Going Down: The Elevator Series (18 page)

I checked the time on my phone. Cole would be here in an hour. Plenty of time to mow the lawn. This wouldn’t be like the time I tried to wax my own eyebrows in high school. I had more life experience now. Needless to say, it hadn’t gone well back then. I had to draw my right eyebrow in for almost a month, and I still looked surprised.

I did a quick read-through of some of the instructions again before popping the tub into the microwave. It was straightforward. Wax on; wax off. I had seen the first Karate Kid; this was simple enough. No reason to get bogged down in the minutia of the unnecessarily lengthy directions. Assuming I was cooking food, Leroy took a break from his busy anus licking schedule to wander into the kitchen.

“This isn’t for you.” I shooed him away. “It’s for me. So I don’t look like you.” If that cat had middle fingers, he would use them daily.

Leroy followed me to the bathroom, where he perched on the toilet lid to continue licking his hind end. I checked the time, and I was down to fifty minutes before my gentleman caller’s arrival. I would need to make this fast. Thank goodness my clumsiness made me no stranger to pain.

It’s so much easier to be a man.

I spread the wax across my entire pelt, hoping I could rip it off in as few pieces as possible. Technically the directions said something about testing a small area first, but the direction writers didn’t have a devastatingly sexy man on his way over. Sacrifices had to be made.

It was then that I realized I did not have the required muslin strips to remove the wax. I checked the box again, but it was empty. I flipped the box over and found the tiny print: “Muslin strips required (sold separately).” This was an unwelcome discovery.

I scanned the bedroom; desperate for anything that could substitute for muslin. Muslin was just cloth, right? Any cloth should do. Waddling over to the box I kept in the corner of the room, I grabbed a T-shirt destined for the donation bin.

“Oh Lil’ Dwayne’s Fruit Stand, we meet again.” It seemed logical to trash talk the melon shirt before pressing it against my snatch for some reason. I closed my eyes, counted to three, and exhaled before ripping it upward. The tears started before I even registered the pain.

Sweet. Mother. Of. Pearl.

Lil’ Dwayne’s melons had themselves a new light winter coat thanks to my pussy willow. I checked the progress south of the Equator, relieved to see I had somehow managed to remove most of the offending hair, despite my ineptness. Other than a few stray hairs, all that was left was a short, stubby strip down the middle. I might even be able to work with that. The landing strip was a popular hairstyle in the land down under.

Then the strip started looking familiar. I ran to the full-length mirror on my closet door. I had seen that same strip of hair in history books and documentaries.

Hitler’s mustache.

I have Hitler’s mustache on my clitoris.

Clitler.

No.

No. No. No.

I sprinted the few steps back to the bathroom, slathered more wax on the anti-Semitic area, counted to three, placed Lil’ Dwayne’s shirt back in action, exhaled, and pulled. More tears came this time, but only the tiniest bit of wax came off on the shirt. The rest stubbornly remained over
der Führer’s
most identifiable feature.

Mein Kampf, indeed.

I checked the time again. Creating this genocidal ladyscape had eaten up more time than I realized. I still needed to do my hair, makeup, and get dressed. I would have to come back to this most recent disaster later. I slipped on some yoga pants and a shirt, steeling myself for another attempt at a smoky eye.

Quite a few hurried minutes later, my face and hair were passable, and Leroy was still shining his rump on the toilet. There was no more avoiding it; it was time to kill Clitler. Being woefully short on time, I pulled an open bottle of wine from the fridge and chugged roughly a glassful. I wish I’d had something harder, but Maggie had depleted my liquor stash some time ago.

I went back to the bathroom to face my nemesis. “You’re going down, Clitler.” There was a lot of trash talking happening in the last hour. I thought I saw Leroy roll his eye.

I tried to gently roll my yoga pants past my very sensitive Fantasy Island, but they weren’t budging.

They.

Were.

Stuck.

To.

The.

Wax.

I calmly walked back to the fridge and downed the rest of the wine. I’m pretty sure drinking rules suspended when you glued your pants to your body. Returning to the bathroom, I looked to the only moral support I had available.

“I could really use some ideas, Leroy.”

He stood, turned his back to me, and continued to lick his anus.

I was on my own.

My options were to wear the yoga pants forever or finish what I’d started. Initially, I was committed to the first option and had already planned my wardrobe for the week. However, I doubted any restaurant Cole picked for our first real date would allow stretchy pants, so that left me with option number two.

I wish I had more wine.

I pulled the large powder brush off my counter and put it between my teeth like I was about to have battlefield surgery during the Civil War. I planned to count to three, but I ripped the pants down on two, hoping to catch myself by surprise.

I screamed. Leroy ran. The pants dropped to the floor.

I’ll see you in hell, Clitler.

I sat on the couch with an ice pack under my green dress while I waited for Cole. Leroy sat across the room casting judgment on me. He was a little too smug for a Cyclops cat with one super long claw that caused him to walk with a slight limp.

“You’ve got it so easy, Leroy.” I started to cross my legs out of habit, but cringed and quickly corrected. “You get to sit around all day, eating and bathing and being hairy. I’m coming back as a cat in my next life.”

Leroy gave me a look that somehow projected his skepticism that I could succeed at being a feline.

“You watch me. I’ll do it just to spite you.” I adjusted my ice pack.

There was a knock on the door before I could finish losing the argument I’d started with my cat. I waddled over to answer it and deposited my ice pack back in the freezer along the way. Cole stood at the door looking all Cole-ish.

He’s wearing a suit again.

Thank you, you perverted pantless Good Luck Cat.

I was tempted to cancel the outing and drag him to my bedroom when he snaked his arm around my waist, placed a soft kiss behind my earlobe, and whispered, “Good evening, gorgeous.”

These panties are toast.

He leapt back before a tractor beam could shoot out of my hoo-hah and tow him in. “Wow! You’re freezing! Do you want to grab a coat before we go out?”

Leroy choked on a hairball in the living room.

“No, I’m fine. There was an incident.” My libido froze up like my hairless taco. I grabbed my clutch off the counter.

“An incident involving carbonite?” Cole closed the door behind us while I searched for my keys.

“I’m not really in a state where I can talk about it now.”

“You like to keep the mystery alive, don’t you, Cici?”

“It’s what I do best.”

He swatted me playfully on the bum. “I can think of some other things you’re good at.”

***

A cab waited downstairs. Not the most romantic of transportation, but the closest you could come to a horse-drawn carriage outside of Central Park.

“After you, milady.” Cole bowed low and opened the door for me.

“Why thank you, kind sir.” I made an ungainly curtsey before sliding into the pine-tree scented cab.

The driver yelled something at Cole in broken English that was most likely a request for our destination. “The River Café, Brooklyn!” Cole reached over and took my hand.

Fancy.
The River Café was located on the water under the Brooklyn Bridge. It wasn’t next to the water. It was
on the water.
The reviews were fantastic and I had been told the food was even better.

“I’ve never eaten there.” I slammed into the back of the driver’s seat when the cabby hit his brakes to take a sharp right. “I hear the views are amazing.”

“They are. And the food is great. I hope you like it.”

Three face-plants into the front seat, one head bump with Cole, and four cranium smacks to the window later, we pulled up to the restaurant. I had trouble getting food from my plate to my mouth on my best day, so I was a little concerned with doing so on a converted boat floating on the river. I probably wouldn’t make it past the cheese course with a clean dress.

The hype for the restaurant didn’t do it justice. The view of Manhattan was breathtaking. I had lived there long enough that even when I noticed something new, it wasn’t a novelty. Looking from the outside in, however, was a different story. The city looked so majestic and quiet, with its tall, proud buildings.

A few glasses of wine later and I hardly noticed the stinging remains of Clitler. The evening couldn’t have been more perfect. Cole made me laugh with his funny stories one minute and had me breathing heavy with his
I’m going to ravage you
looks the next. We were fighting over the last of the caramelized apple-almond tart when he hit me with a bombshell. “I want you to meet my family.”

My fork flew out of my hand and clattered onto the table next to us. I jumped up to retrieve it, while simultaneously yelling an apology to our neighbors, when my heel caught on my chair leg and sent it banging to the ground. Having no trouble with his gross motor skills, Cole hopped up and righted my chair. “I’m so sorry!” I yelled again at the startled couple adjacent us.

“Cici, as far as answers go, that one is a little ambiguous. Would you like to meet my family? I’m driving over next weekend. I’d love for you to come.”

Did I want that? Things were moving pretty fast for two people who met on a stalled elevator. There was some irony in that. This felt right, though. I started shooting out prayers left and right to my pantless Good Luck Cat that his family wouldn’t hate me. They could very well look at me as some kind of sexual predator. I might be walking into some kind of intervention. I liked Cole a lot, though. I maybe even more than liked him, so I would make a conscious effort to get past my fears. And, if we were going to do this office romance thing, then we should do this thing. I would think about the ramifications later.

I smiled at his expectant face. “Yes, I would like to come. To come meet your family, that is. I mean, well, I think you know what I mean.” His smile was better than the view of the glowing metropolis behind him. “Perfect. I’m leaving right after work on Friday. I can pick you up at your apartment?” He reached across the table to hold my hand.

“Perfect.”

***

Another harrowing cab ride later, we arrived at Cole’s apartment. I patiently explained my boycott of elevators to Cole and reasoned that his place was only on the sixth floor. He was having none of it.

“Cici, if I have to fireman carry you onto that elevator, I will. We’re not walking up six flights of stairs when there’s a perfectly reliable elevator waiting right here. I’d much rather save my energy for other physical activities.”

It was right then that I realized his resemblance to my best friend when she sets her mind to something. He wasn’t backing down, and I probably couldn’t hike up stairs for the rest of my life anyway. It was as good of time as any to break the embargo.

“Fine,” I barked as I stepped onto the elevator.

“That’s my girl.” He followed me.

His girl. I can get used to that.

An acoustic version of “Muskrat Love” played softly over the speakers. Neither Captain nor Tennille had ever been less sexy. It was like taking a fire hose to my libido. I would need to work fast to recover the moment.

“This is a nice elevator. Very clean.”
Stop talking, Cici.

Cole shook his head and chuckled. “Do you want me to see if there are any comment cards in the lobby? I’m sure management would love to know.”

In addition to being tidy, the elevator was also fast, saving me from myself. Cole’s place always felt large to me. It was nearly twice as large as mine, although that wasn’t saying much. Mine barely had room for a ten-pound cat and his attitude.

“Would you like something to drink?” Cole poked his head out from the kitchen area.

“Some water would be great.” The wine was wearing off and Clitler’s ghost was beginning to sting again. I knew better than to drink too much on a work night, though. I couldn’t recover like I’d been able to in college.

Cole joined me on the couch with our drinks. I failed terribly at playing it cool, so I’m sure Cole knew I was worried about meeting his family. Maybe I would be less nervous if I had more information. “So, tell me about your parents.”

“I don’t want to talk about my parents right now.”

His expression was unreadable.

“Why not?”

“Because all I can think about is peeling that dress off you, and my parents aren’t really part of that equation.”

Oh.

I almost kicked over his coffee table climbing into his lap. I straddled his legs, not pausing to pull up my sheath dress and causing it to rip on one side. I couldn’t have cared less. Cole repositioned me so I could get better friction on his dangling participle.

“This is a beautiful dress.” His pupils were so dilated his eyes looked black. “But I need it off you right now.”

He hoisted it over my head, ignoring the zipper, and doubling the length of the tear, from the sound of it. “I’ll buy you a new one,” he growled, sounding almost feral.

I clawed at his tie, not able to remove it fast enough. I tried to rip open his shirt like they do in the movies, but it must have been handmade. That was no factory stitching on those buttons. I frustratingly undid them one by one as Cole kissed down my neck to my cleavage. He unclasped the back of my bra and tossed it to the floor. I made a very unladylike sound when he rolled my right nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Before turning his attention to the other side, he bit gently on my nipple, sending shockwaves through my body. An entirely different burning sensation was happening in my hairless southern wonderland.