The Penthouse: Lights Out in Manhattan

Three years. That’s how long I’ve been entirely and irreversibly invisible. That’s also how long I’ve worked for Craven Wesley Grainger… stock market tycoon, financial advisor to all of Manhattan’s elite, and notorious playboy. He’s been my boss for three years now, though I’m confident he doesn’t know my name. In a sea of blonde-headed socialites, my fair skin and curly auburn hair don’t exactly fit the bill for the type of people capable of snagging Craven’s attention. Honestly, that’s how I prefer it though. I keep my head down and I do my work. As an assistant, that’s what I’m supposed to do. I’m not here to get swept up into the world of hotshots and lavish living. I’ve been tending to Mr. Grainger’s every waking need for three years – behind the scenes and without acknowledgment. Three years of invisibility.

           “Good evening, Bianca.” The curt and polished doorman of Grainger Financial Advisors greets me as I walk into the foyer of the most exquisite and pristine skyscraper in Manhattan.

           “Evening, Philip.” I smile politely. I skirt past him carefully as I balance this evening’s haul of Mr. Grainger’s personal belongings in my arms – two bags of neat, dry-cleaned suits, a stack of business proposals, two bottles of the finest wine VINO DOWNTOWN has to offer, and a piping hot container of Mongolian beef and chow mein from a dive down the street. Craven Grainger is a sophisticated man, but he occasionally chooses to slum it when it comes to take-out.

           “You’ve got your hands full tonight.” Philip’s southern studded voice lulls across the empty lobby.

           “You could say that again, Philip.” I struggle to keep a grip on everything as I wander to the elevator banks. “Have a good night!”

           “You too, Bianca.”

           I wait patiently as the elevator travels the vast distance from the penthouse to the main floor. The forty-four floors of this building make for lengthy wait time, but I don’t mind. The lobby of G.F.A. is quiet, and there’s no one around except for Philip and I, just the way I like it. I usually do most of my work in the evenings, sometimes well into the nights. Craven’s personal assistant takes care of his daily needs, while delegating varying tasks relating to his personal life to me. Considering the fact that I’ve seen far more than my fair share of the man’s boxers, thanks to his dry-cleaning, it’s astonishing to think he has no clue who I am.

           Ding. The elevator settles to a halt on the ground floor, and the elegant golden doors slide open with a soft whoosh. I scurry inside and type in my security code to access the penthouse. The elevator begins its ascent with a swiftness that makes it feel as though I’m not even moving. The gentle melody of a quiet, operatic ballad plays through the speakers as I travel to Mr. Grainger’s penthouse suite. I hum along softly to the aria as I continue passing floors… twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty.

           Ding. The elevator slows to a stop upon arrival at the thirty-first floor. No one should be here this late. Who would be on the thirty-first floor at this time? I check the building’s map on the side of the elevator wall, the thirty-first floor is the administrative wing. All of the top financial advisors work on this floor during the day. I let out a long, drawn-out sigh as I wait for the doors to open.

            A few seconds later, the doors glide open to reveal a tall, dangerously handsome man who gracefully enters the elevator, settling beside me. His chiseled jawline and perfectly quaffed hair accentuate his refined features, and his blue eyes are piercing. He’s dressed in a jet-black, perfectly tailored suit that I’d recognize anywhere. His shoes are free from even the faintest of scuff marks and his neatly pressed white dress shirt hugs his taut chest muscles closely. Craven Grainger.

           “Good evening.” He says politely as he notices the penthouse button is already pressed. I can feel his eyes on me like white on rice. I open my mouth to return his salutation, but am interrupted by flickering lights and a rattling noise that’s followed by darkness.

           “What the hell?” I stumble as I drop the bags of dry cleaning and papers. The elevator jostles to a halt and I brace myself against the corner.

           “The powers gone out.” Craven’s voice is deep, his eyes look just as confused as I feel as he presses various buttons on the control panel. Nothing. “We’re stuck.”

           “Fabulous.” I squat down in the corner to gather up the financial proposals I’d lost control of in the excitement.

           “Would you like some help?” He bends down to offer up assistance, grabbing one of the bags of freshly laundered clothing. “Oh, these are my suits.” He laughs.

           “Yes, they are.” I let out a whisper of a laugh.

           “You must be Bianca then.” He extends a hand out to me.

           I’m taken back by his awareness of, well of me. I stop fumbling with the papers and look up at the man who looms over me like a strong tower. His six foot frame looks intimidating, but there’s a gentleness in how he approaches me. I place my hand in his and stand. “I am. And you’re Craven Grainger.”

           “You’ve heard of me.” He lets out a genuine chuckle while shaking my hand.

           “I might’ve heard mention of your name a time or two.” I smile. There’s something about him that seems so ordinary. He’s not as stuffy as I thought he would be.

           “Well then I’m sure you’ve heard of my astounding charm and fast wit as well?” He says, humor oozing from his voice like caramel from a candy bar.

           “Oh, frequently.” I laugh. He joins in. As I settle back into the dim emergency lighting of the elevator and the quietness, I’m suddenly aware of the fact that I’m currently trapped in a lift, in the middle of a power outage, with my boss of three years and the city’s most notorious bachelor. I swallow a lump in my throat. And more so, he knows who I am.

           “Um, here.” I don’t know how to break the silence between us, so I shove the container of Chinese food in his direction. “This is your dinner. I was on my way to your penthouse to drop off all of your stuff, but well –” my voice trails off.

           “Oh,” his eyebrows shoot up in a surprised expression. “Thank you!” He smiles, and I think that it’s rather sincere. “Would you like some?”

           “Some what?” I eye him.

           “Some dinner.” He laughs.

           “Oh you don’t have to…”

           “No seriously, I insist. Who knows how long we’ll be trapped in here, and you wouldn’t be stuck in here if it weren’t for my neediness.” He stops to gesture to his possessions on the floor of the elevator. “Plus, I always order way more Chinese food than I need. You’d honestly be doing me a favor.”

           “Okay then.” I shrug after a long moment. “Why not?”

           He takes off the suit coat he’s wearing and neatly lays it out on the floor of the elevator. He sits down and rolls the sleeves of his perfectly white shirt to the crook of his elbow, revealing strong, masculine forearms adorned with blood vessels that speak to his dedication to fitness. I bite my lip. I take a seat adjacent from him, crossing my legs beside me, suddenly aware that I’m dressed in a pair of fitted denim blue jeans and a t-shirt. My curls are piled high on top of my head and my feet are slid into the comfiest pair of Vans that I own. It’s like something out the Princess and the Pauper, only he’s a prince, not a princess.

           “Do you like Mongolian beef?” He asks me. He cracks open the box of steaming food. The scent of deliciously seasoned beef and oriental noodles fills my senses and I feel my stomach growl.

           “I do.” I smile.

           “It’s my favorite.” He holds up a pair of chopsticks and a package of flatware in his hands, letting me choose.

           “I know.” I giggle as I take the flatware from his palm.

           “Right.” He rolls his eyes at himself, breaking apart the chopsticks and skillfully maneuvering them to snag a piece of beef and some noodles in one fluid motion. He chews for a moment, his hard and rugged jaw moves with assertion, and there’s a touch of a smile playing at his lips as he does. “Do you want some wine?” His eyes fall on the two bottles from VINO DOWNTOWN that are resting beside me.

           “Oh.” I’m taken back by his bluntness. Is it inappropriate for me to drink wine in an elevator with my boss? Thoughts swirl around my mind as I think about the repercussions of my actions. I simply shrug.

           “This is the best wine Manhattan has to offer.” He leans across me to fetch the bottles of wine, taking one in each hand. I can smell the faint scent of cologne on his neck as he hovers over me for a moment – it smells of rich bourbon and firewood. It’s an intoxicating scent. He pops the cork from each of the bottles – one a smooth and sweet white wine, and one a rich and earthy red. “You’ll never find a wine better than this.”

           “Is that so?” I gaze at him as he hands me the bottle of white. I take a curious sip, and my tongue is immediately met with a subtle, fruity flavor that’s delicious. The alcohol warms my chest as I swallow. “It is good.”

           “Told you.” He laughs. He takes several long, deliberate sips from the red, then turns back to the food that’s resting between us. “So, tell me about yourself, Bianca.”

           “About me?” I sputter through a mouthful of saucy chow mein.

           “Yeah, you. Unless there’s another Bianca in here I should be aware of, and if that’s the case, we’re going to need more Mongolian beef.” He snickers.

           “Well, I’ve worked for you for three years now.” I pause for another sip of wine. “I’m originally from New Jersey though.” I never realized how nerve-racking talking about myself could be. Why am I so nervous?

           We spend what feels like forever chatting about ourselves. It’s revealed that while growing up I wanted to be a popstar and Craven wanted to be a rodeo clown. The thought of that sends me into a fit of giggles. I also learn that he’s from a single parent household and was raised by his mother alone. His father left when he was an infant. He doesn’t have any brothers or sisters, but he has a best friend, Clarissa, who has been like a sister to him since they were seven. As the two of us chat and eat and sip our wine, I feel a sense of comfortability overtaking the elevator. Craven is so different than I had ever pegged him to be. He’s so… normal.

           “I’m telling you, I would’ve bet my left kidney that there was a ‘Y’ somewhere in ‘Mississippi’ when I was in fourth grade. I just knew that spelling bee judge had it out for me.” He chuckles heartily.

           “Oh yes, spelling bee judges are the worst.” I double over in laughter. I’m not sure if it’s the darkness of the elevator or the wine, but I’m enjoying this evening so much. And, at the risk of sounding naïve, I think Craven is too.

           “The worst!” He concurs. As our laughter subsides, he gathers up the corks, flatware and napkins from our dinner spread and sets it gently to the side. He scoots closer to me, leaning effortlessly against the wall. The emergency lights cast a soft shadow across his masculine features that makes him seem so carefree and young. I study him.

           “I can’t believe you’ve worked for me for three years.” His voice is soft as he speaks.

           “How so?”

           “You’re such a refreshing change of pace for me, Bianca.” He looks down at his lap as he thinks about his words. His blue eyes find me again as he speaks. “Everyone in my world is so poised, all the time… dressing the part, looking the part, acting the part of the wealthy and elite. You’re so breathtakingly normal… beautiful… funny. You’re a real person, not another corporate robot whose only desire to have a conversation with me stems from wanting to succeed in the business world.”     

           “That’s me, painstakingly normal.” I chew on my bottom lip.

           “Trust me,” he reaches out to move a strand of hair behind my ear. “I meant that in the best possible way. You’re truly extraordinary if I’m being honest.” His hand travels down my neck and rests gently against the curve of my cheek for a moment.

           “I am?” My eyes search his, and I can feel my pulse quickening with each microscopic movement that his fingers make against my skin.

           “You are. I just wish I would’ve spent more time with someone like you the last three years, someone I can just be Craven with, not Mr. Grainger.”

           “You’re not at all what I expected.” I say, our eyes continuously explore each other’s.

           “What do you mean?”

           “I have to admit, I had a pretty biased and misinformed idea of who you were before I got trapped in here with you tonight. I saw you as this playboy and bigshot man, aloof and unapproachable. I figured you were so self-absorbed that you’d never take notice of anyone like me, someone so plain. I didn’t even think you knew my name before tonight.”

           “That’s fair,” his voice is quiet as he speaks to me. I can feel the warmth of his breath as the words leave his lips. The air smells like liquor and feels electric. There’s no power in the entire city at the moment, but everything in this elevator feels super-charged. “But trust me, Bianca, I’ve known you for a long time. I just never knew how to approach you.”

           “Approach me?!”

           “You’re stunning.” His eyes linger on my lips and then find my emerald eyes and the freckles that dot the bridge of my nose. “You’re funny and charming, carefree and elegant. You make everything seem easy, and you seem like you’re always perfectly comfortable in any given situation.”

           “That’s not even a little true.” I gasp at what I’m hearing. This man… this beautiful and successful man thinks so highly of me. He was afraid to approach me! “To be honest, I feel so out of place in your world, Craven. It frankly scares the hell out of me. The cutthroat business, the luxury and wealth, the blonde-headed socialites that flood out of your penthouse in the wee hours of the morning. It’s a lot.”

           “That stuff is all superficial, Bianca.” He leans in a little as he whispers in my ear. “But you, you are as real and as beautiful as every ray of light that escapes the sun during the most breathtaking sunset.” The words leave his lips in a poetic display of admiration, and our faces close the distance between us, our lips crash together like magnets. As he kisses me feverishly, I lose myself to the feeling of euphoria. This man, Craven Wesley Grainger, is so different than I’d ever imagined. The man within the penthouse is charming, silly and kind. He’s human. And right now, he’s kissing me like I’ve never been kissed in my life.

           As we lust for one another, our lips colliding more passionately each time, we’re parted by the sudden jostling of the elevator. The lights flicker on again and the rumble of the elevator shaft comes to life as we continue our ascent to the penthouse. I’m taken back by all that’s happened, and I’m still spinning from my rendezvous with Craven on the elevator floor. The two of us stand up, him on one side of the elevator and me on the other. We look at each other, panting and reeling from what just happened. The soft sounds of opera swirl between us as we pass floor after floor.

           Ding. Finally, the doors slide open and give way to a modern and perfectly adorned penthouse apartment overlooking Manhattan. The cityscape is well lit once again, and the apartment is as well. The two of us walk into the penthouse, first him, and then me. He sits his laundry, papers and the trash from our makeshift dinner on the entry table. I nervously meander to the giant windows of his living room and stare out at the city. He flips off the light switch and sidles up next to me, not saying a word.

           We turn to face each other, our eyes meeting, now only lit by the subtle glow of the city outside. I bite my lip as we stand there, inches apart, tension growing between us with each breathe that leaves our lips. He studies me for a moment more, before he pulls me against his body, his lips finding mine once again. We tumble to the ground in passion, my back against the glass window as our bodies meet the floor, our lips never parting.

Three years. That’s how long I’ve been invisible, or so I thought. But tonight, invisible is exactly what I want to be. As I roll around in the penthouse of the man I thought didn’t know my name, I’m thankful for the blackout that found my city tonight. I kiss Craven again and again, and as I close my eyes, reveling in the feeling of his hands against my body, I surrender to the fact that it’s just he and I in the penthouse tonight, and in my mind, anyways, it’s lights out, once again, in Manhattan.

THE END