Going Up

GOING UP

Annalise breezed through the lobby of her building, heading for her sanctuary on the ninety-sixth floor of the Central Park Tower.  

“Hi Charlie!”

“Evening Ms. Briggs.”

She was in a wonderful mood. Why not? She was having her girlfriends over for Friday night wine and cheese, and were expected in about an hour. Annalise had everything she needed in the three overloaded bags she was carrying. In the heaviest bag, she had the wine — red, white, and rosé — from the finest vintners in Manhattan. In the other two bags were all the makings of a fantastic charcuterie board — seven different types of cheese from all over the world, artisanal bread, hand-kneaded baguette, crackers, grapes, olives, nuts, dried fruit, and small-batch jellies and jams. All the food came from the Ideal Cheese Shop on First Street, where she was assured the selections were of the highest quality.  

Annalise loved getting together with her girlfriends. It happened so rarely now because of their busy lives. But tonight they were taking a break, and getting together to eat, drink, and gossip. What more could she ask for? She walked to the elevators, and pushed the UP button.

*****

Randall Forsythe walked through the lobby of his building. His company had provided the financing for the construction, one of its subsidiaries was the real estate company handling the sale of the units, and they were also the management company. He was the company’s CEO, so he truly believed that it was his building. He owned the largest unit, the penthouse. He was living his best life. But, right now, he was none-too-happy.

“Tell me again, Charles, why I have to take the public elevator to the top floor, and then walk up to the penthouse? Please tell me why my private elevator is not working?”

“Well, Mr. Forsythe, the engineers from your company came today, inspected the elevator, and said that they needed to overnight the necessary parts, so your elevator won’t be operational until tomorrow morning at eight a.m.”

“Hmmm.” Randall Forsythe said. “And why did they not let me know of this situation themselves?”

“I’m not sure, Mr. Forsythe.”

“I see. Apparently, I have cowards working for me. I will speak with them myself. Thank you, Charles.”

He turned on his heel, and walked toward the public elevators.

*****

Avery Caron and Simon Watkins walked into the lobby. They were obviously unhappy with each other. Avery’s rolled her eyes at her brother. Simon continued walking towards the concierge desk, looking straight ahead, his face set in a grimace.

Simon stopped in front of the desk. “Simon Watkins and Avery Caron for Mr. Watkins, unit 96W.”

“One moment.” They watched Charlie pick up the desk phone and punch in the number for their father’s condo. “Mr Watkins, Ms. Avery and Mr. Simon are here to see you.” Pause. “Yes, sir. Thank you.” He hung up the phone. “Mr. Watkins is expecting you. Please …” 

Simon hadn’t waited to hear what Charlie said. He turned and walked towards the elevators. He and his sister had been visiting their father for Friday night dinner as long as they both could remember. Since their father had been one of the first residents at the Central Park Tower, they were very familiar with where the elevators were.

“Thanks, Charlie,” Avery called over her shoulder, walking quickly to catch up with her brother.

*****

Cal ran into the lobby of the building, carrying an oversized thermal bag, and a smaller one hooked over his shoulder. Charlie looked up from the reception desk.

“Food delivery, Nash, unit 85E.”

Charlie hooked a thumb to the farthest bank of elevators. ‘Take the ones on the end.”

Cal nodded his thanks, and rushed that way. He saw the doors starting to close.

“Wait! Hold the door, please!” He was running late, and had to get the delivery up to the Nash family, asap.  

A long slender arm stuck out between the closing doors, which stopped and bounced back open, allowing Cal to scooch in before the doors closed again.

“Thanks,” he said, pushing the button for the eighty-fifth floor.

*****

The express elevator ascended quickly. According the specs, the elevator rose at two thousand feet a minute, until it reached the first floor it served, the eighty-first floor, then it moved slower between the upper floors. All the passengers experienced the slight g-force push from above as they hurdled skyward.

“Woah!” said Cal, quietly. Of all the passengers, he was the only one not used to sensation. He looked at the elevator display panel. Floors 85 (him), 96, 128. The height of this place was whack.  

Who wants to live this high in the sky, he asked himself. Understanding the the irony of his thoughts, he looked at his fellow passengers. Everybody in this elevator, I guess.

Suddenly, the elevator shuddered to a lurching halt, and the lights flickered out. There were gasps and ohs, but no screams. The emergency lights flickered on immediately. Everyone looked to the display plate, which was now a flat black panel, with no floor numbers illuminated.

“We’ve stopped,” announced Randall Forsythe. He leaned over, opened the emergency hatch and picked up the phone inside. It rang three times, before Charlie picked it up.

“Concierge.”

“Charles, this is Randall Forsythe. The elevator seems to have stopped.”

“Yes, Mr. Randall. The power is out. Not just the building, but the entire neighbourhood."  

"I see. We seem to be stranded below the eighty-first floor. My concern is that the failsafe has not engaged. Can you please contact the engineers from earlier today, and find out why this is not happening.” Randall Forsythe read the phone number off of his phone to Charlie, and hung up. He turned toward the other passengers.

“This building is equipped with a battery-operated failsafe that sends to the elevator to the ground floor in case of a power outage. It should have engaged by now.”

They stood in silence, not knowing what to say. The Emergency phone rang. 

“Yes, Charles … yes … yes … I understand … fine … yes.  Thank you Charles.” He hung up the phone.

“Well, according to Charles, my engineers seem to have disconnected the failsafe while servicing my elevator earlier today. And there is nothing that they can do right now, because the entire generator system has been taken offline. The only way to turn it on is locked behind a door with an electric lock, which, as I’m sure you’ve figured out, is not working at the present time.”

“How long will we be stuck here?” Annalise Briggs asked Randall Forsythe.

“I have no idea.”

Cal whipped out his phone, and sent out a text to his boss, telling him what was happening.  

“I hope this works,” he said as he pushed send. He looked around at his fellow passengers. “Getting stuck in this elevator means that I’m losing my night’s wages, and all my tips. Crap.”

Simon Watkins spoke up. “Our father is expecting us for our usual Friday night dinner. He will be completely disappointed.”

His sister turned to him, and snorted. “Really? I don’t think that he’s going to be ‘completely disappointed.’ I think he’s going to understand we were stuck in an elevator. and we’ll have dinner together next week.”

“I’m not sure that is correct,” said Randall. “Father needs structure in his life. We can’t be disrupting his schedule.”

Avery looked at him. “Come on Sy, he—“

“Simon.”

“Simon, Dad likes to see us. It has nothing to do with his routine. It’s not like he has dementia.”

“I prefer to discuss this in private,” he said, turning away from his sister, abruptly ending the conversation.

The phone trilled again, and Forsyte picked it up.

“Forsythe here … yes … yes … please tell them that I find that unacceptable. Okay … fine … thank you Charles.

He turned to the others. “Apparently between a city-wide blackout, gridlock, and a rash of fires and looting, the soonest that the fire department can attend is three to four hours. I have informed Charles that I find that unacceptable, but there is nothing to be done.”

“Three to four hours! Damn. I was supposed to host a girls’ night tonight,” said Annalise, clearly disappointed.  

“I’m expected at home. Being stuck in an elevator certainly delays that!” said Forsythe.

“We’re supposed to have dinner with our father. I suppose the concierge—“

“Charlie,” interrupted his sister. “He’s told us his name a thousand times, and yet you refuse to address him directly.”

She turned to the group. “Mr. Big Time Executive, here, refuses to call Charlie by his name, because he is the ‘help.’” She made air quotes around the word help. “He seems to forget that our father used to be the help until he wrote a bunch of best selling novels, while working as a — wait for it — doorman.” She turned to face her brother. “You are such a snob.”

Simon ignored her.  

Cal spoke up. “Anyone hungry? I’ve got dinner for four from Daniel’s.” He looked around. “It’s sushi, so we should probably eat it soon.”

“Well, I am a bit hungry,” said Randall, who was a regular at Daniel's.

“Great!” said Cal, as he opened up his thermal bag and pulled out four containers. “I’ve got extra chopsticks, if you want.” He handed a pair to everyone. Simon declined.

“This is not my food to eat,” he announced. “This is akin to stealing.”

“Fine,” said Avery. She turned to Cal. “How much for dinner. I’ll buy.”  

“That’s fine. If we’re in here for longer than an hour, the boss would have me throw it out, anyway. And by now, the Nashes know that I’m not going to make it. Even if I wasn’t stuck in the elevator, there is no way I would be taking the stairs to the eighty-fifth floor.”

Annalise kicked off her heels. “That’s better.” She backed up against the wall, “and I’m going to sit.” She slid to the floor.

“Good idea,” said Avery, joining her. Cal who was already crouching, opened up the four boxes on the top of his thermal carrier. Randall Forsythe took off his overcoat, spread it on the floor, and sat with the others. Simon remained standing.

“Simon, get the stick out of your ass, and join us. Four hours is a long time to stand and pout.”

“I am not pouting,” he replied, but remained standing.

They all dug in. Cal explained what each of the dishes was. He had wasabi and little bowls of soya sauce.  

“I’ve got some pop and water, if anyone’s interested.” 

“Oh, yes,” said Annalise. “But I can do better. I have wine. And the makings for a fantastic charcuterie board. She dug into her bags, pulling out the food, a new cheese knife, and a marvellous raw edge charcuterie board. She looked around, deflating a bit. “I have everything except a corkscrew.”

“Not to worry,” said Cal. “I always come prepared.” He dug into his pocket and produced a cheap folding corkscrew, which he handed to Annalise. She passed the bottle to Randall, who opened the red wine with a resounding pop.

“Oh! No glasses!”

“I’ve go this,” said Cal, reaching into the depths of his smaller thermal bag. “I always have Solo cups when we deliver drinks. You never know.”

He passed them around. Again, Simon declined.

Randall opened up a bottle of white wine, and a bottle of rosé.

The small group sat on the floor eating and drinking. They introduced themselves to each other.  

Annalise looked over to Avery. “Your dad lives in 96W? Bernie, right?”

“His name is Bernard,” answered Simon.

“Oh, sorry. He told me to call him Bernie.”

“Of course he did,” snorted Simon.

“Ignore him,” said Avery. “So you know Dad?”

“Yes. He’s so cute. Last week he brought me some sauce that he made. He’s a lovely man.”

“Thank you.” Avery paused. “Did he say how he likes living here? He moved from a big old home into a big new condo. I was worried he wouldn’t like condo living.”

“Oh no, he and Sam love it here. They—“

“Sam? Who the hell is Sam!” said Simon, his gaze laser-focused on Annalise.

Annalise looked at Avery, who nodded slightly.

“Samantha Childs.”

“Father’s secretary?”

Avery shot her brother a withering look. “Not his secretary you pompous ass, his editor. God, you’re insufferable. And they live together. They’ve been together since before before he moved here, probably two years.”

“Why was I not informed?”

“Probably because Dad feared you act just like this.” Avery sighed. “I’ve been out to dinner with them a number of times, and I’ve brought the kids over a few times for a visit.”

“Without me?”

“Yes, without you. You’re always too busy. And too judgemental. And too prissy. And, they were going to tell you tonight, so … ”

Simon stood in the corner, arms crossed over his chest, looking every bit the petulant child. Everyone ignored him.

“How did you end up living here, Annalise?” Randall asked, popping a piece of cheese into his mouth.

“I’m in exile. My family doesn’t know what to do with me, so they bought me this condo, and are letting me live my best life here. The deal was if I chose to stay here, in New York, I could never go home again without their permission.”

She looked at the confused faces surrounding her. “My family is from Saudi Arabia. They disapprove of the fact that I’m not married, that I’m educated, and that I don’t want to live in a patriarchy. So, until I decide to become the docile, well-mannered daughter they want, I can’t go home. Which is fine, but I do miss my mother and my sister. They visit occasionally, but not often enough.” She shrugged, and turned to Cal.

“So, Cal, how’d you get the gig delivering for Daniels?”

“I’m also a junior prep chef at Daniel’s, but, yeah, mostly I do deliveries. I’m attending NYC’s Culinary Institute. This job is the best place to learn how to apply what I learn at school into real-world experience. Plus, I have to pay for another year of school, so it’s a win-win.”

“That’s fantastic,” said Avery. “What do you want to do with your education?”

“Well, the Daniel in Daniel’s is my brother, so I’m hoping to continue working for him.”

“Ahh,” said Randall. “The family business.”

“Exactly,” said Cal, smiling and taking a piece of sushi and eating it.

Annalise looked at Randall. “Does anyone ever call you Randy?”

He snorted. “No. Not unless I call them Mom. She’s the only one who calls me Randy. I work in finance, and I’ve got a very high-powered job. You don’t become CEO of a company if your name is Randy. Randall is a name for business. Randy is the name of, well, a horny teenager.”  

They all laughed.

They talked about their jobs. As it turned out both Avery and Annalise were lawyers. Annalise, much to her parents’ chagrin, was a solo practitioner. She’d had offers from the big firms through her family contacts, but had opted instead of open a pro bono office to help those who couldn’t afford proper representation. 

"I do it because I can afford to do it. It mades me happy."

Avery was an environmental lawyer, working for a fairly large firm. She said she wanted to be like Erin Brockovich, working for the victims, but that wasn’t always the case.  But it was a good job. 

She tilted her head towards Simon. “He’s a tax lawyer,” and snorted. Simon ignored her.

They found out that Randall lived in the penthouse, all 15,898 square feet of it. Alone.

“What do you need all that space for?” asked Cal, who lived in a cramped studio apartment behind the restaurant.

“I have no idea. I’m rarely there because I travel so much for business. But the board of directors felt that because we were so heavily invested in all the different faucets of this building, the best way to inspire confidence in the project was to live in it. I have family money, so between the company and my personal resources, I am now the proud owner of Unit 129, the top of the world.”

Talk turned to their impressions of living in New York, and in the process, they got to know each other. They found out about families and hobbies. It was a casual and comfortable — or as comfortable as you can be, stuck inside an elevator. The sushi was finished, and they were down to their last two bottles of wine. The charcuterie board was three-quarters finished. 

Suddenly, Simon started screaming and panicking. Everyone turned to look at him. 

“I have to get out of here! Right now! I can’t take this anymore! I need to get out! NOW!”

Avery jumped to her feet. She grabbed him by the shoulders. “Simon, settle down. It’s alright!”

“Damn it, Avery, it is NOT alright. You know I’m claustrophobic!”

“No, I didn’t know Simon. You never told me.”

“I need to get out, now!”

Avery bent down and opened her purse, and started rummaging around. “Here, eat this,” she said, straightening

“What is it?”

“Edibles. Pot edibles.”

“Drugs, Avery? Drugs! Are you out of your mind? There is no way—“

She shoved the gummy into her brother’s mouth. “Eat it and shut up. It will make you feel better.”

And it did. Simon asked Avery for another, and she agreed, but only one more.

Soon Simon was sitting on the floor with the others, laughing and sharing. Avery wished she could make Simon eat an edible every time they were together.

They remained stuck in the elevator for another two hours, and it was close to midnight before the elevator finally glided to the lobby.  

The five people who had entered the elevator had not known one another, not really. Now they were friends. Friends who had shared a Friday night stuck in a New York City elevator.