Monday, January 06, 2003

I got in the elevator;

I got in the elevator; two men were there already.  Both had very short hair, neatly pressed shirts, shiny belts, business pants.  They were both standing on one side of the elevator; I was near the front, facing (as is obligatory) out.  One said to the other, “You got new shoes.” I looked too - his pennyloafers shone preternaturally in the spot halogens.  “Yes,” said the other, tall and lean and almost bald.  There ensued a brief pause.  “Bass?” asked his friend, slightly less tall, slightly more rotund, with a fringe of short hair and a short dark beard.  A slightly longer pause: “Yes.” I could smell their antiperspirants, each of them, separate masculine yet floral scents.  I felt watched as I watched the indicator lights flash on and off in the board in front of me in slow pixillated simulation of motion as we plummeted down the shaft.  The tall one asked, “Did you have a good new year’s eve?” They exchanged a quick
meaningful glance.  Neither spoke until they left the elevator, walking close together, both with a quick tight gait.  The more bearded one leaned forward to describe his neoannual revels, eyes bright and lips pursing in anticipation of juicy details; they disappeared down the hall as the elevator doors closed, rapt in the retelling, released from my inhibitory presence. Sorry to slow you down, boys.  You really aren’t fooling anybody, you know.