by Amy L. Gale
The doors move open, just enough to catch small glimpses of movement. Tyler moves his lips toward the opening. “Hey, anybody there?”
“We’re working on getting you two out.” A voice calls.
I guess the cameras are working. Good thing the rescuers didn’t arrive a half hour later. God knows what footage would be on those tapes. Well, it looks like we’ll be out of here soon. I suck in a deep breath and slowly exhale, letting all the built-up tension slowly flow from my body. Seems like I’ve been in here for a lifetime, but I’m finally saved. Or am I destined for another trap?
CHAPTER 6—ESCAPE
“The doors won’t budge, safety feature. We need a quarter inch more to use the crowbar,” a voice says from above.
How can preventing you from escaping be a safety feature? I’ve got to look into this elevator company. My next topic “Unsafe Safety Features,” that is if I make it out of here.
Tyler paces around the small space like he’s about to have an epiphany. I hate to break it to him, but no divine intervention exists in here. Well, I guess that’s not entirely true. We’re stuck here together for a reason. I doubt it’s the universe desperately trying to tell us we’re meant for each other. Life is only that romantic in novels and John Hughes movies. On the plus, I learned a few valuable lessons, never let your emotions flow into places they shouldn’t, always double check when giving out your phone number to a hot guy after a one night stand, and never underestimate the power of a near death experience.
“Perfect.” He kneels and runs his hands down my calf to my ankle.
His calloused fingertips create a sensation that makes me forget about the whole earthquake ordeal. Nothing exists in this instant but the two of us. Okay, not the best timing.
He continues down and pulls off my shoe. “This works.” He faces the doors and slams the red heel into the opening like it’s a hatchet.
I gasp. The words “noooo” echo in my head even though I can’t open my mouth. A tear flows down my cheek. The symbol of my new life as a reporter, as a California girl, as a woman rising from the ashes just died in an elevator with a one-night stand.
“What?” Tyler turns toward me. “We’re almost out of here, babe. Thought you’d be happy.”
I force a smile even though it feels as though my soul just left my body. I get it. It’s a shoe. No harm done. That shoe was my “Hollywood” sign, now it’s just another broken piece of me. There’s no way in hell I can explain this to him, and he’d never understand anyway.
Tyler wedges the heel back and forth, digging the dagger deeper inside me. “Got it.”
A thick crowbar slides in between the doors and like magic, they open. Tyler swings around sporting a grin, but all I can do is grimace.
He shakes his head. “Girls and their shoes.”
Yeah, I bet if I had to smash his bass through a window to escape he’d feel the same way. It doesn’t matter; we’re almost out of here and probably won’t see each other again. The story of my life, it’s like a fractured fairytale; the only two men on earth who can make me feel alive both destroyed something inside me.
“You guys ready?” A man in a hard hat looks down upon us.
Great, we’re stuck in between floors. More complications.
Tyler hands me my tattered shoe. “Ladies first.”
I take off my other one and stuff them into my briefcase. Okay, time to put my climbing skills to use. I hand Tyler my briefcase, and he flings it through the doors onto the office floor. I’m frozen, unable to move. I can’t wait to get out of here but don’t want to leave. It’s like I want to savor every last second I have with Tyler even though I know my time has run out.
“Don’t be scared. I’ve got you.” Tyler moves me forward by my hips.
Yep, exactly what I’m scared of.
“Grab my hand, Miss.” The man in a hard hat reaches toward me.
I grip his hand and attempt to pull myself up, but all I can think about is Tyler’s hands on me. Memories of his fingers caressing every inch of skin flood my brain. Clearly, the worst timing ever. I take a deep breath and compose myself. Tyler slides his hands down right under my butt, lifting me. The rescue effort feels more like torture than saving.
Within a few seconds, I’m hoisted onto the office floor like a tuna being pulled up onto a fishing boat. Tyler scales the elevator walls like Spiderman.
He brushes his hands against his jeans. “Just another day at the office.” He winks.
I let out a slight chuckle. “Yep, back to work.”
The man in the hard hat gestures toward the front door. “I can arrange for medical care if necessary. The building’s been evacuated, ma’am. No one is allowed on the premises.”
I nod. “Don’t worry. We’re leaving.” Emergency lights illuminate the dark gray walls. Last time I was in a place that looked like this was senior year of high school when we drove to the state line on Halloween to visit the haunted penitentiary. If I could refrain from running out of here screaming like I did then I’ll call it a win, no promises though.
“Come on, babe. I’ll walk you to your car.” Tyler places his hand in the small of my back and guides me forward.
It’s funny. If any other guy in the world referred to me as “babe” I’d tell him off in a second and remind him that it’s not 1960 and women aren’t property. But for some reason when Tyler says it I melt. Why are things so different with him?
I stop in front of my car. “Listen, I’m sorry about the article. I think you’re extremely talented and I should’ve written more about the music and less about what happened during the interview.” I fidget with my fingers and look into his clear blue eyes. “And thank you for everything today. No one else I’d rather be stuck with than you.” Okay, that didn’t come out quite how I planned, but I’m starting to realize it’s true.
“That’s it?”
I shrug. What else is he expecting? I apologized and thanked him. I’m not going to bow down and worship him. Technically I did nothing wrong. I just want to be on decent terms with him. Who knows if we’ll ever cross paths again? “What do you mean, do I owe you dinner or something?” Oh God, I just asked him out. Real smooth, Ali.
He wedges me in between his body and the car door. “You owe me and everyone else a lot more than that.”
The aroma of his musky cologne spins another memory of our short night together. A glimpse of Tyler nudging me onto his chest right before we fell asleep floods my mind. Within seconds I’m completely absorbed by his essence.
“You’ve got to apologize and make this right.” Tyler reaches for the door handle, clicking it open.
Just like that, I’m back to reality. I exhale the breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. What is he talking about? Apologizing is one thing, but there’s no way the magazine is going to run the story again. It’s published and probably already yesterday’s news. “Okay.” That’s all I can muster.
He backs up and opens the door for me. “When?”
Is he for real? I mean, being trapped in an elevator after an earthquake almost causes us to plummet to our death is enough drama for one day. Plus, I think dealing with Jenna is much worse a fate. I’d rather the elevator.
“I think I’ve had enough excitement for today.” I scoot around him and plop down on my seat.
He leans forward, searching my face for an answer.
I guess he’s not letting me go until he gets one. “Tomorrow… around 4?” I tap my fingers on the steering wheel. “How ‘bout we meet at a public place, you know… lessen the drama?” I nibble my lip. “Olivia’s Pasta House?”
“That works.” He closes the door and steps back. “See you tomorrow, babe.”
***
In five short minutes, I’ll eat my last meal in the best kept secret in the city if we don’t get kicked out before the food arrives. There’s no way everyone’s going to keep calm and talk politely. Nope, not their style. Knowing I’ll never get to indulge the most exquisite eggpl
ant parmesan in existence doesn’t make things any better. Like when you give someone a quick peck not knowing it’s the last time your lips would ever touch theirs. I tell myself “If I’d only known what was about to happen I would’ve done things differently.” Not true. Expecting the inevitable only causes you to focus on the fact that you’re losing something you love. Guess it sucks either way.
I fling my purse over my shoulder and close the car door. Well Olivia’s Pasta House, you’re the only place in all of L.A. that makes me feel like I’m back at Grandma’s eating Sunday dinner. Maybe it’s better this way, reminders of home make everything harder.
I spot Tyler’s red convertible. Well, so much for being the first one here. I guess I’m walking into a massacre. On the plus, it’s early for dinner and late for lunch. Maybe the audience will stay small.
I’ve never been a fan of being the center of attention. Back in high school when I cheered for the Seamist Tigers, I tried my best to blend into the back row. Of course, when your quarterback boyfriend sweeps you off your feet after every game in front of the crowd it’s hard to hide. At least then I walked away happy. Doubt that will be the case this time.
Procrastinating won’t change things. It’s best to get it over with quickly, like ripping off a Band-Aid. Yeah, it’s more like sticking your hand in a snake pit. It’s not the bite that kills you but the venom flowing through your veins.
I take a deep breath and march toward the door. No need for dramatics, there’ll be enough of those inside. If we can keep the yelling to a minimum and don’t end up on the evening news, I’ll call it a win. I swing open the glass door and step inside. It’s go time.
Jenna sits at the head of a long table at the back of the restaurant. Marcus sits on one side of her and Lexie on the other as if they’re protecting their queen. From the way everyone acts, you’d think Jenna was their manager or at least in the band. It’s strange how the wife of member has so much power. I guess it’s kind of admirable. She’s a strong independent woman who looks out for them like they’re her baby chicks. I tried to pick up a gosling at my Uncle’s farm once when I was eight. The mother goose came charging at me like a freight train and bit me so hard on the arm that I still have the scar. Why do I feel like I’m that same situation all over again?
I walk through the Italian themed restaurant, passing the mural of Venice on the side wall. I breathe deep, trying to savor the aroma of fresh baked garlic bread from the brick oven. If this is the last time I step foot in Olivia’s, I don’t want to take anything for granted.
I take more time than necessary to reach the table. It’s like rushing to an execution… my own. I stand behind Tyler like he’s shielding me from the angry energy. The aroma of his musky cologne transports me back to our close quarters in the elevator. The feel of his touch, the way he runs his hand through his hair that makes my heart just about beat out of my chest. Here I go again. My brain turned on its self-defense button. In all reality, facing the threat of suddenly plummeting to our death back in the elevator was a way better scenario than this one.
It’s like a showdown in the old west. The melodic tones of the theme from The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly plays in my head… louder with every passing second. Jenna’s cold eyes stare straight at mine, following every movement. Who’s going to draw first?
One of us has to act civilized, and from the sneer on her face, it’s not going to be Jenna. Okay, time to get this settled and over with so we can all move on.
Tyler slides into a chair at the foot of the table adjacent to an empty seat. I guess that one’s meant for me. At least he’s by my side. Maybe that means something. At this point, I sure as hell shouldn’t make any assumptions. These guys are all out for my blood.
I pull out the chair near Tyler’s and slide into the seat. “Hi.”
Jenna throws her hands in the air. “Seriously. Don’t you think ‘I’m sorry’ should be the first words out of your lying mouth?”
I fidget with my fingers. Two seconds in and she’s about to jump across the table and attack me, maybe I should’ve hired a bodyguard. Last time I felt like this was when Brittany Jones cornered me in the girl’s locker room for talking to her boyfriend. The fact that I was asking him a question about our lab report didn’t change her perspective. I doubt anything said today will change Jenna’s opinion either. Jenna and I aren’t in high school, she can’t turn this into a hair-pulling brawl like Brittany did back in the day, right?
I swallow hard. “I’m very sorry the article wasn’t everything you’d hoped.”
Twelve eyes glare at me, summoning the fires of hell. Oh God, that came out totally wrong. It’s probably the worst apology in the history of the world.
Jenna slams her hands on the table. “It was bullshit.” Her face turns bright crimson in a matter of seconds.
“Who the hell do you think you are?” Marcus shakes his head. “You hardly know anything about us, and you print this crap about us partying all the time and banging our fans.” He lets out a loud sigh. “You hardly mentioned the music which was the whole point of the article.”
“You should write for the Hollywood Star. Looks like gossip articles are your niche.” Van taps his hands on a glass full of water.
I get it. I should’ve focused more on the music and the new album they’re recording but they didn’t give me much material on that front. Don’t they realize whatever they say in an interview can and will be used? They’ve got to take some responsibility.
I nod. Okay, this is pretty much a business meeting, so I’ll act as professional as possible. “Yes, the other pieces of the interview may have overshadowed the new album, and I apologize for that.”
Lexie sports a half-grin. “Listen, Ali, I’m in advertising. I know you need to give the public a reason to read Entertainment Rocks! but whatever you write is how the public perceives Devil’s Garden. They’re just coming into the mainstream, and you have them portrayed as a bunch of immature party animals.” She sips her cola. “You’re branding them with an unfair image. They’ve worked their asses off, and their music speaks for itself. You should’ve focused more on the ‘small town friends work their way up to hitting the big-time’. Everyone loves a feel-good piece just as much as they do a smut article.”
A low growl forms in my throat. I don’t write smut articles, but she does have a point. Again, they acted like a bunch of immature twelve-year-olds during the whole interview. Everyone forgot that whole hour of their life. “I’m sorry the article didn’t have a feel-good aura.”
“You could’ve mentioned my kick ass drum riffs instead of my other talents.” Chaz winks.
Is everyone else sitting at this table deaf? Comments like that are the reason the article turned out the way it did. Not because of anything that went on between Tyler and I and not because I’m scorned from our night together, but because the band portrays themselves negatively every time he opens his mouth.
I sit up straight. “I can only report based on the information you tell me… and you’ve had a lot to say about your other talents.”
“What the hell Tyler? You brought us all here to put up with more of her bullshit? Where’s this heartfelt apology?” Jenna smirks.
“Let’s take it down a notch.” Tyler turns toward me.
That’s enough. They just don’t get it. Looks like I’ll need to tell them exactly what happened and why the article turned out the way it did.
I take a deep breath. “Guys, I’m sorry the article wasn’t what you expected. I didn’t mean to make you sound like a bunch of immature womanizers. I wrote the article based on the things you told me in the interview. I listened to your stuff, and I think it’s great, but I wrote the article solely on what was said in the interview. I’m sorry I didn’t focus more on the new album.”
Jenna jumps up from her seat. “Bullshit. You wrote that article like a scorned groupie because you hopped in bed with Tyler and couldn’t handle the aftermath.”
“Jenna, enough.”
Tyler runs a hand through his hair. “She just apologized.”
Jenna shakes her head. “No, she’s trying to defend herself. Like she didn’t do anything wrong.”
The fire builds up inside, like lava flows across my cheeks. “I didn’t do anything wrong. Half the article was direct quotes from your drummer.” I point at Chaz.
“He’s an asshole. No one listens to him.” Jenna gestures toward Chaz.
“Hey,” Chaz yells.
I stand up. “See… this is the way you all acted in the interview. You should listen to Chaz because believe me, every other reporter who interviews you will. If you want to be portrayed differently, then don’t act like a bunch of wannabe rockers who brag about their conquests.” Oops, that came out much harsher than I anticipated. Maybe it’s for the best. Jenna needs a reality check, and so does the rest of the band.
She walks around the table clicking her black stilettos against the wooden floor and stops a few inches from me. Oh God, this might take a turn for the worse. She deals with sex crazed groupies all the time. Am I about to get my ass kicked?
“Maybe I’ll schedule an interview with another magazine.” She flashes a quick smile. “The headline: Reporter sleeps with bass player to get her first byline.” She shrugs. “If you don’t want to be portrayed as a slut who gets stories based on her conquests maybe you should act differently.”
That’s the kill shot. Jenna can easily ruin my career if she wants. It doesn’t matter what really happened or how I was assigned the article. She wins, again. I close my eyes tight but the river of tears bursts through. I turn and flee from the restaurant and the horde attacking me.
