Page 8 of In the Frame
“Are you the murdery sort?” I ask lightly.
“No.” Florian gives me a withering look in the near darkness. “But if I were…”
Holding up my hands, I nod. “I know, I know. I’d be dead half an hour ago. So far, then, we’ve established that neither one of us is a murderer, we’re stuck in a lift together, and that you knew my phone provider before you knew my name.”
“It seems more relevant,” Florian says defensively. “It’s an emergency, for crying out loud.”
“A slow-moving emergency. I think… I think we might be here a while, and we should try to make the best of it.”
“The best of it?” Florian stares at me like I’ve just suggested a quick romp to Mars and back for the weekend. “Of being trapped?”
I flush, in case he thinks I’m getting inappropriate thoughts along the lines of sexually harassing him in a confined space, which definitely isn’t my scene. Whether or not Mars is involved. “Just… by talking to each other? It’ll pass the time.”
Florian groans and rubs his forehead.
“I get the sense you’re not much for conversation.”
“I haven’t time—”
“—for conversation. I know, you’re a busy man, you’ve said. You have to talk to people eventually. I’m sure of it. It’s not all business, right? I mean, I bet for business, you’ve got to talk to people. Or do you have an app for that?”
His glare is absolutely cutting. “You said it, not me. Look, I don’t know what you want from me. I’m not your friend. I’m supposed to be your customer in the bar, and stupidly, I agreed to let a strange man—my waiter, for the love of God—give me a suit after being doused in spilled drinks. I really ought to speak to your manager and have you—”
“Oh no, no, please don’t do that,” I say in a desperate rush. “I’m begging you. I get this is all a terrible problem for you, and I’m sorry, but I really, really need this job. I’ve got a load of bills, and I’m not exactly made of money. And hell, my break was only meant to be half an hour, and now I’m late, and I’m totally, totally getting sacked.” I don’t quite wail, but the anxiety’s in my voice now too.
He flicks an eyebrow up. “I would have wagered that you were sacked already.”
“Now, now. It’s not my best night, I’ll give you that.” I sigh, resigned. Sacked or not, there’s not much I can do about it at the minute. I lean into the wall. “Well, someone’s going to notice that we didn’t come back. Someone’ll investigate, probably. If we’re lucky. Eventually. Or they’ll notice the circling birds after a few days.”
He presses the heels of his hands against his eyes.
“I mean, like I said, I don’t know if there’s a custodian that lives here or anything like that. But obviously, someone does the caretaking around here, and I bet they’ll be around during the week—”
“How long do you think we’ll be trapped in here?” Florian’s voice rises in alarm, his hands dropping. He stares at me in horror. “It’s Saturday night!”
“Your guess is as good as mine. If we’re lucky, someone notices tonight. If we’re unlucky… it could be a couple of days.”
“A couple of days?” Aghast, Florian falls silent. He looks ill.
“Well, I mean, I hope not—maybe your friends will call a search party before then, if they’re good friends—”
“I have places to be—”
“Yeah, we covered that.”
“Fuck.”
“Fuck.” I sigh.
We can agree on that much at least: we’re fucked.
Chapter Four
After more awkward standing around, trying not to touch each other in the cramped lift, I decide to stop fighting gravity and sit. I slide down and lean bonelessly against the oak wall, sitting with my knees up against my chest and my arms wrapped tight around them.
It takes Florian a good ten minutes of uncomfortably shifting around in place to see the benefit of my ways. A small rattling sound happens occasionally—not the ominous lift creaks, but the sound of what have to be tiny pieces of safety glass crush falling off Florian’s suit and skittering across the tile floor as he moves about. At last, he sits beside me with a sigh, mirroring my pose with his phone casting light between us.
Florian’s calmer now, his profile pensive. At least he’s no longer shouting.
