Going Down

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Level eleven… When the doors swished open, Amy found herself face to face with a woman she both feared and revered. Marsha Hardwick: businesswoman extraordinaire whose racy looks and appetite for scandal were as legendary as her razor sharp mind. Heart pounding, Amy wiped her sweaty palms before extending a hand and timidly mouthing, “Hello.” The greeting was acknowledged with a polite nod but, disappointingly, nothing more. Ignoring the outstretched hand, Marsha punched level one and twizzled to face the exit. Her long, red fingernails impatiently tapped the wall as she waited for the doors to close. Amy shrank back, hand dropping limply to her side. She leaned against the wall while philosophically deciding that Marsha’s indifference was probably a blessing. Getting noticed by Ms. Hardwick was a dream but introductions inside a lift might give entirely the wrong impression. Amy was a nervous wreck in lifts. They scared the crap out of her. Especially when going down. As the crack between the doors zipped up tight, she reached for the polished steel hand rail and curled her fingers around it. Wait for it… there was a slight jolt then the shiny metal box plummeted at an alarmingly rapid rate. Feeling distinctly nauseous, Amy held on tightly. At least she had the distraction of a sexy woman in front of her. She could hardly believe Marsha was standing so close. She could smell her perfume and hear the rustle of her skirt as she shifted her weight from one Italian stiletto to the other. Level ten… Thoughts raced through Amy’s mind, possibilities: she could tap Marsha on the shoulder, boldly present herself and see where it led. She could cough to get her attention, bat her eyelashes and throw her a winning smile… or not. Amy tightened her grip on the rail as the lift continued to accelerate. Her heart raced dangerously fast and her stomach churned. She prayed she wouldn’t throw-up. Imagine vomiting over Marsha! That would end her career. She slapped a hand firmly across her mouth, just in case. Level nine… Resigned to staying invisible, Amy admired her idol from behind, without disturbing her. Marsha’s glossy, raven hair was fascinating. It shone under the lights, reflecting back hints of red and plum among the black. It was cut into a sharp, stylish bob, dramatically framing the face Amy could see reflected in the polished metal doors. Although not pretty in a traditional sense, Marsha was striking. High cheek bones, a straight nose and dazzling eyes, gifted her with a rare, timeless, allure. Huh! Amy gasped as the object of her regard glanced sideways. She swiftly bowed her head, feigning an interest in the floor, until the urge to peep overpowered her again. Peering cautiously, she drank in the hand-tailored suit cut to hug Marsha’s hourglass curves. Then, her gaze swept down to shapely, silk-stockinged calves and onward to those glorious, custom-made shoes. Both the shoes and the suit were scarlet Escort Çukurambar – an audacious, lustful colour that few could carry off. Level eight… Risking another look at Marsha’s reflection, she gaped at the semi-transparent, cream silk blouse beneath the red jacket. She’d noticed it the second the doors had opened at level eleven. How could she fail to when it was worn with the top three buttons undone to brashly display an ample cleavage, cradled inside a teasingly visible, red, lace bra? The lift groaned as brakes kicked in and Amy’s stomach lurched as it halted at level seven. The doors swished open, and she watched Marsha step forward to glare at the secretary who’d dared interrupt her ride. The poor girl backed away, muttering apologies. The doors slid shut again without the extra passenger. Jolt… drop. “Holy fuck!” Amy clamped her jaws together but it was too late to prevent the profanity slipping out. Mortified, she winced as Marsha turned to face her, eyebrows arched in disdain. She felt the burn of a harsh stare lingering on her face before those penetrating hazel eyes flicked downward, switching their focus to her hands. To her surprise, the corners of Marsha’s mouth twitched and a faint smile curved her glossy, red lips. “Holding on, I see,” Marsha commented. “Do you grip the seat on aeroplanes too?” Amy’s cheeks grew uncomfortably hot and she knew, without looking, they’d turned a similar shade to Marsha’s suit. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t tease,” Marsha apologised with laughing eyes. “This lift’s quite a ride, isn’t it? I used to find it unnerving. Well, a bit.” Level six… The lift lurched, shaking its passengers. “Ooh,” Marsha grinned, “it’s bumpy today.” Bumpy? Understatement! Amy’s knuckles turned white. “You’ll put a dent in that rail, if you haven’t already,” Marsha tittered. “Don’t worry, sweetie, we’ll soon be-” She was silenced mid-sentence by a sickeningly loud, grating squeal. A series of violent judders followed, rocking the lift, before all momentum abruptly stopped, throwing the two women against the walls. The lights flickered and died, plunging the metal box into total darkness. The blackout lasted a second, maybe two, but during that time, neither woman dared breathe. When the emergency lighting kicked in, the dim glow illuminated two sets of eyes, both wide with fright. Amy, hands still glued to the rail, stared blankly into space. Of all the places to be trapped – a lift! Her body shook with terror. It was Marsha who broke the silence. “Fucking hell,” she gasped. “I hate it when it does that.” She shook her hands as if to rid them of fear and cricked her neck from side to side. “Second time this week… ugh!” Peering at the lift’s control panel, she stabbed the button beneath the intercom. “It’s stopped. Again. Get us out of here.” There was a distorted reply from the other end and words of encouragement spewed demetevler escort forth. Huffing loudly, Marsha nudged Amy. “They’re sorting it, apparently. You okay?” No response. “There’s nothing to worry about,” she continued. “They’ll fix this thing in a jiffy and we’ll be on our way. Hey, look at me.” Obeying the voice, Amy focused on Marsha’s face. Amazingly, she looked perfectly composed – like an air stewardess, smiling blithely at her panicked passengers after a particularly turbulent take-off. It was comforting. Swiping the tears from her eyes, Amy managed a smile. “There’s a good girl. You’re safe, the lift can’t fall. Safety mechanisms, you know. Look,” Marsha stamped a stilettoed foot, “solid as a rock.” She stamped again, vibrating the lift’s floor like the skin on a drum. “No, no, no… don’t do that. Please stop, Ms. Hardwick.” “Ah-ha!” Marsha twirled a finger and pointed it at Amy. “You know who I am.” “Yes.” “Hmm… do I know you? Let me see.” Snatching up Amy’s I.D. tag, she read, “Amy Fellows, Marketing Assistant.” A frown creased her forehead. “Amy from Marketing? The Amy?” “Er… I guess so,” Amy replied nervously. “I’m the only Amy in the department.” “Well,” hands on hips, Marsha pursed her lips, “I do know you.” “You do?” “By reputation. Your magazine ads are dynamic, fiery. I love them.” “Do you?” “Yes.” She squinted at Amy. “You’re not what I expected.” “I’m not at my best in lifts.” “Evidently. So why didn’t you take the stairs? I mean, twelve floors is quite a lot, but you’re young and fit.” Amy bit her lower lip. “Oh, I see, it’s not just the lift… vertigo? Oh dear, our architects had it in for you, didn’t they?” “Acrophobia not vertigo. I get height vertigo when the acrophobia kicks in. I can get it standing on a chair, so this tower block…” Amy drew a breath, “Bloody ‘modern’ design,” she growled. “Who puts the only staircase on the outside of the building and encases it in glass? It’s ludicrous! It’s not even properly attached to anything, it just kind of hovers.” “Clever, isn’t it?” “No, it’s fucking stupid. I want a nice, safe, fully enclosed staircase that isn’t transparent. In the centre of the building would be ideal – where this sodding lift is.” Marsha cocked her head to one side, eying Amy curiously. Noting her reaction, Amy shrank away. “Sorry. I’m ranting.” “Not at all, carry on. That’s the fire I expected from you.” “Oh… is it?” “Yes, much better,” Marsha smiled. “I’m confused, though.” “Oh? What about?” “Well, the Marketing Department’s on the ground floor and, I assume, its non-elevated location was an important factor when you chose to work here?” “Absolutely.” “So why were you up on level twelve? Not for the view. Did you have a meeting with the Directors? Are you up for a promotion or something?” “No. No, I erm…” Amy cleared her throat, “I ride the lift to the top every day. I’m trying to get dikmen escort bayan used to it.” “Really? So you see yourself strutting around up there one day?” “Maybe…” Marsha snorted, “Good for you. It never hurts to be ambitious, although I think you’re a little young to have your eye on one of those big, plush offices. I haven’t got one yet. Do you think you’ll get there before me?” Amy held her tongue while she tried to formulate an answer that wouldn’t sound arrogant or sycophantic. She opened her mouth to speak but, as she did, the lift lurched again. It only dropped an inch or two but the unexpected movement sent Amy’s pulse through the roof. Unable to contain her panic, she filled her lungs with air and screamed. “Amy, don’t… it’s okay, it’s stopped. Amy, please… oh sweetie, come here.” Amy suddenly found herself enveloped in Marsha’s arms. The warmth comforted like a blanket and, as her head came to rest upon Marsha’s chest, she detected the soft thump of her idol’s steady heartbeat. Drawing a breath, her nostrils flooded with Marsha’s delicious scent: the subtle florals of expensive perfume mixed with the aroma of her. It was wonderful… cries fading to whimpers, her eyes closed. “That’s it, nice and calm. We’ll be out of here soon,” Marsha whispered. Amy shivered as a hand gently stroked her hair. It felt safe, lovely… but it was Marsha! Catapulted back to reality, she wriggled free of the embrace. “Better?” those succulent, glossy lips enquired. Amy gaped, “I feel so foolish.” “Don’t, there’s no need. You should see me when I’m confronted by spiders.” “Spiders?” “Yes,” she shuddered dramatically, “hairy blood-sucking monsters.” Amy couldn’t help giggling. “Ah, that’s better. You’re pretty when you smile.” “Am I?” “Very.” Marsha brushed a strand of hair away from Amy’s eyes. “So pretty,” she breathed. “Are you wearing make-up?” “No.” “Huh… I thought not. I can’t do that. Not at my age. Make-up, hair dye and the odd shot of Botox.” She pointed to her forehead. “No surgery, yet, and the body’s all real. I’m proud of my figure.” “You look great.” “Thank you.” Marsha ran her hands over her curves. “I have an excellent personal trainer. Twenty-five-years-old and an ex-rugby player, he’s got a huge, solid… six-pack,” she grinned. “He always gives me a great workout.” “So I’ve heard.” “Have you? Am I the subject of gossip in the Marketing Department?” “Oh no, no I-” “I sincerely hope I am. I like being thought of as a bit of a goer.” A tinkling, girlish laugh erupted from her throat. “Did I really just say that?” She grinned, her eyes shining. “A goer? What is that? Such an old-fashioned term.” Amy smiled. “Anyway, gossip’s good. I rue the day when I’m thought of as an ageing business woman, too old to have a scandalous private life.” “I don’t see that ever happening.” “Good. And for the record,” she smirked, “any juicy titbits regarding my personal trainer are all true, okay? Every single sordid de-” The lights flickered as the power briefly whirred back to life. Spinning on her heel, Marsha pounced on the intercom. “Is it fixed?” “Almost,” hissed the disjointed voice. “We’re just going to try something.” “Okay, be quick.” Marsha turned to Amy, “Damn, I thought they’d sorted it.

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