Something in the Air

by L.H. Cosway

  “We’ve stopped moving,” I said stupidly. Good job stating the obvious.

  “Seems so,” the man agreed, stepping forward and pressing the emergency button on the wall panel.

  “Just my luck.” I sighed as we waited for someone to come through on the speaker. A minute passed and nothing. I shuffled from foot to foot, starting to feel awkward sharing this small space with a stranger, even if he was one of the most attractive strangers I’d encountered in quite some time.

  Eventually the man pulled his phone from his pocket and dialled a number. Now why didn’t I think of that? Then again, who exactly was I going to call?

  “Leanne, hey,” the man said, the phone at his ear. “Bit of a problem. I’m on the lift and it’s stopped moving. Can you find one of the caretakers and let them know it’s stuck? See if they can get it going again.” A pause. “Yes, it’s lift number three. Thanks. You’re the best.” He hung up and slid the phone back in his pocket before glancing at me. “My friend is going to try and sort this out.”

  “Oh, good,” I said, mustering a smile as I checked the time. Fifteen minutes until my interview. Maybe I should call them and let them know I might be delayed. But then, I wasn’t so keen on this whole mystery PA position anyway. Perhaps getting stuck in this lift was a blessing in disguise.

  We fell into silence. I pulled out my phone. No messages. My companion was on his phone, too, and I noticed over his shoulder that he was looking at that new app that told you which golden-era Hollywood star you most resembled.

  “Who did you get?” I asked, hoping to make conversation and pass the time.

  He glanced at me, a hint of a smile gracing his lips.

  “Sorry,” I apologised, shifting back. “I’m being nosy.”

  “No, it’s fine. We’re stuck in a lift. What else are you going to do?” A pause as he glanced back at his screen. “I got Sydney Poitier.”

  “What? You look nothing like him,” I said with a tut. “That app is bogus.”

  A soft chuckle from him. “I know, right?”

  I leaned back against the wall of the lift, some of my previous awkwardness dissolving. “You’re better off not using those apps anyway. My friend Afric says they’re just a way for big corporations to steal your information.”

  “She’s probably right,” my stranger replied.

  “Then again,” I went on. “She also says the online ancestry kits are so cheap because scientists want to use our DNA to figure out the secret to immortality. So I tend to take her opinion with a dose of salt.”

  “Stranger things have happened,” he said, just as the lift came back to life.

  I exhaled in relief, and we shared a smile. “Thank goodness for that,” I said as we finally reached the floor where my interview was being held.

  The doors slid open and a petite, dark-haired woman stood waiting with her arms folded.

  “Leanne, you’re a lifesaver,” said the stranger as he stepped off the lift.

  I murmured my thanks and stepped off too, then headed down the corridor. The two of them walked behind me in the same direction before passing me by and disappearing inside what appeared to be the interview room.

  Wait, were they the ones conducting the interviews? I felt weirdly self-conscious that I’d been stuck in a lift with my potential future employer. The thought of working for someone like him made me both excited and nervous. Who was he? What did he do?

  I joined the other waiting applicants and noticed some of them whispering excitedly to one another.

  “Can you believe it?” one said.

  “I had no idea this job was for Running on Air,” another exclaimed.

  “I know,” the first one replied excitedly. “I’ve always wanted to work in television.”

  I frowned to myself. Television? Running on Air? The name sounded vaguely familiar. I pulled out my phone to do a quick search and discovered all I needed to know. It was a reality TV show about parkour. I had just enough time to scan the IMDb page before my name was called. The last thing I managed to see was a picture of my guy from the lift. He appeared to be jumping from a first-floor balcony with some other red-haired guy. The caption read: James (left) and Paul (right).

  So, his name was Paul.

  “Michaela Olsson,” called a guy with glasses. He wore a crisp white shirt and held a clipboard, which made me guess he was an assistant. If I got the job, was this who I’d be working with?

  I rose and followed him into the room, feeling even more nervous all of a sudden.

  Sure enough, inside the interview room sat a panel of three people, including the stranger from the lift, whose name I now knew was Paul, the woman who rescued us (Leanne), and the red-haired guy from the photo (James).

  “We meet again,” said Paul, standing from his seat. I wasn’t sure why I felt so shy all of a sudden. It wasn’t like I’d done anything weird. Well, except for being nosy and looking at his phone over his shoulder.

  “Right,” I said, awkwardly shaking his hand. “Hello again.”

  “I guess there’s no point making introductions,” said the guy who’d brought me in. “It appears news of who’s doing the interviews has travelled fast among the applicants outside.” He cast Paul a scolding look.

  “I had an errand to run, Neil. I didn’t think I’d get recognised.”

  “Of course you’d be recognised. You’re on one of the most popular shows in the country,” the glasses guy, Neil, replied.

  Now I stiffened, because I didn’t watch a lot of TV these days and I literally just found out about the show two minutes ago. I was obviously going to have to pretend I knew who these people were. I struggled to recall even a few details of what I’d read before coming in here.

  “Well, it’s great to officially meet you, Michaela,” said Paul, and there was something really nice about the way he said my name. Also, his eyes. It was unfair the effect they had on me.

  “It’s great to officially meet you, too, Paul,” I replied.

  His lips formed a funny sort of smirk as he shared a look with one of the others.

  A silence fell and I frowned. “Did I say something wrong?”

  The red-haired guy chuckled as he glanced at my lift stranger. “I didn’t realise we looked alike.”

  “Me neither,” Paul replied, sounding amused when he brought his attention back to me. “My name is James.” He pointed to the red-haired guy. “That’s Paul.”

  “Oh,” I breathed. My stomach dropped and I winced, feeling like an idiot for mixing up their names. “I’m so sorry. I should probably confess that I’ve never seen your show. I was sitting outside when people started whispering about it, so I just had enough time to take a quick look at your IMDb page.”

  “I’ve been trying to get them to fix the caption under that photo for months,” Neil grumbled.

  “No need to apologise,” Leanne said, shooting me a grin. “You not seeing the show is a good thing. That’s actually why we included so few details in the job description. We wanted to avoid having lots of fans apply. We’re looking for someone who wants to work hard, not someone who wants to be around famous people.”

  “Right,” I said as it all fell into place. “Well then, you’ll be pleased to hear that being around famous people has zero draw for me. I’ve been temping for almost a year, so a full-time permanent job is my main goal.”

  She smiled in a way that made me feel like I’d said the right thing. I chanced a peek at the man whose name I now knew was James, and he shot me a warm look that gave me an equally warm feeling in my chest.

  The group continued to ask me questions about my interests and my work history. Then, before I knew it, the interview was over. I knew I was in there for the better part of a half an hour, but it felt like it whizzed by in a matter of seconds. All of a sudden, the legal secretary position wasn’t as appealing as it was before. After meeting who I’d be working for, a bunch of interesting, cool, exciting, and funny young people, I really wanted the PA job. It’d
definitely beat working in a stuffy old solicitor’s office.

  James stood to escort me from the room, leaning down to whisper reassuringly in my ear. “You did great. Everyone really liked you.”

  “That’s such a relief to hear,” I said, surprised when he decided to walk me back to the lift. He pressed the button and waited with me while the numbers on the screen rose. “I thought I’d really messed things up at the beginning there.”

  He smiled at me now, and again my chest warmed.

  “Don’t fret it. You were wonderful,” he said, just as the doors slid open.

  “Thanks.” I stepped on and, feeling bashful, turned back around to face him. “Say a prayer this thing doesn’t break down again.”

  He held up his hand. “I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you.” And then the doors closed and he was gone.

  All the way down, my heart wouldn’t stop thumping, a thrilling combination of anxiety and hope. I really, really wanted this job but probably not for the right reasons.

  I suspected I was quickly developing a crush on a man called James, who might soon become my boss.

  Three

  Michaela

  Present

  “Oh my God, why did you make me listen to this? It’s so wrong,” Sarita complained as I entered our small Brixton flat.

  Sarita and I shared a bedroom, but our third flatmate, Afric, had her own room. Afric, whose name meant ‘pleasant’ in Irish (which was hilarious if you knew her) made her living by recording herself playing video games for people to watch live on the internet. She had a large following, and though she was by no means rich, she made far more money than Sarita or me.

  The three of us met when we were tweens and obsessed with the online game Greenforest. Our avatars became fast friends, and soon enough we were playing together every day. This probably explained why I had very little social life as a teenager, but then again, there wasn’t a whole lot for me to do in my little village anyway.

  We made a pact that when we were old enough, we’d all move to London and get a flat together. It wasn’t the dream life we’d envisaged, and I’d spent my first six months in the city bouncing between temp jobs. We’d initially hoped to find a flat where we could each have our own room, but those hopes were quickly dashed. In the end we settled for a small two-bedroom, with Sarita and I sharing a room. It wasn’t perfect, but we made it work.

  “Turn it off, please!” Sarita begged. “You’re killing my soul. I feel like my heart has fallen all the way to the bottom of my stomach.”

  I entered Afric’s bedroom, where they both sat on her bed, laptop open while a song played.

  “What’s going on?” I asked, curious.

  “Afric’s trying to torture me,” Sarita complained, throwing up her hands dramatically.

  Afric chuckled as she glanced at me, her bright blue eyes full of mirth. She got a great kick out of aggravating people, but not in a mean way. It was more of a mischievous thing.

  “It’s a song composed by AI,” Afric explained. “It’s supposed to sound like the Beatles. I actually kind of like it.”

  Sarita gaped at her. “How can you like this? It sounds so wrong. I can feel its wrongness in my bones.”

  I took a moment to listen, while also making a note to tell James about AI music. It seemed like a topic that would be fun to discuss with him.

  “I have to agree with Sarita,” I said. “It almost sounds normal, but there’s something slightly off that makes me feel weirdly queasy.”

  “Thank you!” Sarita exclaimed.

  “You two better get used to it. This is what your future children are going to be listening to,” Afric said.

  “If my future children listen to this, I’ll beat them over the head with my collector’s edition Led Zeppelin vinyls,” Sarita countered. By day she was an office clerk, but by night she played guitar in a rock band. She was a musical purist, which was obviously why this robo-song upset her so much.

  “All new pioneering forms of music are shunned in the beginning. People thought heavy metal was for Satanists, and that rap would make young people want to join gangs. Now we know those people were wrong and that they were two of the greatest genres of music ever created,” Afric affirmed.

  “The difference is those genres have soul. There’s human heart and suffering behind the lyrics, behind the music. This has nothing of the sort.” Sarita flicked a hand, dismissing the song.

  “Well, AI is created by humans, so technically there is heart behind it, if you trace it far enough back,” Afric said, looking pleased with her logic.

  Sarita heaved a sigh. “Oh my God, I refuse to argue with you when you get like this.”

  “As interesting as this discussion is, I’m starving,” I said. “Anyone in the mood for pizza?”

  They both nodded enthusiastically, and I went out into the kitchen to grab my phone. Sarita followed me, plopping down on a stool by the counter.

  “How was work?” she asked.

  “It was fine, the usual,” I replied, not mentioning James because my crush on him was a secret I’d take to my grave. Yes, I was so ashamed of it that I couldn’t even bring myself to divulge the truth to my closest friends.

  “That’s good to hear. I, on the other hand, had the most boring day ever. I swear offices were created by some devious lower demon as a slow, tedious form of death.”

  “Do you have any gigs this weekend?” I asked and her eyes lit up. Sarita’s day job was a means to an end. Her passion was her music and playing shows was what she truly looked forward to.

  “Yes, actually. We have a show at The Dublin Castle on Saturday. Want to come?”

  “I’d love to. I might even try to drag Afric out of her bedroom and away from her game console long enough to come, too,” I said with a grin.

  “Who’s talking about me?” came Afric’s voice through the door.

  “I was wondering what toppings you want on your pizza?” I called back, winking at Sarita.

  “Meat feast, please,” she responded loudly. “I’m starting a live stream in five minutes, so can you bring it in to me when it arrives?”

  “When was the last time you actually ate at the table?” Sarita yelled.

  “Eating at the table doesn’t pay the bills,” Afric responded cheekily while Sarita and I both shook our heads.

  Our friend was going to turn into a shut-in one of these days. I mean, I was partial to a long gaming session myself, but I at least re-entered the land of the living after a day or two. Afric once went an entire month without leaving the flat.

  Perhaps I really should convince her to come to Sarita’s gig this weekend. It would be good for her. And perhaps I’d meet someone interesting enough to take my mind off James for once.

  ***

  The following day was Friday. I was running around the city doing errands for the cast, ticking each one off my list as I went. Paul needed me to hook his new flat up with TV and internet. Then I had to pick up some baby things for Trevor, since he and his partner, Reya, were expecting in a couple of weeks. A delivery of energy drinks was arriving at the gym, and Callum’s bike needed to be brought in for repairs.

  Days like this were exhausting when you didn’t own a car and had to get everywhere on public transport. My second to last errand was to pick up dry cleaning for James and leave it at his flat. I’d been putting it off all day, mostly because going to his place felt weird, like I was invading his personal space. I knew I wouldn’t feel this way if it weren’t for my crush on him. If I didn’t have feelings for James, then going to his flat would be nothing more than a mundane part of my workday. Instead, it was a maze of emotional angst. And don’t even get me started on my fear of bumping into Diana.

  I steeled myself, determined to just bite the bullet and get it over and done with. Then I might just have enough time to go home and take a quick shower before I needed to hurry across the city to Leanne and Callum’s place.

  Yes, the work of a personal assistant was ne
ver done. Or at least it felt that way sometimes.

  It was Leanne’s birthday and Callum was throwing her a small party at their flat. I was in charge of bringing the cake, while my co-assistant, Neil, was arranging the food and drink. The cake currently sat in my fridge at home, and I’d stuck a bright yellow Post-it Note on the box explicitly warning Afric and Sarita not to eat it.

  Neil and I had a set of keys that let us into each of the cast members’ homes. It was easier this way since we always had to be letting ourselves in and out. I’d only had cause to enter James’ place a couple of times, and like I said, I always got super antsy about it.

  It was just after 6 pm and I hoped Diana would be out. She was an interior designer at one of London’s top firms and I knew she worked long hours because James had mentioned it a few times. Okay, so he mentioned it once, and like the psycho that I was, I remembered.

  Just like I remembered every small personal detail he decided to share with me.

  I slotted my key in the door and entered the flat, which to my relief, appeared to be empty. So far, so good. I quickly went to hang James’ dry-cleaning on the door to the living area. Then, just as I turned to leave, I heard voices coming from the direction of the bedroom.

  I stopped dead in my tracks.

  “You’re always putting your friends before me,” Diana cried, her voice thick with emotion.

  “I told you about this party weeks ago,” James spoke softly, cajolingly, like he was trying to soothe her.

  “I know that, but I had a long day at work. I’m exhausted,” Diana complained. “I just want to stay in tonight.”

  “How about I show my face for a little while, give Leanne her birthday gift, then I’ll be back before you know it? I’ll even bring home food from that Italian place you love.”

  I heard her scoff. “You want me to eat pasta?! It’s seven weeks until the wedding. I swear sometimes it feels like you don’t even want me to fit into my dress.”