Going Up?

The street bustles with life despite the hour, like most places in New York City. Lamp posts decked with fake wreaths illuminate the line of cars stuck in traffic. The one way road leads up to a busy intersection, and several people honk for no apparent reason. Office buildings rise up on one side of the alley, looming like Redwoods. A Walgreens on the corner floods the area with a lurid, fluorescent glow. The curvy red lettering above the second floor reads “Wareens” thanks to the blacked out ‘l’ and ‘g.’

Across the way from the office buildings, an enormous hotel stretches the length of the short alley. A semicircle driveway lined with valets marks the front entrance. Evergreens adorned with various ornaments stand on either side of the glass sliding doors, and shiny silver tinsel glitters through the clouds of smoke coming from a valet on break.

Now, a tall man hastens toward the hotel. Long, ungainly arms swing at his sides, and in one hand he clutches a brown leather briefcase. His disheveled black hair matches his black winter coat, which whips around him as he walks. Underneath the coat his attire is all business, from his ironed blue shirt to his shiny black loafers. The only thing that looks out of place is his tie, which depicts Santa Claus and eight reindeer. 

The man quickens his pace as the hand holding his briefcase goes numb. 

“Jesus, it’s cold.,” his breath steams from his mouth.

He strides through the front doors, giving a quick nod to the doorman as he goes. Inside, the atmosphere seems much calmer. The man flashes a charming smile at the woman behind the front desk, then heads out of the lobby and toward the elevators.

Around the corner there are six elevators, three on each side of the short hall. To the man’s surprise, a young woman stands in the middle of the hall. She looks petite but strong, and her violently red hair frames her pale, freckled face. She’s looking for something, rifling through her purse like a raccoon through the trash.

“Where is it? Oh my god, please tell me it’s here.” 

At the sound of the man’s footsteps the woman looks up, just as her hands stop their frantic movement. She grins abashedly, pulling out a small blue wallet.

“I thought I had lost this for a second. That was a close call.” She closes her purse and pushes strands of hair out of her face.

The man raises his eyebrows but smiles. “Are you going up?”

“Yeah, I’m just waiting. These things are taking forever tonight.”

The man chuckles slightly before reaching out and pushing the up button. It glows yellow and a nearby elevator dings, the doors opening. The woman smacks her forehead, blushing furiously.

“Well that might’ve helped,.” she whimpers.

“It usually does,” he responds, still chuckling. “I’m Johnathan Yang. Everyone calls me John.”  He offers up a handshake and she takes it, her small pale hand fitting awkwardly in his large tan one.

“Alyssa Shelton.” She breaks the handshake as they move into the spacious elevator and jabs the button for the thirtieth floor. John pushes twenty-eight, then turns back to face Alyssa.

“How long are you staying in the city?” he asks, looking over at her with interest.

“A couple more days and then I head back to Denver. My friend is getting married in Central Park.”

Surprise creeps across John’s face. “You live in Denver? So do I.”

“Really?” Alyssa asks with an incredulous laugh. “What are the odds of that?” There’s a beat of silence as the elevator climbs even higher. Then, Alyssa speaks again. 

“I like your tie by the way.” She gestures toward the cartoon Santa Claus.

“Thanks,” he snickers, “I just had drinks with some guys from the conference I’m attending and they didn’t seem to like it as much.”

Alyssa grins and takes a covert glance at the rising numbers above her. Tenth floor. Now eleventh. She has to hurry.

“I can’t imagine why,” she jokes, tucking a strand of red hair behind her ear. “Where do you work in Denver?” Her pulse speeds up. She tries to stop the color from rushing to her cheeks. Hopefully John can’t see right through her.

“I work at Fennel & Jinh Law Firm. You probably haven’t heard of it; we do mostly corporate lawsuits.” There’s a hint of disdain hidden behind the word “corporate.”

Alyssa’s eyes widen and a smile crosses her face. “Actually, I have heard of it; you guys are some of our biggest competition. I’m an executive assistant at Smith, Bernstein, and Jordan.”

“Wow, small world.”

As they pass the twenty-first floor, Alyssa gathers all her courage and blurts out, “Would you like to grab a cup of coffee before we both go back to Colorado?”

John looks over at her in surprise, rubbing the back of his neck in slight discomfort. After a moment of despairingly awkward silence, John beams. 

“You know, I would love to get coffee with you.”

Alyssa sighs in relief and shoots him a toothy smile. “Okay, cool. Here, I’ll get your number.”

They exchange numbers just as the elevator dings, opening up on John’s floor. He stretches a long arm in front of the door to stop it from closing.

“I guess it’s a good thing you asked me out before I got off.”

Alyssa laughs and nods as John moves his arm. 

“See you around, Alyssa.” He gives her a dazzling grin, waiting until the elevator door closes to turn away. Striding around the corner to his room, John closes his hand into a fist, giving himself a silent cheer. 

It’s about time for John to get over his last girlfriend, Lauryn. Dating the same girl all through college, then getting dumped so she can travel and “find herself,”  has left him a little off his game. Now, he’s working at a law firm he hates with a bunch of women who only know him as “Lauryn’s ex.” But who cares? He has a date with a beautiful woman, and nobody needs to know that it wasn’t him who did the asking.

Back on the elevator, Alyssa rides the next two floors in contemplation. 

“Easy enough,” she whispers to herself. She also says a silent prayer of thanks for whoever helped her remember the name of the law firm.

On the thirtieth floor, Alyssa exits and heads toward her room. The do not disturb sign still dangles from the doorknob. Carefully, she looks both ways down the hall. It’s empty. She enters her room, breathing in the putrid smell of a hotel room that hasn’t been cleaned in over a week. The heavy metal door closes behind her, and she turns the deadbolt until she hears that decisive click. After pulling the chain across and checking that the door handle won’t budge, she turns around.

The bathroom trash can overflows with takeout food and empty shampoo bottles. She moves past the bathroom to her bed, where she drops her purse and phone. The tightly drawn curtains block out any light from the busy city outside. A single lamp, suspended above the nightstand, brings light to the room.

Alyssa shifts her gaze to the chestnut set of drawers beneath the TV. In one swift motion, she opens up the top dresser drawer and stares down into its depths. Piles of paper, organized in neat stacks, fill the drawer to the brim. She pulls out the stack on the far left, opening a thin manilla folder on the very top.

Inside the folder lies a single picture, printed on full-size card stock. It’s a picture of a man, standing outside a brick building with his cellphone to his ear. Next to his face sits a bright pink sticky note that reads, “John Yang. Corporate lawyer. Denver, Colorado.”

Alyssa walks back over to her purse and empties its contents on the bed. She pulls out a pen and a pad of yellow sticky notes. The top note reads “Smith, Bernstein, & Jordan” in messy black lettering. Alyssa rips off  the top Post-It so she can start a new one. She clicks the pen and writes, in rushed, slanting handwriting. 

“Seems like an easy lure. Method: poison coffee??”

With that, Alyssa puts the folder and stack of papers back in the drawer, making sure it’s shut. She perches on the edge of the bed, chuckling at the satire of it all.

Johnathan just met his rebound.

Alyssa just met her next victim.