I press my face against the seam and speak with confidence. "Don't worry. I'm not leaving you behind. I'm going to rescue you."
"Please, hurry," she pleads, making the pit of my gut tighten.
I ask her, "Do you have a favorite song?"
"What?" Confusion responds.
"Do you have a favorite song?" I smile, knowing the panic is gone for the time being.
"Well, yes."
"Sing it for me."
She laughs, and the sound warms my heart. "Don't you mean, sing it forme?"
I chuckle. Good. She’s sharp. She knows it’s a coping mechanism, and still has her sense of humor. "It'll help calm your nerves while I work to get you out."
"I'm all for that. Promise me you won't make fun of me after this is over, though."
I laugh, "You have my word."
Zella
With my cheek pressed against the cold steel, I sing "Angel" by Sarah McLachlan and let my imagination fill in the fantasy of who could have such a sexy baritone voice—not caring at the moment that he won't measure up—just needing the distraction.
He must be taller than I am, so over six feet. Six foot four inches is perfect. Dark hair, dark, smoldering eyes. Ruggedly handsome. A man's man. Not a wormy fashion model. A man with massive muscles. He is tough-as-nails with kiss-my-ass confidence. But he's kind and caring. Willing to go the extra mile. He's single by choice. He's been hurt, but he's not bitter. He's hopeful but patient. When he sees me, he falls instantly in love with me, and I with him. He finds refuge in my arms while I find solace in his, and we both find peace.
The doors shift slightly, and I stop singing.
"Don't stop. You sing like an Angel." He flatters me.
I laugh, thrilled with the crack appearing. "You're too kind," I tell him, looking up at the faint line of light now showing three-fourths of the way up on the door. "I can see light now. The elevator isn't sitting in the slot correctly. It's below the actual doors. About three feet. Maybe three and a half."
The doors widen about six inches, and a hand holding a phone with the flashlight turned on appears. The thoughtfulness touches my heart, and I melt at the kind gesture.
"Oh, thank you!" I step up to take it from him.
His deep baritone says, "You're welcome."
When my hand grazes his skin, a jolt of emotion shocks me, and I pull it back.
"Can you reach it?" He asks, confused I didn't take it.
I stutter, "Y-y-yes, I can." Then cautiously take it from him, knowing the warmth of his skin will trigger the emptiness inside me.
"Stand back," he tells me. "Better yet. Move to the opposite wall."
"Why?" I ask, not wanting to put distance between us.
"Because we are ten floors above ground."
"Oh, yeah." I laugh nervously and look at the gap between the doors below the light. "Duh, huh?"
He chuckles, "You're focused on getting out. While I'm focused on getting you out safely."
I do as I'm told, shifting the garment bag again. As the gap continues to widen, I can see he's wearing white pants, and the man I imagined shatters. Who wears white pants to a gala like this? Dork!
"I'm coming in now. Are you clear?"
