Part 2: Going down.
Almost two weeks, several random and more than a few not so accidental elevator meetings and three gourmet truck lunches in the park down the street later, the chemistry between them was building. It was high time one of them asked the other out on a first date. Standing next to each other, at a right angle in the corner of the elevator, Bob had decided to take the initiative and pop the question.
“You know,” he started, “I’ve been thinking. …Oh, hi Mrs. Caruthers.” They’d been meeting so often like this, regulars in the building had begun to recognize them.
“Hi, Bob. You too going out yet?”
“Not yet, Mrs. Caruthers,” Jane answered, “but thank you for asking.”
“Oh, you’re welcome.”
“Hm. As I was saying, I think she’s right. I think it’s time we went out on a date.”
“For an awkward dress-up dinner and a movie neither of us wants to see?”
“Yes. Exactly. A typical first date.”
“Or...”
“Or what?”
“Or we could count our time together, on the elevator, as a first date and go right to our second date.”
“What would that involve?”
“One of us would make a casual, sloppy clothes dinner for the other one at his or her apartment. And then, after dinner, even during dinner... Wait. Can you cook?”
“No. Not really. Breakfast. Things you can make in toaster. Grilled cheese sandwiches. Anything frozen or with ground meat in it. ...I thought you could cook.”
“Why would you think that? Oh, please, not because I’m a woman.”
“Of course not.” Bob suddenly felt the need to make an outdated political statement. “The fact that you may or may not be a woman is irrelevant.”
“Really?”
“In an entirely asexual way. Yes, irrelevant. ...I thought you could cook because you’re always going grocery shopping after work – or are you just embarrassed that you have a second job as a cashier at Whole Foods?”
“No, no. I shop, my roommate cooks. That’s our deal. If it weren’t for her, I’d starve to death.”
They were quiet for a moment, watching past the people in front of them for the door to open on somebody else’s floor.
“I don’t have a roommate.”
“Okay, your place, carry out.”
“Deal.” Bob extended his hand to shake hers and Jane met him half way. It felt good, the first time they’d touched, which is why they kept holding hands even though some people were looking. “Chinese, pizza, Italian?”
“Yes,” Jane answered, moving her hand slightly inside his.
“Yes? …It was a multiple choice question.”
“People are staring.”
“At what?” Bob was oblivious. Not just now, but generally.
“At us, holding hands like this,” Jane said, beginning to feel self-conscious. No one shakes hands for this long.”
“Hm. So when do you want to do this? ...I was thinking Saturday night.”
“Sure. Saturday would b... No, wait. I have a date.”
“What?!” Bob snapped his hand back.
“You have a date?” a familiar looking stranger asked. He was a regular, had been eavesdropping and couldn’t help himself.
“Excuse me,” Jane raised her eyebrows and asserted herself. “We’re having a private conversation.”
“On an elevator?” the stranger asked.
“Sir,” Bob, still reeling from the realization that she was dating someone, came to her defense, “are you seriously unfamiliar with crowded public space etiquette?” It sounded silly, but Bob had a point.
“What?”
“Do you participate in conversations you overhear at restaurants, on a plane, on a cell phone in a restroom? ...I didn’t think so. Now, if you don’t mind…” Bob turned back to Jane who, honestly, was impressed that he used the word “etiquette” which she knew, of course, and could pronounce, but certainly couldn’t spell. “You have a date?!”
“Well, yeah.”
“With who?”
All the while, the elevator door had been opening and now closing. “Jane! ...Hey. All set for Saturday night?”
“With him.”
“Hi.” Whoever he was, he was as nice as he was... tall and good looking. “Rolfs. Mark Rolfs,” he said with confidence, extending his hand to Bob.
“Bob, James Bob,” Bob responded, shaking Mark’s hand, taking care to match the strength of his grip.
“Your name’s ‘James Bob’?
“No, not really. I was just kidding. It’s Bob..” And then the elevator chime went off again.
“My floor. Nice meeting you?” Mark wasn’t entirely sure, sensing that Bob might have something going on with Jane. And then he looked at Jane. "...Four o’clock Saturday?”
“Right. Can’t wait.” Mark left and, as soon as the doors closed, Jane turned to Bob with an explanation.
“It’s not what you think.”
“You’re not going out with ‘Rolfs, Mark Rolfs’ on Saturday night? ...With a guy, albeit an apparently nice, very tall guy, who introduces himself with his last name first?”
Turning to face him, Jane pushed Bob against the sidewall and got up into his face. “Listen to me, Mango Breath. I made that date with Mark weeks ago, before you and I met, when he got tickets to a concert. ...Now you want me to break the date?”
“No. That wouldn’t be right.”
“Good, because I’m not. …Am I saving myself for you?”
“Wuh…”
“That was a rhetorical question. Besides, as technical point, that ship set sail my senior year.”
“In college?”
“High school. What difference does it make? ...My point is, I am. Saving myself for you, that is. Don’t ask me why, but I’m not really dating anyone, at least not until we’ve given it a shot.” She reached over, put her hands behind his neck, pulled Bob toward her and gave him a quick, but firm kiss.
“How ‘bout if...”
And the chime booped again.
“I’ve got to get back to work.” Jane, a bit flustered, hurriedly excused her way out, escaping into the hallway as soon as the door was open wide enough for her to squeeze through, and not looking back.