Elevator
The elevator came and she got in. Jet leg is a bitch. Her eyes searched for the long floor button panel but it was behind her, the only remaining option after she turned in a circle like a dog about to lay down for a nap. The man who came with the elevator from a higher floor cracked a bemused expression. On the long way down they looked down, up, sideways, only once meeting their eyes. Same height. Similar age. Silver cropped hair, erect posture, classic button down, clear water color eyes, sensible but smart shoes.
The afternoon meeting went well. She finally slept like a log that night. Next morning her husband called to ask for the gardener’s phone number. She was ten time zones away at a high-rise business hotel in her sterile room. “On the fridge”. She wasn’t exactly curt but decidedly beyond loving.
At breakfast, a huge multi-area buffet room, she chose a table facing the street and gardens across. In the green glass-domed area between, reserved for hotel chain super loyal members, she noticed the priest in her left peripheral vision. With a NATO base nearby there were also a few troops about and she immediately thought of her childhood friend who served as a clergy in the military. Calm measured precise cutlery handling, spine straight, good table manners. What does one eating alone have to do but observe or read, so her gaze kept coming back to him. And then she saw this was no clergical collar but a white shirt tucked into the crew neck dark navy blue sweater at the throat. And when he slightly turned back to where she sat, she recognized the eyes from yesterday and quickly looked away down on her phone.
Her presentation went without a glitch, the Q&A was actually intelligent and engaging. Two more days of that and then on to London to see her daughter and two grandkids. Free afternoon. City tour with private guide arranged by her company. Almost the longest day of the year close to summer solstice. A park where a band in traditional clothing played and sung. Lots of spectators, locals mouthing the words to the song, tourists in Tevas and backpacks, students looking bored. The music pace changed, the locals clapped and started dancing, a joyful handholding circle pagan type of movement. Someone came towards her in the crowd, now stood in front of her, mischievous eyes locking with hers, the universe’s joke, hand outstretched to gallantly invite her to dance. The elevator man. They joined the circle.