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Benny was on the elevator of a building he'd never been in before. It was climbing fast. Too fast. "It didn't stop on those floors," he said, looking at the numbers as it sped upward.
When no one replied, he looked to see if anyone heard him. Apparently not.
To his right stood an attractive blonde woman, thirtyish, in a blue blazer, matching skirt and white silk blouse. She turned away and clutched her purse with both hands.
To his left stood a young couple. The woman's long black hair hung down over most of her face. She was avoiding eye contact. Her muscle-boy friend met Benny’s gaze with a silent glare.
Benny returned his attention to the elevator control panel. Was he the only one concerned or aware the elevator was not stopping on their floors? What is with these people? Hadn't they pushed the buttons?
The elevator increased speed as it continued upward. A knot formed in the pit of his stomach. It's going too fast! They were just a few floors below Benny's, and the knot in his stomach cinched tighter and tighter.
He fell to the floor, doubled over in agony as if stabbed. Then the phone rang.
What the....? Benny's mind gasped. Embedded in the wall near his head was the elevator's emergency telephone. The ringing was so close and loud, he thought his eardrums would burst.
The other passengers looked at him.
"Aren't you going to answer it?" the blonde woman spoke for the group. "You're the closest."
Through blurred vision, he saw the passengers all standing over him, waiting.
The younger, dark-haired woman was shaking her head. With a clear view of her now from the floor, Benny realized it was his wife. Or, rather, ex-wife as of two weeks ago.
Her new boyfriend was now stretching his calves against one of the elevator walls. Athletic type. She always did like those.
Benny turned and stared at the ringing phone and wondered what could possibly happen next.
He woke up in a cold sweat. Whipping his head around to gather his bearings, he was relieved to be back in his apartment. His ex- was nowhere around. The sun leaked through a gap in the curtains. Birds chirped happily outside his window.
It was just another beautiful L.A. day.
Rubbing his aching stomach, he slowly made his way toward the phone on the desk between the bed and bathroom. He cursed himself for drinking so much last night.
Eating half a large pizza didn't help. It gave him nightmares every time. "Mmm, hullo?" he struggled to get the words out. "Wake up!" a woman screamed in his ear. "We have a job for you downtown!" It took Benny a moment to realize it was Margaret from the employment agency, Your Temps.
There was no way he could work today. He just wanted to sleep. Well, throw up, then sleep. The past two weeks had been a blur of drunken celebrations of his divorce. He couldn't remember the last time he'd gotten a good night's sleep.
Margaret from Your Temps proceeded to give directions – rapid-fire – to his latest assignment at a downtown law firm. "Be there by 8:30!"
He glanced at the digital clock next to his bed. 7:58. His apartment was just eight miles from downtown, and half a block from the freeway on-ramp, but with morning rush-hour traffic being what it was in L.A. there was no way he could get to work on time.
Benny arrived half an hour late at Thompson, Thompson & Duchinski. They were on the 23rd floor of the same building in which that TV show L.A. Law supposedly took place. He hurried out of the elevator, glad to be rid of it, and stepped into the lobby. He wondered if that show’s producers ever came to see what a law firm was supposed to look like. Then again, they were probably in and out of law firms on a regular basis and knew all too well what they looked like.
Staggering up to the reception desk, he announced his arrival in a croaking half-whisper. "Benny Reed, Word Processor."
The receptionist made a point of ignoring him as she shuffled through a stack of papers. She was clipping them together with huge black binder clips and setting them to her right.
He cleared his throat and repeated himself, being sure to enunciate. The young woman shuffled and clipped a few more papers, for good measure, then looked up to see who she was ignoring.
With bags under his half-closed eyes, an unruly lock of auburn hair sticking out just above his left ear, stood Benny leaning on her desk for support, looking as bad as he felt.
A sneer formed on the receptionist's face. "Don't lean on the desk," she snapped. He stepped back. She then did a double take and asked, "Don't I know you?"
He raised an eyebrow and tried to get a better focus on her. She did look familiar. The brass nameplate on her desk said "Venelia Dumas." An unusual name, but not familiar.
"I, uh..." Benny shook his head, "don't think so."
"Have a seat, Mr....."
"Benny Reed...." he began.
"Yeah, yeah. Word Processor," she finished for him. Frowning, she added, "I'll call Ms. Puppitt."
He bent an eyebrow at this new name but said nothing as he made himself comfortable in a plush brown leather chair in the reception area. Venelia kept a watchful eye on him while speaking in hushed tones over the phone with Ms. Puppitt.
Benny found himself quite impressed with his chair. It was incredibly comfortable, and made a nice squeaky, leathery sound as he moved around in it. He smiled and closed his eyes.
The next thing he knew, the receptionist was yelling at him. "I said, Ms. Puppitt will be with you shortly!"
Benny jumped out of his chair and looked around. "Thank you," he managed, wondering how long he'd been asleep.
A few minutes later, Ms. Puppitt charged into the reception area and greeted him with a winning smile and firm handshake. "Pat Puppitt, Human Resources," she said, pumping his hand vigorously.
Benny appraised her while she pumped. She looked about 40, thirteen years his senior. Attractive in a stiff, professional sort of way.
"We're happy to have you," she said cheerfully. Glancing at her watch, she added, "though you're a little late."
"I got here as soon as I could," he struggled for a plausible excuse. "Traffic was bad... 'cuz of an accident."
There were no accidents on any part of his trip, but accepting this assignment probably was.
"Well, never mind," she said. "You're here now, and that's all that matters....." She paused, cocked her head to one side and asked, "Have we met?"
The knot in Benny's stomach returned. It occurred to him she and the receptionist might have been at one of his recent parties. He could only hope he hadn't said or done anything too disgusting. Or, if he had, he hoped they enjoyed it.
His response now was a weak smile and shrug of the shoulders. Words eluded him.
She stared a moment longer before continuing. "Anyway, call me Pat. Everyone's on a first name basis here. We’re not one of those stuffy law firms you may have worked at before."
She pulled an adhesive paper label out of her suit pocket, wrote Benny's name on it with a black marker, peeled away its backing, and attached it to his jacket’s left lapel. The way she rubbed it – sensuously and with an unexpected enjoyment – he wondered if she was hitting on him. He was okay with it if she was, just surprised.
"This way, everyone knows your name!" she finished with a satisfied smile.
"If they don't already," he muttered under his breath.
"What's that?"
"Nothing."
She then quickly and efficiently led the march to his cubicle, where she introduced him to his desk, chair and PC. Benny stared at the chair. It looked comfortable. Probably not as good as the leather one in the reception area, but still.....
With horror, he realized Ms. Puppitt was speaking to him. "....but he's not here today," she was saying. "When he returns tomorrow, you will report to him. You can use today to get acclimated. Okay?"
Benny nodded, having no idea what he was agreeing to. She then pulled him down the hall for a tour of the floor. It was all too fast for him, but he trudged along gamely.
Taking the typically short, precise steps of a woman in heels, Ms. Puppitt pointed out landmarks and points of interest along the way. He lagged behind, wondering where the coffee machine was. When they finally reached the employee lounge, Ms. Puppitt placed a friendly hand on his shoulder – a bit too friendly, he thought, again wondering if she was hitting on him.
With a smile, she said, "Pour yourself a cup, Benny. I think you need it."
His instincts told him to laugh. Something humorous had been spoken. He hadn't actually heard the entire sentence. All that registered was her hand on his shoulder, the smell of coffee, and the command to pour himself a cup. He laughed, just in case.
She pulled a company-logoed mug from the cupboard and, with a cheerful smile, handed it to him. As he poured his coffee, a tall distinguished gray-haired gentleman stuck his head in and mumbled something in Ms. Puppitt's ear.
She jumped at his words, as if bitten. Her demeanor completely changed. Agitated now, she barked at Benny, "Wait right here! I'll be back in a minute!" With one last glance over her shoulder on her way out the door, she added, "Don't go anywhere!"
Benny nodded lazily and did as he was told, taking a seat in the lounge. He sipped on his coffee while awaiting further instructions. This was before cell phones, or at least before everyone had one on their person every waking moment. There was not much for Benny to do but inspect the room in which he sat.
Black-and-white photographs ranging from 8-by-10 inches to roughly 4 feet by 3 feet. Not that he knew anything about art, but he guessed they were in the avant garde genre. French, if he had to guess. The one with the Eiffel Tower in the background was his first clue.
A striking brunette in a tight white dress entered the room. A light-skinned young Black woman, she was from an entirely different genre, but a work of art nonetheless, and got his immediate attention. He almost spilled his coffee.
"Hi!" he said, suddenly happy.
She gave him a bored half-glance, but otherwise ignored him and lit a cigarette. This was back when smoke-free buildings were just a quaint idea. Taking a long drag off it, she moved toward the window and stared down at the pedestrians and snarled traffic below.
Benny did not appreciate being ignored and so lectured her on the hazards of smoking. To her perfectly toned backside, he said, "You shouldn't smoke those things, you know."
"I know," she said without turning away from the window.
"Cigarettes killed my wife," he said very seriously.
"I'm sorry," she gave the appropriate, if insincere, response while continuing to stare outside. After a moment, she turned and exhaled smoke through her nostrils.
"She was walking to the store on the corner for a pack of cigarettes," Benny explained, "when a speeding truck went out of control and ran her over, right there on the sidewalk." He pointed to the floor for emphasis. "If not for that pack of cigarettes, my wife would be alive today."
She was still alive, actually. The thought of her being run over by a speeding truck always just cheered him up.
As he and the smoking hot brunette stared at each other across the small room, he struggled to keep a straight face. When a thin smile worked its way to his lips, the brunette shook her head, extinguished the cigarette in a white, company-logoed ashtray, and left without another word.
Benny considered following her but remembered Ms. Puppitt's explicit orders to stay in the lounge and wait. Half an hour later, he could wait no longer and went to find his cubicle. He only hoped he could remember where it was.
His search eventually brought him to the reception area. Venelia, the receptionist, stood up and shouted at him from only two feet away: "Hey!"
Benny cringed. He was afraid he was in trouble for leaving the employee lounge.
"I just remembered where I've seen you before," she said, still too loud.
Benny tensed. "Look, it was just a party," he rambled blindly. "Things happen. Don't hold it against me."
"What are you talking about?" she shook her head and frowned. "Do you ever hang out on Hollywood Boulevard?"
"Not as a rule, no," he answered warily. He was not sure he wanted to find out where this conversation was going. His first thought upon hearing "Hollywood Boulevard" was that maybe Venelia was a transvestite. She was tall and masculine for a woman. Besides, who else would hang out on Hollywood Boulevard?
"I sold you a book!" she proclaimed cheerfully.
"Huh?" he stared blankly.
"Dynametrics: The Metric Science of Human Dynamics," she replied. "Remember?"
Benny did remember. Dynametrics. Its followers called themselves "Dynamos." He would have preferred her as a transvestite. He only bought that book with the hope she would go away and leave him alone.
It was a couple of months ago when Benny and his wife were in one of their "reconciliation" phases, strolling hand-in-hand down Hollywood Boulevard, "doing the town," when Benny noticed something coming at them from out of the darkness. Concerned for her safety, he valiantly pushed his wife out of harm's way – into the gutter, unfortunately – and instinctively reached behind to protect his wallet. When Venelia Dumas came fully into view Benny realized her intent was not to rob him but sell him one of those stupid "Dynamo" books.
Since he had his hand on his wallet anyway, he bought a copy, then rudely told her to go away. Checking out his new purchase, he flipped the book over. The childish cover art – a poorly-drawn man surrounded by star bursts and a halo – a "human dynamo," he supposed – evoked his disdain.
"Hey babe," he turned to his wife, "look at this stupid...." He stopped mid-sentence, not realizing he had knocked her into the gutter. And now, after getting up and wiping herself off, she had the most hateful look Benny had ever seen, and that was saying something. She was not unattractive normally but, man, she could make a face.
Through clenched teeth with a false sweetness, she seethed, "It's a good thing you bought that book, Benny."
"Why's that?"
"Because now you'll have something to do the rest of the night. You and I are history!" She marched three blocks back to her car while Benny bounced up and down alongside her, apologizing profusely.
When they reached the car, she flung the door open and jumped in. Benny could have kept her from closing the door, but didn't. She would take off with or without him hanging onto the door.
He backed away and gave her room to pull out of her parking spot. Gunning the engine, the tires squealed as she swerved toward him. She would have run him over if not for his last second dive out of the way.
"See how you like it!" she shrieked as he tumbled down to the dirty pavement.
On his knees in the wake of exhaust and bits of gravel, he watched her disappear into the night. This time it was forever, he knew. He felt bad about pushing her into the gutter but was only protecting her from what he thought was a mugger! It was almost heroic, but she never gave him the chance to explain.
"So, how do you like it?" Venelia was asking now, obviously hoping for an endorsement.
"What!?" Benny jumped, thinking she'd just repeated his ex-wife's final words.
"How do you like the book?" she repeated.
"Oh, the book. It has... an interesting cover," he replied weakly, then hurried off in the general direction of his desk.
Several hours later on his way for his fourth or fifth cup of coffee, Benny took a detour into the office supply room. He always liked to check out office supply rooms on his temp jobs; keep up on the latest office supplies technology; steal a few pens.
He was in the pen and pencil section inspecting the inventory when he noticed the smoking girl from the employee lounge. She stood next to the pencil sharpener, watching him. She looked good, he thought. Even better than first thing this morning. Of course, by now he was wide awake and better able to focus on things. He thought he would make another attempt at conversation.
He played it cool, checking out this box of staples and that box of paper clips, just biding his time for the right words and moment to make his move. After long and deep consultation with himself, he came up with, "So, what's your name?"
Brilliant! his inner critic laughed at him.
"Cassie," she eyed him suspiciously.
He ventured a wary step forward. "I'm Benny...." he began, only to be interrupted by one of the firm's lawyers entering the room.
"Hey, Cassie," said the newcomer.
"Brad!" she smiled, happy to see him.
Lawyers always reminded Benny of car salesmen. The level of formal education was the only difference. The worst thing was that they were almost always movie-star good looking; the young ones, anyway, like Brad here. Tall, chiseled, perfect black hair.
How am I ever going to attract a woman, he wondered, with all these rich, good-looking dudes running around?
His only consolation was knowing that those who made a life-long career of lawyering usually ended up looking like gargoyles.
Ignoring Benny, Brad eyeballed Cassie and flashed a wolfish grin. She smiled back and, while Benny looked on jealously, began what he guessed was some sort of mating ritual.
First, she stuck the end of a pencil in her mouth and bit lightly on the eraser, spinning it ever so gently with her fingertips. Next, she thrust her hips to the right and sort of twiddled her left foot from left to right. Any minute now she would start doing the "hokey-pokey," Benny mused. She never did. Just when he thought she'd finished her dance, she added one last maneuver: a gentle caressing and massaging of the pencil sharpener, slowly moving her hand back and forth across the top, around the sides and down the stem. It was the most erotic use of a pencil sharpener Benny had ever witnessed.
"Tonight? Eight o'clock?" the lawyer asked simply, confidently.
"Eight o'clock," Cassie confirmed, practically yanking the pencil sharpener off its base as she spoke. The lawyer winked and glided out of the room, stopping only to grab a couple of pens and smirk at Benny.
With the lawyer gone and her hand still on the pencil sharpener, Cassie slowly returned her attention to Benny. She looked flushed. Benny decided now was probably not a good time to ask her out. He ducked out of the room without another word.
In his attempt to beat a hasty retreat, however, he ran into Venelia Dumas, literally, in the doorway.
"Hey, watch where you're going!" Venelia shrieked.
"Sorry, I wasn't watching where I was going," said Benny.
"I just said that."
"Yeah, okay," Benny replied vaguely and attempted to get past her and out the door. Venelia grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him roughly to one side. He thought she was going to beat the crap out of him. She was an inch taller and apparently much stronger.
He could hardly believe this was happening. Even his ex-wife never did this to him. Of course, she was small and slight of build, unlike Venelia. He glanced over at Cassie for help, but none was forthcoming. She watched with amusement as Venelia bandied him about.
Venelia then abruptly let go of his shirt and apologized for her outburst. "I'm sorry," she said. "I've been under some stress lately."
Benny mumbled, "Oh, it was nothing." And, not wanting to excite her further, he refrained from straightening out his shirt or making any other sudden moves.
"Well, I just wanted to apologize," Venelia insisted.
"It's okay. Really. Just don't let it happen again," he made a nervous stab at humor.
Bad move. Venelia's back stiffened, her arm shot out with lightning speed, and again she gripped his arm with all her strength. A snarl came across her face.
Wincing with pain, Benny said quickly, "Just kidding! Kidding!" To prove it, he laughed. It was forced and his voice squeaked slightly. But it was a laugh and Venelia seemed to fall for it.
She loosened her grip, and, in a stilted, halting sort of way, she laughed too. They were laughing together now. Even Cassie giggled slightly. They were laughing as one. They were all one with the universe! At least, that's what Venelia thought. Benny just wanted to get out of there.
"Let's go to an event tonight!" Venelia suggested excitedly, now that they were all so chummy. Cassie quickly turned away and pretended to be busy taking inventory of her many office supplies.
"An event?" Benny asked. "Uh, what kind of event?" He could guess she was inviting him to one of her "Dynamo" functions.
"Oh, a bunch of friends just get together and talk and stuff." She tried to make it sound like a party. A boring party.
He edged his way toward the door. "I can't make it tonight," he lied. "Cassie and I have, uh, plans. Maybe some other time?"
"In your dreams," Cassie laughed.
With Benny returned to the relative safety of his desk, Cassie explained further. "I have plans, and he might have plans. But, trust me, they are not together."
Venelia nodded. That made more sense.
Hey, just trying to make a living.
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