my affairs in order before I set foot in her car.

“I paid for them; I wasn’t leaving them there. I’ll take them up to the office or something. I’m sure someone will eat them.”

“My money is on Barry. I saw that guy eat two leftover cakes once. It was oddly hypnotic and horrifying at the same time.” Maggie dodged a motorcycle at the last possible second, slipping between two large trucks.

“Jesus Christ,” I mumbled under my breath. Riding with Maggie made me temporarily more religious than the pope. I doubted the pope cursed, but he’d also never ridden with my best friend, so I couldn’t say for certain. Even saints had their limits.

***

By the time I got home and showered twice to remove the snack cakes from every orifice of my body, Saturday was a bust. I hoped to see Cole and finish what we started, but it wasn’t in the cards for us. He couldn’t meet up Sunday because one of the guys from work invited him out to watch some sports thing. That obviously left me out. It might raise suspicions if I tagged along and sat on his lap with my tongue down his throat.

I didn’t think I’d ever been so happy to see a Monday in my life. I was still avoiding the elevator, but I didn’t mind the hike up the stairs. The exercise was good for me, and at some point my lungs might stop collapsing halfway up. I got my second wind when I rounded the corner to see three young female employees surrounding Cole’s desk. This was past the point of ridiculous. They looked like buzzards circling a limping zebra. I didn’t think of myself as a jealous or possessive person, but he was mine and no one else was touching him.

I suppose I might be a skosh possessive.

“Ladies,” I said, approaching Cole’s desk. My voice came out so authoritative even I didn’t recognize it at first.

All three muttered their greetings while rebuttoning the top buttons of their blouses. My initial reaction was to pity them for being so doleful around a coworker, but then I realized I might not be in the best position to judge. I would think about that later. Much later.

“Cole,” I said in my least assertive voice. “There is a matter of a very delicate nature that must be addressed immediately. My office, please. Ladies, I’m sure you can find a better place to not get any work done.”

Cole jumped up, rounded his desk, and left the assemblage of swooning female employees in his wake. I hoped this meant he was as eager to see me as I was him.

“What is this delicate matter, Ms. Carrington?” His voice alone was probably enough to get me pregnant.

I closed the door behind him and locked it. “It’s something requiring your undivided attention.”

He grasped my waist and pulled me closer. “I’m happy to comply.”

I was more desperate for his touch than I realized. I jerked his tie, pulling his mouth down to mine. He pushed his tongue past my lips while grasping my backside to eliminate any distance between us.

Using every ounce of restraint I could muster, I held back every whorish noise I was dying to make. My hands were in his hair, running down his shirt, and rubbing the back of his neck, seemingly all at the same time. I was like a sexier version of an octopus. I pressed him more firmly against the door. His hand slid up my skirt to the lace of my panties.

“What color are these?” he whispered in my ear and traced the seam running along the inside of my left thigh.

“Coral,” I whispered in response and slid my leg up to his hip.

“Oh hell, yes. Why don’t I relieve you of those?” He licked along my collarbone, up my neck, and bit gently on my earlobe.

“Is that cake?”

Son of a bulldog! I’ve showered five times since Saturday!

“There was an incident.”

He went back to my earlobe. “A tasty incident. I wouldn’t mind hearing about that.”

I wasn’t about to tell him the story of my roll in the hay with snack cakes. I grabbed his hand and pulled him behind me. “Maybe later. I think we should break in this couch first.”

Cole had managed to procure a small love seat for my office in record time. I would never ask him what he had to do to get one delivered so quickly. Some things were best left unknown for the sake of plausible deniability.

Did I know it was incredibly dumb to have sex with Cole in the office? Yes. Did I care at that exact second? No. Not even a little. I would think about maybe caring later. My hormones sprinted through my body, kneecapping any rational thought that dared to rear its head.