THEY ARE NOT FAR from Matthew’s apartment, driving along Huntington Avenue, when Matthew remembers the white mink.
Thank God I didn’t leave it on the living room floor.
In a way, says BW, I’m rather sorry you didn’t. It would have put you on the edge; it would have been exciting, Matthew. And another thing; it has occurred to me that one reason the kid is interested in you — who knows, it might be the only reason — is that she’s curious about just what, exactly, her mother experiences on those evenings when she’s out with you. Quite probably she has been curious for some time.
That’s repulsive.
You can use it, though. You really should use it.
Matthew pays the driver, overtipping. He’s amused to see that his hand shakes a little when he hands the bills over. The driver gives him a mock salute. Perhaps there’s a hint of a wink in his eye.
Matthew and Leila walk past the concierge. Matthew feels a twinge of regret that the girl who lives down the hall from him isn’t on duty. She might discover an interest in him if she saw him taking Leila up to his apartment.
He nods at the concierge, mumbles a greeting, guides Leila toward the elevators, though it must be obvious to her where to go; the lobby’s small, and the elevators are nearly directly ahead of them. She’s seen elevators before, Matthew. She knows what they are. She knows where she’s going. She knows what she’s getting into. The elevator repairmen, the Hardy Boys, are standing at the door to one of the elevators. They have a plastic out-of-order sign propped in front of it. When Matthew and Leila approach, one of them says, “All set here. All set.” He snaps the enormous repair manual closed, and the other whisks the sign out of the way. Matthew and Leila step in. Matthew presses the button for his floor. The elevator rises smoothly upward for a couple of floors and then stops. Matthew and Leila stand for a moment, waiting for it to begin moving again. Nothing happens.
“Great,” says Matthew, nodding. “Great.” He presses the button again. Nothing happens. Nothing at all. There is no distant clicking or whirring to offer hope that the box might begin moving again. Just nothing.
“What’s wrong?” asks Leila.
“God only knows,” says Matthew. “These elevators haven’t been working right since I moved in.” He presses the alarm button, and a bell, very like a school bell, rings somewhere below them. “We shouldn’t be here long,” he says. “The repairmen are right in the lobby.”
“Is it safe?” asks Leila.
Matthew’s touched. She’s asking him for reassurance.
“Oh, sure. There are half a dozen safety devices in these things. We’re just going to have to wait until the Hardy Boys come and get us out.” Matthew leans on the alarm button.
“Can you use that phone?” She points to a little door labeled PHONE.
“Ha!” says Matthew. He has opened the little door before. He opens it for Leila. Nothing’s inside but some gum and candy wrappers.
“This is too bad,” he says. It’s going to break the mood, he thinks. What can I do about that? Should I put my arm around her? Should we sit down? Damn, this would have to happen. I deserve this, I suppose. This is my luck. This is what I get for thinking — well, for thinking what I was thinking. Maybe I should ask her to dance. That would be kind of cute. Suddenly, the doors begin to open. A thin crack appears between them, and the voices of the comical repairmen come through it. Fingers, dressed in red gloves, reach through, a pair of hands, then two pairs of hands, prying the doors apart. Their emancipators send up a cheer for themselves, and suddenly the doors pop open. The elevator repairmen are standing there grinning, pleased with themselves. Matthew and Leila have to hop several feet to the floor, Matthew wondering as they do how much of Leila is visible to their rescuers when she clambers down.
They shake hands all around, and, fearlessly, Matthew and Leila take the other elevator.
[to be continued]
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🎧 517: They are . . .