by Taylor Dean
“What?”
“Nothing.” Why did I say that out loud? The room begins to spin and passing out seems inevitable. In unconsciousness, will my mouth hang open in an unnatural position? Will drool dribble down my chin? How did Sleeping Beauty look so beautiful in her enforced slumber? Was that even realistic?
“Tell me about you, Savannah Tate.”
The distract method. Smart move. But I can’t remember anything except my name. Think, Savannah, think. “Savannah Tate.”
“I think we’ve established that.”
“English teacher.”
“Aw, now we’re getting somewhere.”
“Just arrived.” I can’t seem to put together a complete sentence.
“Welcome to China.”
His sarcasm is not lost on me. This isn’t exactly a great first impression. “Like your build.”
“Well, thanks. I like you too.”
His voice sounds like he’s grinning and I quickly correct myself. “Building. I like your building.”
“Still a compliment. I’ll take it.”
My hands are no longer locked in an unnatural position. “Sit up now?”
“You may do whatever you’d like Miss Tate. Just take it slow.”
I sit up and rest my head on the wall of the elevator. Paul still holds my hands, absently rubbing my palms with his thumbs. My breathing slowly returns to semi-normal as shock begins to wear off.
“Savannah.” What I really mean is, call me Savannah, not Miss Tate. It just doesn’t come out that way.
“Paul,” he returns. “Nice to meet you.”
“Sorry.” I mean, Sorry for the panic attack. But sorry is all I manage.
“Don’t be sorry. I’m glad I was here for you. Wouldn’t be too fun alone.”
Somehow he understands my one-worded conversation. “No.” Alone would’ve been terrifying. Alone would’ve meant passed out cold on a hard elevator floor while helpless video onlookers wondered if I’d turned into an alien and died.
After several minutes, he slowly releases my hands and I miss his touch. “Okay now?”
Not exactly, but I do feel a little calmer.
He sits against the opposite wall. We face each other, observing one another thoughtfully in the dim light.
“What now?” I ask, my numb lips not cooperating with me. It comes out more like, “Vut vow?”
“We wait. Unless you have someplace to be. Don’t let me keep you.”
I smile.
“At last, a smile. That’s what I’ve been waiting for.”
I’ve been waiting for you, Paul Brooks. My entire life.
After several more moments of silence, I begin to feel a little more composed. “I hate elevators.” I vow to never ride one again. Stairs are my new best friend.
“A complete sentence. I’m impressed.”
“I can do better.” At least I sound better.
“I’m sure you can, Miss English Teacher.”
Paul Brooks has an unexpected sense of humor. I’d pictured him as the commanding business entrepreneur, strong, powerful, and enigmatic. Instead I’d found a normal man. Human like all the rest of us mortals.
“And I don’t agree with you. I happen to love elevators.” He loosens his tie.
“They’re evil.”
“They’re fun.”
“Fun?”
“The highlight of my day, actually. Like right now, for example. Here I am stuck in an elevator with a beautiful woman. What more could I ask for?”
My face grows hot at his words. He called me beautiful. Helping a woman through a panic attack isn’t exactly glamorous, he’s just humoring me. At least I’m thinking clearly enough to recognize his scheme.
He continues. “I happen to have the most entertaining moments in elevators. Want to know why?”
I scrunch up my tingly face. “Not sure.” Please don’t tell me about a secret rendezvous on an elevator.
“Wrong answer. Say yes.”
“Yes.”
“Thanks for asking, Miss Savannah Tate,” he says, even though I hadn’t asked at all. He sounds like a game show host, but I appreciate his obvious efforts to keep my mind off our predicament. “I’ll tell you why I have so much fun on elevators. It’s because I never, ever obey elevator etiquette.”
“Is there such a thing?”
“Hey, five words in one sentence. You are feeling better. Yes, elevator etiquette is a real thing. I mean it’s not written down somewhere in a book of manners or anything. It’s an unspoken rule.”
“Pray tell.”
He clears his throat. “Rule Number One: When one steps into an elevator, one must always turn and face the door. Have you any idea how uncomfortable people are when you don’t obey this rule?”
“You did that to me.”
“Good thing too or I wouldn’t have caught you when the elevator came to a screeching halt.”
Being in his arms had felt incredible. “True. What else?”
“Rule Number Two: When one enters an occupied elevator, one must stand on the opposite end of the occupied area.”
“Please tell me you don’t break that rule.”
“I do. And I enjoy it.” He laughs in a reminiscent sort of way. “I don’t even have to stand close, just on the same side of the elevator. Drives people crazy. They practically squirm.”
“You’re the owner of the building. Maybe they’d squirm no matter what.”
He frowns theatrically. “Don’t burst my bubble. When you work at a desk job all day, you have to search for entertainment somewhere.”
“All right, I give. Even after this lovely experience, I’d be willing to risk my life and ride the elevator with you just to see your antics in action.”
He winks. “It’s a date.”
In spite of everything, suddenly an elevator seems like the most romantic spot on earth.
“I’m glad I’m not alone in here, Miss Savannah Tate.”
Ha! As if I’d done anything to calm him. Without me, he probably could’ve caught himself a nice little nap. He doesn’t seem fazed by the small airless space at all. “Me too, Mr. Brooks.”
“Call me Paul.”
Paul. I found Paul. It’s him. I know it is. I feel it in every fiber of my being. “Thanks for distracting me, Paul.”
“Ah, you saw right through me, huh?”
“I appreciate the effort.”
He glances at his watch and a flash of irritation passes over his features. His body language tells me he’s peeved, but he’s hiding it under a veneer of humanity.
“How long has it been?”
“Almost an hour.”
I take a deep, shaky breath, trying to remain calm. “I think the room is getting smaller.” Desperation tinges my words.
“I promise it’s the same size as when we entered.” He takes off his suit coat, removes his tie, and tosses them aside. Then he rolls up the sleeves of his white shirt.
His actions make me nervous. It isn’t just me. It is hot in the elevator. And getting hotter. My dress is sticking to my back uncomfortably. “The air conditioning isn’t working, is it?”
“Nope.”
“Are we going to suffocate in this . . . moving coffin?” I try and fail to keep a note of panic from entering my voice.
“Nope.” He points to the ceiling. “See those air vents?”
“Yes.”
“They provide air circulation. It might be hot in here, but we have plenty of air.”
“Why are video and audio connections considered emergency services and not air conditioning?”
“You make a good point. At least we have lights.”
Pitch black would’ve been truly frightening. “Are you always this optimistic?”
“Mmmmm, no, not really.”
I run my hands over my face, wiping a mist of sweat from my brow. My hands tremble and my breathing quickens once again. Adrenaline races through my veins at an alarming rate. I’d never thought much about what my rea
ction would be if I ever got stuck in an elevator. Now I know. And it isn’t pretty.
“May I join you, Savannah?” He must sense my rising panic.
“I’d like that.” My voice wavers. Tears are just below the surface, but I’m holding them back. Human comfort would be really nice. While my heart races at the thought of being close to Paul Brooks, romance isn’t really upmost in my thoughts at the moment.
Paul situates himself next to me, wrapping one arm around me. I rest my head on his chest. Although we’re both overheated, he feels safe and comfortable.
“Better?” he asks.
“Yes. Thank you.” His close proximity has a calming effect on me. Slowly my heart rate returns to normal and I feel myself relax for the first time since the elevator had lost all power. “Paul?”
“Hmmmmm?”
“I have a confession.” If I don’t admit why I’m here right now, I never will. With any luck, this will be the beginning of a relationship between us, although I have no reason to assume such a thing. But a girl can hope. Miscommunication ruins burgeoning relationships and I want to be honest from the get-go no matter what.
“You’re secretly a burglar and you were casing the joint?”
So he is wondering what I’m doing in his office building. Yet he hasn’t questioned me. I appreciate his tact. “No.” A slight giggle escapes.
“Applying for a job?”
“No. I thought your office building looked amazing and I just wanted to see inside. I had no business being here. I’m sorry.”
“We get that from time to time. You’d be surprised. No crime there.”
I swallow through a dry throat. “There’s another reason why I’m here.”
His slight hesitation is not lost on me. “Which is?”
“I just graduated from UT in Austin.”
“It just so happens UT’s my alma mater.”
“I know.”
His body goes still. “You know?”
“Yeah. I saw the article about you in the UT campus magazine. I came here because I wanted to meet you.” I squish my eyes closed as I wait for his response with bated breath.
He inhales and exhales very slowly. “I don’t know what to say to that, except I’m flattered.”
Flattered is a good reaction. “I’m sorry if that’s a little creepy and stalkerish. I didn’t expect to meet you today. Actually, I wasn’t positive I’d ever meet you at all. But I hoped.”
He chuckles lightly. “Well, jackpot, Savannah Tate. It looks like your fairy godmother granted your wish in a big way.” He laughs again. Then, after pondering our predicament a moment longer, he laughs a little louder.
Even he sees the coincidence in this enforced meeting. I laugh with him and say, “Be careful what you wish for.”
My lifelong search for Paul has been a little risky. I mean, I’ve limited my interest in men to those with the name Paul—and I’ve ignored all other men because they don’t have the right name. I’ve always known I need to choose wisely, that finding the right Paul is up to me.
Miss Pearl, the mysterious lady from my past, told me as much.
But it’s hard to feel wise when I’m actively interested in someone based on their name alone. It makes me feel shallow and silly.
But the Red Bird makes it all true.
So, here I am.
Humor tops the list of must-haves when it comes to a man. Learning that Paul also appears to be a decent man is a welcome discovery.
We continue to laugh a little lazily, our chests vibrating from the effort. The irony of the situation has suddenly hit both of us.
When our mirth dies down, we’re both quiet for several minutes. “Thanks for not being mad,” I whisper.
He turns his head toward me. “Hey,” he says softly.
I lift my head until we’re face to face. His hand cups my chin and I know what’s about to happen. Given our stressful situation, it doesn’t seem too soon or feel wrong at all. It feels very, very right.
He presses his lips to mine with so much tenderness, I want to burst into tears. He shifts his position and holds the kiss for longer than I had at first intended, kissing me softly and sweetly, with no hesitation whatsoever.
It’s a kiss filled with comfort, a kiss filled with promise.
Amidst it all, there’s only one conscious thought wandering through my brain.
I finally found Paul.
Chapter Eight
September
“WAIT, YOU KISSED him?”
“I did.” I’m sitting cross-legged on my bed. My wet hair hangs in strands around my head, leaving wet stains on the back of my pajamas. I feel refreshed after a long cool shower. And freer than I’ve ever felt before. Even the cool breeze from the balcony seems like a heaven-sent miracle.
“But you only just met him.” Dakota frowns, looking worried.
Dakota’s right. “I know. It seemed okay at the time.” Being close to Paul had made me feel secure and had helped to calm me down. I don’t regret the sweet kiss we shared. If it weren’t for that kiss, I’d only have bad memories of a terrifying afternoon. “We were stuck in the hot elevator for three of the longest hours of my life.” I defend myself as if that one simple fact explains everything.
“I guess under the circumstances . . .”
“He asked me out,” I say softly, interrupting Dakota.
“What?”
“He asked me to have dinner with him tomorrow night.” I’m feeling giddy and if I was standing I would’ve felt like whooping and hollering, accompanied by a jump into the air any cheerleader would’ve been proud of. Except whooping, hollering, and jumping are not in my nature. My huge smile will have to suffice. However, Dakota’s skeptical reaction dumps cold water on my enthusiasm. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know. It was a long afternoon and we were so worried about you. When the two of you walked out of that elevator holding hands, I felt so relieved.”
Everyone had clapped for us. Knowing Mr. Brooks was stuck in the elevator was big news. Paramedics had descended upon us, sweeping us away from watchful eyes, taking our vitals and giving us the once over. Once I had been exposed to fresh air and downed an ice cold bottled water, I’d told everyone I felt perfectly fine. Truthfully, I was a little shaken up, but I feigned the epitome of health.
“I’m fine, Dakota, really.” Dwelling on the events of the afternoon will only give me nightmares. My thoughts have moved on to greener pastures, like an evening with Paul Brooks.
“In that case, I’m happy for you. I really am. Just be careful, okay?”
I pause. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t want to see you get your heart broken, that’s all. What do you know about this guy? The laws are different here. If something bad happened, you don’t have much recourse. We are in China, remember?”
Dakota’s words are wise, but she doesn’t know about my lifelong search for Paul, or the truly miraculous events leading up to our meeting. Or how perfectly he’d treated me on the elevator. Thus far, his character traits not only measured up, but exceeded my expectations. “I’ll be careful, I promise.”
FEELING FULLY RECOVERED from my ordeal, I spend the next morning adding visually stimulating decorations to my classroom.
I spend the afternoon singing “Popcorn Popping on the Apricot Tree” and helping children glue popcorn onto their own paper tree. Trying to convince children to not eat the popcorn with glue on it proves to be difficult.
As I return to the apartment building, I hesitate at the front door. The front desk clerk waves to me and the doorman opens the door, but I don’t enter. The stairs are calling to me, just as they had this morning. The mere thought of entering the elevator leaves me weak at the knees.
I trudge around to the back of the building. The back entrance leads to the stairwell. From here on out, this is my front door. On the upside, the stairs will provide me with some healthy exercise every day.
The doorman opens the door and grants m
e a deep nod.
“Thanks, Mr. Zhu.” I had just met Mr. Zhu, the doorman, and Miss Li, the desk clerk, this morning when I’d taken the stairs on my way out.
“You are most welcome, Savannah. Please say hello to Miss Li for me.”
“Will do.” I round the bend of the hallway. “Ni hao, Miss Li,” I greet, using the Chinese word for hello, pronounced knee how. She’s sitting at the desk stationed near the stairs. The building has excellent security, better than my apartment in Austin. I’d never had a doorman or a desk clerk in any apartment I’d ever lived in, much less at the front and back door. I make a mental note to mention it to my sisters in the next email home. It makes me sound safe and secure.
“Ni hao, Savannah.”
Miss Li is a small woman, slight of frame, yet petite and light on her feet. I know she’s an elderly woman, but the aging process has been kind to her and I can’t guess her age. She’s a strange mixture of old and young. She wears her hair down around her face and it gives her a youthful appearance, yet she’s dressed in a traditional Chinese cheongsam. There’s something familiar about her and her maternal nature attracts me. I’m drawn to her, as if I want to pour out the secrets of my soul while resting my head on her shoulder. My own mother is still sorely missed and always will be. My dad too. I know my yearning for them will never go away.
I feel large and clumsy around Miss Li even though I’m not much taller than her. Even my tiny voice seems deep and loud compared to Miss Li’s soft and melodic tone. It reminds me of the Jolly Green Giant talking to Minnie Mouse.
“Do you like China?” Miss Li asks. It doesn’t come across as a routine question. Her eyes remain fixed on mine with concentration. Her body language tells me she’s sincere.
“So far, I love it. It feels . . . well, magical.” I pause, wondering if Miss Li will understand my English.
She smiles, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Enjoy it, Savannah. Flowers may bloom again, but a person never has the chance to be young again.”
I’m impressed. Miss Li speaks perfect, although highly accented English. “A good reminder. Thanks.” I love Chinese sayings. They’re clever and wise. And I have every intention of taking the opportunities presented to me in my youth. One of those opportunities happens to be Paul Brooks.