The Elevator Pitch
Released under the Creative Commons BY-NC-SA license. Share, modify, and redistribute - as long as it's attributed and noncommercial, anything goes.
Grâce à _GoldenFox for the idea that would become this story. This is the third in a series of "microfiction" style vignettes that I've been working on to try to improve my somewhat lackluster abilities to write erotica. Please, please chime in with criticism. _
The Fuller Tower rises exactly one hundred floors above First Street. It's a triumph of modern architecture, they say - designed so that it doesn't sway even in the strongest breeze, but built to outlast the cataclysmic earthquake we all know is coming one of these days. From the top, you can look out across the water - onto the bridges, onto the boats; onto the opposite shore. If, of course, you have the money.
The top floor is taken up by a bank; immediately beneath them, two floors belong to that one tech company, with all the phones and stuff. The floor below that hosts - according to the plaque in the lobby - the leading architectural design firm in the western United States. Then there's that law firm that made the news a couple years back when they sued the president. The Fuller Tower is home to more three-piece suits than the entire 1980s, and needless to say, I don't work for any of them.
I was a film major, with vague aspirations of becoming an avant-garde director. So I don't know anything about law, or buildings, or high finance, and none of those firms needed me. They didn't need another hopeful intern with big dreams. They didn't need another guy trying to trade gumption for smarts. But they did need water, and that's why I got to spend my days looking out over the most gorgeous city in the country.
That particular day it was anything but gorgeous; a storm had moved in a few hours before, and the sky was grey, roiling, and angry. It cast a pall on the water below, and the wind whipped the bay into a white froth. It was late summer, and so - though it was towards the end of my shift - there was still sunlight; I was looking forward to getting out of the building and home before the rains started. Flashes of lightning were starting to flicker from the clouds, and we were the tallest target - so I hurried through refilling the water cooler on the top floor, and made my way to the elevator.
From the 100th to the 95th floor I was alone; I closed my eyes, listening to the sound of the machinery. Someone got on at the 94th floor - shared by a computer software company and a law firm; they went through water like nobody's business. I didn't bother to look; engineers didn't concern me - but then there was a monstrous crash of thunder, and a momentary thump as the car jerked to a halt. When I did open my eyes there was no point: it was completely dark.
"What the fuck?" The voice, across the elevator from me, seemed more irritated than worried. "Were we just hit by lighting?"
I cocked my ears, swivelling them all about: dead silence. "Must've been. Power's completely dead."
"Isn't there supposed to be a backup?"
"Yeah. Maybe the lightning took out the computer for a moment. Just give it a couple minutes; we'll be fine, I'm sure." We waited - time is difficult to track in pitch blackness with no external cues. The other person in the car said nothing. I finally spoke up, to end the silence. "So..."
"Call button?"
There was a phone behind a sliding glass panel next to the controls; I felt for it by touch, and pulled it off the hook. "Line's dead too."
"Jesus fucking Christ," the voice said, and sighed heavily - a quick, exasperated rush of air. "My goddamned luck..."
"Well... look on the bright side," I tried, after a moment. "The elevators are going to be their top priority. We shouldn't have to wait too long. And I've got water, so we won't get too dehydrated."
"Bright side," the voice echoed. I think I read somewhere, once, that if you lose one sense the others become more acute, to compensate for it. Having little else better to do, I turned my senses to my companion. It was a sharp voice, and unmistakably feminine - a professional air of authority. I was almost positive she'd gotten on at the 94th floor, but computer people weren't normally so curt. Unfortunately it was hard to provoke conversation from her, so I had no idea whether it was simply irritation born from the untimely malfunction of the elevator that clipped her words. I was considering what to say to end the silence when she spoke up. "Have you been working here long?"
"Since the tower opened, back in '15."
"Have the elevators broken like this before?" Her voice was a little softer, now. It had the slightly resonant overtones that came with a muzzle, although they were not as deep as some of the wolves I've known. Still, I guessed her to be a canine - maybe a fox; there were a number of foxes working for the law firm.
"Not that I'm aware of."
She sighed again, but this time it was a little less angry and a little more resigned. "I really need to get home."
"Plans?"
"Sort of. I mean..." she trailed off. "I don't really have... I'm not going to do anything. It's just been a really long day at the office, you know?"
"What do you do?"
"I'm a lawyer. Environmental law... permits and impact statements, things like that. It's not as interesting as it sounds. What about you, Eric?"
I started - how did she know me? Was I supposed to know her? "Er..."
"It was on your jacket."
"Oh!"
She chuckled quietly. "Sorry about that. I guess I should repay the favor, huh? I'm Callie Marino."
"Ehrenbaum, Marino, and - "
"That's my dad. I wasn't really given a choice, about going into law. It was expected." Her voice was clipped again; brusque. "It doesn't matter."
"Oh. I'm sorry, I just recognized the -"
"It doesn't matter," she repeated again, and then went quiet. Marino was a good Italian name - so maybe she was a wolf after all. I was, too - though nobody ever guessed it; I was thin and lanky, with big ears that made me look almost more like a jackal. Well, genetics can't be helped. The elevator was not large; I heard the sound of fabric on metal and felt the disturbed air as Callie slumped to the ground. That was when I caught just the hint of a curious scent - not perfume; something more organic, with a trace of an exotic spice to it. I must've sniffed a little too audibly. "Yes?" Her tone was almost accusatory.
"Oh, uh. It's nothing." I coughed, and busied myself with my wristwatch - pressing the button to cast the digits in an unearthly blue glow. Seven o'clock.
It clearly wasn't nothing, but for a moment she didn't bother to make reply. "Yes."
"Yes?"
"Yes, I'm in heat. Yes, that's why I'd like to go home right now." Her voice was smaller; it had softened a little. "I left my pills at home."
"Pills?"
"My Halcynolone, yes. I live in the other tower. I was hoping to go home and get them..."
I'd seen my friends go through their cycles, either with medications or without - the latter, of course, infinitely more trying. It wasn't something I envied her for. "Oof. Sorry."
"I wasn't even supposed to come into the office today." She sighed heavily - the shuddering, unhappy kind of sigh that is almost trying to become an exasperated sob. "My dad wanted some papers submitted. 'It's just for an hour'..." I could hear the sneer written across her face as she repeated her father's words.
"I'm sorry," I repeated - apologizing compulsively to her for some reason.
"I'll be alright." But she sighed again, then, and I thought it best to leave her alone. Periodically I checked my watch, as it became 7:15 and then 7:30. I could hear her shifting about, and her scent was becoming stronger by the minute. No, I had to imagine it could not be pleasant - one of my friends had described the experience as being similar to having an unscratchable itch, and even thinking about it made me grimace sympathetically.
By 8 o'clock, when we had been in the elevator for two hours, I heard her teeth grit. There was the soft sound of fabric against the floor of the elevator as she fidgeted, and then her breath caught for the briefest moment. I quirked my ears, but said nothing.
They picked up, nonetheless, on the quiet and decidedly rhythmic noise now coming from the opposite side of the elevator. It was not especially hard to guess what Callie was doing. Not especially hard, but quite uncouth - so I tried to put it out of my mind. But it was impossible - catching the way her breath became more and more strained; how it became shaky and halting and tense.
The rustling of fur on fur and the rather more lascivious sound of this self-same fur on bare, wet flesh grew faster; I could hear her trying to keep her breath in check, but it was unnaturally shallow and rapid. Suddenly she drew it in more sharply, letting out a soft, sighing "oh." The noises quieted, though, in the confined space of the elevator, the saturation of her scent had increased precipitously.
It was not that I envied her, far from it - but what are you supposed to do? Ordinarily, if I were to tell you "I was in this elevator, and the person next to me got off," you would think nothing of it. Now, the situation was slightly different, but considering the woman's discomfort I could not very well admit how desperately turned on I was.
"I guess I probably wasn't as discreet as I thought, huh?" Callie's breathing had returned to normal, and her voice was collected and calm.
"You're only four or five feet away from me," I pointed out. And my ears, those damnable big things, had a knack for swivelling in on the source of that unspeakably carnal, incomparably lovely noise. That I did not say. "I'm not sure discretion would really have helped."
She sighed. "It's true. Well, don't let me keep you. What's good for the goose, and all that..."
"Well I mean I, I don't," I stammered with only the vaguest pretense of coherence. "It's a, you know, I'm not-"
"I have a nose, too, Eric."
We get so used to our own smell that we don't notice these kinds of things. So far as I was concerned, my own arousal had been marked only by the uncomfortable tightness of my blue jeans. "Oh."
"It's alright," Callie said. "I know what you're thinking, anyway. Or, I mean, I know what I'd be thinking if I were you."
"What's that?"
She laughed. "On the one hand, I'd be thinking 'oh, god, this poor woman is in a rough way, and I really feel sorry for her. And I need to think about what to say very carefully, so that I don't seem like a perv, even though I'm pretty sure she's not wearing her undergarments anymore. Because... I am a gentleman, and I don't want to give the wrong impression to my companion, erstwhile fingering herself in an elevator, because she has a sense of decorum and she wouldn't be doing that without good reason.' On the one hand."
I grinned, invisibly, at her sense of humor. "And on the other?"
"On the other you're probably thinking, 'Dear Penthouse_. I never thought it could happen to me_...'"
Damn. Well, now that wasn't what I was thinking. I was thinking hey, I only read it for the articles! and am I really that transparent? and well, okay, maybe a little. "You're not putting me in a very easy position."
Callie laughed again, and I could hear her getting up, slowly. "Ah, well. This elevator's too small for all the easy positions, isn't it? I mean it, though; it's just biology, you know? You can't really blame biology. Did you say you had water over there?"
"Yeah." I felt around for the machine's lever and an empty cup, filling it as far as I dared and then holding it out in the darkness. "Here."
Her paw brushed over my forearm, and then traced down my wrist to the cup, taking it gently. "Thank you. It's the goddamned... it's the medicine. You get so damned thirsty." She downed the contents in one long pull.
"Better living through chemistry."
"Well, if it's that or the hormones..." She sighed. "I'm not normally an exhibitionist, you know."
"It's not really exhibitionism. It's pitch black."
"It was close enough." Suddenly I felt her fingers at my side, seeking out my arm again, sliding down to take my paw in hers with a little squeeze. "C'mon, what are you really thinking?"
I closed my eyes and swallowed, trying to set aside how nice the soft fur of her paw felt, mixing with mine; how warm the touch was. "I'm thinking that... if we were not stuck in an elevator, this situation would be very different. Less stressed."
"That's it?"
"The other things can't really be called thoughts... They're more like impulses, I'd say."
"I know the feeling." Callie snickered; her paw, I was forced to notice, had not yet left mine. "Look, I admit that things would be very different if we were out on the street, but... we're not..."
"Well... no..."
Her other paw, which had remained through this all largely hidden, made an appearance at my back, and I became aware that Callie was only a foot or so in front of me. "You're being very demure."
"Just trying to think about what to tell the magazine."
Callie laughed, and stepped forward; her muzzle was painfully close. "Tell 'em it was therapeutic. That way nobody'll think anybody was taking advantage..."
Well, what the hell. I dropped my muzzle carefully until my nose met hers - she was short, at least a foot shorter than I. Once I was no longer, as it were, in the dark, I pressed my lips to hers in a deep kiss that she returned swiftly and without reservation.
The absence of any call for restraint gave me the freedom to run my paws over her, exploring my companion's frame with unpretentious abandon. The fabric of her dress was sheer and smooth beneath my fingerpads; the fur beneath felt thick and yielded only lightly to the touch. Callie herself tensed with a quiet murmur, right against my lips - so, drawn by her paws at my back, I stepped into her. And again, until her back was against the wall and she drew away from my muzzle, panting heavily.
"See?" I managed, quite out of breath myself. "So much for demure."
"Fuck demure," Callie growled, accenting her words with the sudden appearance of her paw at my belt, unfastening it roughly to give her access to the button of my jeans. "What has demure ever done for anyone? Fuck all, that's what." The zipper was wide open, now, and Callie had unceremoniously pulled off my briefs as well. Her zeal bordered on the dangerous, but it was so very hard to argue...
So I didn't. "Mm-hmm. Very useless. Wait - hold on." She was starting to press my blue jeans down, and I realized that I needed something from them first. I pulled out my wallet, rummaging through it quickly.
It was not until I tore the wrapper off the condom that Callie apprehended my actions. "Ahh," she said. "Crafty. Like a fox."
"Prepared," I countered. I unrolled it quickly down the length of my shaft, all the way to the base - particularly important for a wolf, naturally - and then pressed forward again to pin Callie to the wall, my paw sliding down her thigh to find the hem of her dress so that I could tug it upwards.
She helped. Again I marvelled at how soft the fabric it was, and doubtless quite expensive - and now it was bunched unceremoniously about her waist, as she parted her legs for me and I put my paws at her rear to hoist her up. All the time I had spent lifting water bottles was paying off, and she let out a delighted laugh at the sureness of the movement.
Holding her to the wall with my upper body, I supported her hips with one paw momentarily, using the other to guide the pointed tip of my shaft into position. The slick heat was unbearably enticing; I drew my hips up shortly, without hesitation, pressing deep inside her with one firm movement.
Callie gasped, and her fingers squeezed my side, pulling her muzzle close to my ear so that soft moan fell right against it. "God, Eric," she breathed. "You're so big..."
Whether this was true or not, I have no real idea (not to say that I haven't measured, although I'm sure as hell not telling you) but it was such a good thing to say. I growled, rather than giving an actual answer, and replaced my paw at her firm rump, supporting her - and giving a playful squeeze for good measure - as I withdrew. My second thrust was no less restrained, and this set the tone of our movements.
Charitably, you could call it lovemaking, yes, but I think a better word would likely be more vulgar. I arched my back into the strong, deep thrusts, and Callie's breath left her in a wanton moan each time I ground my hips lightly against hers, my length buried fully in the exquisite, deliriously tight heat of her body.
I wanted more than nothing else in the world to focus on this - on all of it. On the sound my shaft made as it slid within her; on the feeling of every inch of her body as it parted around me. On the heated cries Callie gasped at every thrust, and the way her paws squeezed my shoulders. But my arms were getting slightly tired, which stole some of my concentration, and besides I knew that if I thought too hard about how damned amazing she felt I was going to finish entirely too quickly.
My breathing was ragged and deep, tinged with guttural pants and growls as I rocked up against her, my movements pressing her not especially gently against the wall. She didn't seem to mind; she found my ear and bit down on it to stifle a moan - but that half-restrained sound was better than if she had given full voice to it; it suggested so much more. Her legs were wrapped around my waist, strong thighs squeezing me, surrounding my body in soft warmth.
This served to trap me, confining me to short thrusts that left me, constantly, almost completely within her. This is my excuse for why I did not notice my knot growing until it was too late. But I had already abandoned all sense of rhythm, anyway, leaning heavily on Callie, muzzle pinning her ear to the wall as I bucked against her frame.
I found my voice only in that final moment, only briefly, and only to growl a vaguely blasphemous invocation of the lord's name followed by a much less restrained invocation of Callie's. Distantly, well beyond my control, I felt myself stiffen, and heard the deep groan as I went rigid with the strong spurts that mark the sort of release one finds after several hours of tension.
When it was finished, I was still leaning against Callie, with the two of us trying to catch our breath to no great effect. She was the first to speak, though her voice was still broken. "Can we sit down?"
"Mmf? Mm," I said - I think; it may have been less coherent. Then, holding her, I drew her down with me slowly, carefully - conscious of my trapped shaft, which she was squeezing in a reflexive but still not terribly ladylike way. "Better?"
"Yeah," she murmured. "Y'coulda pulled out, you know."
"Not really."
She leaned back, away from me, and I could tell that her head was canted in thought, trying to parse that and, no doubt, the feeling of my still-rigid length within her. "Are you... stuck?"
"Yeah? It's a canine thing..."
"For how long?" Callie's voice was a mixture of curiosity and accusation.
I shrugged, hoping that even though it was invisible she might still feel the gesture. "I don't know. Ten, twenty minutes?" We'd been taught about the process in health class, through vague metaphors and unsettling diagrams, but I'd assumed that whispers from classmates would've filled in the remaining details. To say nothing of... of... a worrisome thought crossed my mind. "Was that your... first..."
"Huh? Oh. Yeah, actually. My mom never gave me The Talk, so I decided the best way to lose my virginity would be getting railed by a guy I just met up against the wall of a broken elevator." Callie leaned forward, and nipped my nose. "No, it wasn't my first time. First time with a dog, though."
"Wolf."
"Really? I would've thought some greyhound in your background."
"No, purebred. Ethiopian wolf."
"Huh." Callie paused for a moment, and then settled in against me with a sigh. "First time with a wolf, then. I guess I'd heard about this. That must be why they make the special condoms, huh?"
"Yeah. The base is wider, so it doesn't break. It's like... if it did break, you'd be SOL, 'cause... you know, ten or twenty minutes 'til you can get it out."
"Just carry around a pocketknife." When I winced, Callie laughed, and clicked her teeth together playfully. "Still, I guess that makes sense. You know you're not supposed to keep 'em in your wallet, right?"
"Pocketknifes?"
"No, condoms. I was told in health class, anyway. The heat and friction of being in your wallet makes them break down. I mean... I'd think if heat and friction makes condoms break down, that suggests a design flaw, wouldn't you say? But that's what I was told. You're living dangerously, Eric."
"Sorry," I said, appropriately chagrined.
"In my case it doesn't matter anyway. I mean I'm on the Pill and, Christ, any chance I had of having kids, I'm sure the Halcynolone has fucked that up this go around. I'm just saying, you know, for future reference."
Future reference. I nodded, and we made small talk, my arms wrapped around her, until I dropped my muzzle into the crook of her neck and used it to stifle a yawn.
"Hey. What's that about?"
"I've had a hard day. I think I'm entitled."
"Entitled? We're not done yet," Callie said.
I protested. "It's like ten o'clock!"
"It's like ten o'clock," she repeated, mocking playfully. There was a beat, and then she snickered. "You must've thrown terrible slumber parties."
"What?"
She poked my nose - her ability to do this, to find parts of my body, was quite good. "Wouldn't that be your idea of a slumber party? Hmm? You're the only one who comes and you just go straight to sleep?"
Chastened, I gave a short, apologetic laugh. "Well..."
"'Sides, not like we have anything else to do, is it?" She was leaning against me again, her nose rubbing right against mine. "Of course not..."
My knot had shrunk enough to let me withdraw, and I shuffled around to do so, fetching a brief intake of breath from her. "It's a good point," I said, carefully removing the condom and, for lack of any better way of disposing of it, tying it off and setting it haphazardly back in its wrapper. "So what would you like to do?"
Again Callie's ability to find me - practically ESP, so near as I could tell - came into play. Her fingers wrapped lightly around my shaft, such that it became clear enough that she took a dim view of its detumescence. "I'm not yet sure," she murmured. Her fur felt like velvet; the smooth fingerpads like warm silk as they wandered up and down. "This elevator is pretty small, so I was thinking it might involve me on all fours and you... well, if I understand the nomenclature right, you doing something you canines are pretty good at..."
"Well, yes..." I let out a gasp of pleasure that broke my speech, feeling my hips arch up and into that lovely, lingering touch. "But I... like I said I got no... my wallet's empty. Story of the times, really, I -"
"It's okay, wolf."
"Well..."
"You're being demure again," she cautioned, the stroking of her fingers growing ever more insistent. I was helpless, my arousal having returned in force - the sultry cast to Callie's voice did not help matters. "So let me give you an option, mm? Either you stop worrying about me on my behalf, or I castrate you with my claws right here and now."
She said this so sweetly, and the touch of her claws at my shaft was such an electric, wonderful sensation that I could not resist. "I'm done worrying about you on your behalf," I mumbled. Dear Penthouse...
"Good." She leaned against me, pointedly, so that the only thing I could feel was the warmth of her body for a long, lingering few seconds, stroking her fingers all the way up from the base of my length to the tip - where she rested, a maddeningly exhilarating sensation. When she was satisfied, or at least could not think of anything further with which to tease me, she parted.
In the darkness of the elevator I could feel her moving, and then something heavy, buried in fluff, thudded against my nose. Her tail - it flicked against my muzzle repeatedly. "Stop it!" I batted at the presence blindly.
"You'd better move then, hmm?" Callie asked. The air currents occasioned by her waving tail had, also, the side effect of carrying her scent directly to my sensitive nose. Then she squeaked, a little surprised yelp - because I had caught her tail between my teeth.
I held it there as I straightened up, feeling for her frame. My paw connected with her side, and I traced this back to her rear, giving the yielding flesh a little squeeze. Duly oriented, I slid into position behind her - somewhat difficult, given the darkness; it took me a moment. Then I felt my tip brush over sodden, slippery warmth, and I hunched my hips forward with a low growl that Callie answered in a sighing moan.
This time - not having to support her, and not being quite so crazed - I had the luxury of pacing. I moved slowly, fluidly - pressing inwards until my hips were right snugly up against Callie's; pulling back until my tip just barely remained within her.
My partner was a little less restrained; my thrusts took on an involuntarily sharper cast as she bucked back to meet me. I was further from the edge than I had feared, and so I matched this gamely, letting my tempo build into what should've been a crescendo but was, instead, merely the main act.
Callie began to cry out, and I had to grip her hips to give her pace even the barest modicum of steadiness. Still the act was raw, laid bare of any presumptuousness. It was fast and surging and primal; she murmured what might have been words, at first, but these slid quickly into guttural, wavering moans as I took her swiftly, eagerly, rocking into her with a heady abandon.
She was tensing, now; her movements had become more hesitant, and her upper body dropped as her arms gave out, leaving her to press wantonly back and against my driving, fierce movements. I could hear her breath grow shallower with each thrust - until it suddenly stopped altogether, and her spine arched deeply. Her peak was, given the darkness, a delightfully multisensory experience - the sound of her quavering, high-pitched cry and the feeling of her body, tightening around me; the hint of a new scent catching my nose as something warm and wet soaked the fur of my crotch and dripped against the floor of the elevator.
I gave her a few more deep, firm bucks in time to her spasms and ecstatic gasps of giddy bliss; when her climax ebbed, I began again in earnest, leaving Callie to support herself weakly, holding herself up against my movements as I rutted her urgently. I leaned forward, over her back, trapping her tail as I nosed her ear - giving her a warning of my own release, which I felt closing rapidly.
This time, she could not have ignored the growth of my knot - and she didn't, her breath rendering the words a strained gasp. "Tie with me again," she said, in a whisper harsh with passion. Any attempt I might've made at protest vanished at her follow-up: "tie with me again and come inside me."
I acknowledged her with a growl, and let nature take over my remaining movements - sharp, deep thrusts to keep myself hilted in her body as my knot swelled, until I could no longer pull back. My paws gripped Callie's rump firmly, digging in a little as I humped swiftly against her upturned rear. She was moaning again, starting to tense with each movement.
To me, for a wolf to howl at climax is... cliché, and somewhat gauche - but I just barely stopped myself, as the world collapsed inward on a rising tide of pleasure. Instead I gave Callie a deep, feral groan, grinding in deeply with that first hot rush of my release. I continued to hitch my hips with each warm spurt, reflexively, and distantly I heard her call out again; felt her squeeze me, as if milking my shaft for every last pulse of seed.
I groaned incoherently, and slumped back, drawing her with me so that she settled down in my lap. Callie laughed, a breathless giggle, and then collapsed as well to let me bear the entirety of her weight. It took us a few minutes to gather our breath - we were both completely spent. This time, I was the first to manage words.
"Better slumber party this time?"
She snickered, and shifted for a moment to snuggle closer to me. "You know, I'm not... going to thank you, 'cause that's... bad form."
"Yeah."
"But, you know." Her voice dropped, becoming a little quieter. "Thank you. I'm not... I wasn't planning on my day going like this, you know? But it's gone for the better. I'm sorry I've been so..."
"It's just biology," I said. "You can't blame biology."
Callie laughed again, and I felt her shaking her head. "Using my own words against me, huh? You'd be a good lawyer."
"I'm just a little surprised you're not raring to go again."
"Well. Even I have my limits. But, I mean, if we - oh!"
The lights came back on, although I was for several seconds still painfully blind as my eyes gradually remembered what vision was. And this, fading in slowly like an arthouse movie, was how I first saw Caroline Marino.
She was not a wolf - though I could see her only in profile, because her back was pressed up against mine. Her face carried a dark mask, fringed by a softer color that, in the harsh fluorescent light, looked almost like a halo, as though her face was glowing from within. This, and the rings on the tail that waved lazily before my nose, marked her indisputably as a raccoon - and a desperately cute one, at that.
The elevator started to move, and she got up quickly - my knot had, in the shock of the moment and the general languor of my body, shrunk, fortunately. I followed her lead, putting my underwear and pants back on swiftly. The elevator ticked past the 90th floor.
It was at the 80th by the time we said anything. She turned; our eyes met, and, seeing how they wandered, she laughed nervously. "Ah. Hi."
"I didn't... really know what you looked like," I admitted. "My eyes were closed when you got on."
"I hadn't really paid all that close attention to you, either. But I, uh... I mean. Ah... hmm." She coughed; we went silent again as the floors ticked by.
I realized, then, that the odds were against us meeting again. We were of such disparate worlds, and she was no doubt so busy - if she had any interest at all.
"Look," she said, as we descended past the 54th floor. "I'm not... normally like this. I'm really not. And, uh... I'm really not a terrible person, and I think we should get to know each other. If you don't mind. I mean, like, more formally - dinner, or something. I mean... not now, 'cause it's late. Tomorrow? Do you want to get dinner tomorrow? I know a really good Vietnamese place in Nob Hill. I think we should go there, and eat Vietnamese food."
I arched an eyebrow. "Was that your elevator pitch?"
She grinned, the tension having been broken. "It seemed only fair. I got yours twice, after all."
Chuckling, I shrugged, because the point could not be argued. "It's true. Alright, Vietnamese, tomorrow. It's a date."
By the 20th floor, we had exchanged phone numbers; by the 10th, she had crushed her muzzle to mine in a deep kiss that we just barely broke in time for the doors to slide open on the first floor. There a maintenance man was standing, toolbag slung over his shoulder.
"I'm very sorry about that, sir, ma'am. Direct hit to the..." He paused, no doubt catching the scent that now pervaded the elevator, and looked at us skeptically. "Main... power..." The man seemed on the verge of speaking again a few times, drawing his breath in and then abandoning the attempt.
I clapped him on the shoulder. "You have a good day."
Outside, it was pouring, and Callie hailed a cab. She kissed me once more before ducking inside it, and then vanished into the Friday night traffic. Around me, all around me, was activity - promise, energy, possibility. A Muni bus crossed before me, pantograph showering sparks that might, it seemed to me, have set the entire world ablaze if they so desired.
And that, dear readers, is how I wound up dancing up California Street like Gene goddamned Kelly, soaked to the bone and grinning like a madman. Just another life-changing moment; just another brush with serendipity - just another story on just another Friday at the end of just another summer in the boundless tumult of the City by the Bay.
The imperial rolls, I have to say, were excellent.
Guest columnist Eric A. Marino-Schulman is a Bay Area photographer, essayist and director. His first film, Where Little Cable Cars: How GM Killed the Key System_, debuts next Tuesday at the Roxie._