I must recall a particularly interesting sexual encounter I had while I was doing office temp work when I was nineteen--eighteen years ago. The gig was random secretarial work for a high-end magazine company that I'll leave unnamed. I was wearing a blue and white pinstripe blouse that hugged my figure well. I wore a tight white skirt that cut off an inch above my knee and wore translucent stockings that descended to fitting white pumps.
Being the only young black-haired, brown eyed Korean-American woman in the office, the heads in the cubicles turned as I walked by while delivering the mail. I remember that day being my best day and it wasn't even a special day. My skin was clear, I felt wonderful after a jog earlier that morning, and I had a date later that evening. Most of the guys liked to see me, but the senior editor of the magazine was bitter to everyone. I was no exception.
"Hey, you didn't take out my trash on Monday." He slid his desk chair back and motioned at the overflowing wire trash can under his desk. He had thick glasses that pinched the tip of his nose and graying black hair that matched the salt and pepper in his beard.
"Oh, sorry about that." I got on my knees and pulled out the trash can as he watched me. I leaned over and picked up the little pieces of paper that littered the tiled floor as I heard him breathing heavily over my shoulder. I blinked uncomfortably as I grabbed the last crumpled wad of copy paper that had rolled under the drawer.
"Don't forget again." He sucked down the last of his 32 oz. Burger King drink and shoved it in with the rest of the trash as I got up. "Oh yeah, Mr. Wallace said he could use some help mounting a portrait in his office. Said he would rather look at someone with a nice ass instead of 'my' fat ass."
I put the trash can in a vacant niche in the mail cart without acknowledging him as he cracked a Mountain Dew. I walked by Corey Atburn's cubicle. Corey turned around in his seat in mid phone-call and thumbed over his shoulder at the senior editor, shaking his head and pursing his lips as if to say, 'ignore that asshole'.
Finishing up the mail delivery and dumping the senior editor's trashcan, I dropped the emptied can in his cubicle on my way to the elevator to see Mr. Wallace. I waited for what felt like a long time, staring off into space as the elevator dinged through the floors to reach my current one on its ascension. I'd been thinking about the novel I wanted to write but didn't know how as the elevator arrived.
When it opened, I was shocked to see none other than the tanned figure of a familiar man. I couldn't place immediately where I'd seen him because I knew him from about a dozen different movies over the last ten years. We'll call him Lewis Core, and he was 36 at the time of our encounter.
Lewis was wearing a Hawaiian shirt and khaki shorts with sandals on his feet. He had just been on the set of what would later be one his most controversial movies. His bleached blond hair was done up not unlike his character's and it looked as though he had been on-set for recording just thirty minutes prior. His muscular arms were crossed and he wore a scowl as he leaned against the inner wall of the elevator.
He gave me a meek smile as I stepped on to go up to the seventy-first floor, which was where Mr. Wallace's office was. Just ten floors and it would all be over. The doors took forever to close before the elevator started into motion. I clasped my hands at my front and bit my lip not to speak. I closed my eyes as Lewis took a deep breath, gazing boredly at the ceiling of the elevator.
The elevator dinged. My fingers were shaking. I didn't know why. I thought it was a dream when the elevator shuddered to a screeching halt. I had to put my arms out to keep from falling over as Lewis stepped away from the wall. The dim emergency lights at two corners of the elevator were all that spared us from darkness. We steadied ourselves and our eyes met for the first time. His eyes were a piercing blue that you couldn't truly appreciate without seeing up close. Those eyes were the difference between a decent actor and a legend.
"You all right?" Lewis asked confidently in his signature drawl as I stepped back against the metal rail that rounded the inner wall of the cabin.
"Yeah, just.... What happened?" I asked.
"Sounds like the elevator stopped." Lewis sighed. The light indicating which floor we were on over the dual metal doors was out. He pressed the emergency button and spoke into the speaker in the metal wall. "Hello, hello, elevator's stuck somewhere in the sixties. Me and," he glanced over his shoulder at me, "one of your office girls are stuck in the elevator."
"Did they hear?" I asked.
"I don't know." He let go of the button and reclined against the wall. He looked down to his leather watch band and wiped his face. "This is really inconvenient."
"Yeah, I can imagine." I smiled and frowned again.
"So you work here?" He asked and I nodded, keeping my head down. "That means you know if this happens about how long it usually takes for someone to fix it?"
I thought for a second. "I heard one man was stuck over the weekend for forty-one hours."
"Hey, don't say shit like that. It's Friday. Someone'll be along... I hope." An awkward silence filled the cabin as I positioned myself opposite to him, crossing my arms under my small breasts that looked bigger propped up in my bra and pressed tight under my blouse. "So, you read this magazine and the dishonest crap they put out?" He waved a folded copy of the magazine he had stuffed in his pocket at me.
"No, I just intern here. I was hoping after I was done they might think about publishing one of my short stories." I said quietly. "Honestly, I love everything I've ever seen you in which isn't much, but--
