As the Friday 5:30 mob scrambles out of the lift like lemmings leaping into the Arctic Ocean, Mike finds himself not unexpectedly as the only passenger going up. He presses 44 and just as the doors near closure, a slender hand foists its way between them followed by “Wait, wait.”
The doors open and Mike’s reality shifts. Cleavage. Suddenly this is his world. And from somewhere above the cleavage a voice utters, “Oh lucky me. You’ve already pushed my button.”
Reality shifts again as Mike realizes that the voice came out of the sexiest lips on the prettiest face he has ever seen in his life. The doors close and the lift starts to rise and for some reason Dickens pops into his mind – “It was the best of times; it was the worst of times.”
He’s got to say something clever, something cool but his brain has turned to Pablum. As the numbers on the display go up, he can feel his chances going down. And then the miracle/disaster takes place. Suddenly there’s a loud grinding sound, the lift jolts and the display freezes on 10.
“Thank you God”, blurts out of Mike’s mouth.
“Thank you God?”, the lips reply. “Is that supposed to be clever?”
The lift has stopped.
Nothing.
“Oh this is great. And I’ve got a job to do in 3 minutes.”
“Are you an accountant?”, is the next bit of cool wit to escape Mike’s mouth while his brain starts sending signals to his teeth to bite off his tongue.
“Do I look like an accountant?” snaps back the lips.
“Not really, but nothing is on level 44 except Burns Badger and Bennett and they’re all accountants so I thought you might be one.”
“Gee a regular Sherlock Holmes. Since you must know, today I’m an entertainer. Now why don’t you use that sharp mind of yours and figure out how to get us back in motion.”
“An entertainer? Are you part of Brian’s birthday party? I didn’t know it was going to be THAT kind of party.”
“Turn your deductive powers on to getting us out of here Sherlock. And what exactly is ‘THAT kind of party’ supposed to mean?”
“I think a bearing has fractured on the lift motor, judging by the sound. I’ll see if I can raise someone on the emergency phone.” Mike drops cool and takes up practical. Quit while you’re behind has always been his motto.
“Nope, dead as a doornail.” says Mike putting the phone back in the box. “I’ll see if my mobile phone has any reception. These lifts can be murder for a good signal.”
As Mike punches in the numbers that are on the emergency phone box, there are dark thunderclouds breaking out of “Lips’” eyes. “Don’t change the subject. What do you mean, “THAT kind of party?”
Mike holds up a finger hoping the universal signal for “Hold on” works. “Hello. Is this the Schindler Lift Company? Oh good. Listen we’re stuck here in a lift at 16 Market Street. Can you send someone over to get us out? Uh huh. Uh huh. Ok, that would be great.” He disconnects and pockets his phone.
“They’ll have someone over by 7:30, 8 at the latest.”
“Good. No, not good. I can’t be late for this.” Lips takes out her phone. “Damn. No bars at all. Listen can I borrow your phone for one quick call?” For a short second or two, the thunderclouds are replaced with rainbows as Mike hands over his phone.
“Hello Fred? Hi, it’s Molly. Emergency time. I’m stuck in the lift for the Burns Badger and Bennett gig and there’s no way I’ll make it. You’ll have to get someone else and let them know what’s happened. Sorry Fred. Talk to you later.”
Molly hands the phone back to Mike. “Don’t think this favour gets you off the hook. So what do you mean by ‘THAT kind of party’?”
(To be concluded)
That’s as far as I’m taking this for now. I reckon I’m less than a quarter into the story of Molly and Mike. I’m not sure where I want to take it and I’m letting them write the script. Who they are and what they are doing is clear to me but where they might go isn’t. I think I’m looking at around 3000 words and wanted to at least get something posted.
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3 comments:
Rick you certainly had a wonderful Saturday of writing. This piece is almost fabulous and I think 3000 words would tell a fabulous story. The story is about Mike and Lips stuck in the lift. She's on her way to a Gig. They ring for help but it's too late for the Gig. Lips organises a replacement. Mick is trying to be clever and sexy and ?? - she is taking offence.
I love the language. It's so easy and natural. And I love the reference to "lips", cleavage etc - it really is quite a funny piece too. The conversation Mike has with himself is great too, says more about the guy, trying to be clever and cool. There are some really clever lines, like as the lift goes up, his chances go down. Her dialogue is fun, quipy and persistent (I don't think he will get away with the THAT party comment)
So what did you create yourself as to write these pieces. Whatever it is I love it. I still can't find any suggestions for change or improvements.
Kerry says:
A man and a woman are trapped together in a lift. The man is entrapped by the woman's sexy body. The woman is no-nonsense and brings him down to earth. The story is not complete.
Rick, this is a beauty. And I don't mean the woman. I was also entranced by the one word 'Cleavage'. No mistaking where Mike's at. I loved how you worked with the voice, the lips, so politically incorrect.
It was tricky to get the woman from being 'the lips' to being 'Molly'. You managed it by having her introduce herself on the phone but I wonder whether Mike should acknowledge who she is in some way before she is referred to as Molly in the narrative.
Love it and look forward to the resolution of the story.
Heather says:
You captured me from the moment of the slender hand foisting its way in. Our dashing hero finds himself stuck in the lift with the gorgeous and somewhat enigmatic Molly. He follows the typical :-) male path from breasts to face to lips to actual words. It's both a terrifying and an enchanting time for him.
I loved the dialogue, the humour, the cleverness. Mike is a great character, unexpectedly called out of his normal self. Molly we're just getting to know.
I'd really like to see the next chapter of this story. It could become a terrific 3000 word story.
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