The Girl in the Lift (standard:mystery, 2928 words)
Author: Earl	Added: Mar 28 2001	Views/Reads: 4877/2524	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A visit to a hotel on business results in Peter meeting his ideal woman, or does it?

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story


"I must find it, my Father bought it back from the far east. It's jade
and it cost him a lot of money. I think it may be behind the settee" 
said the girl. 

"Allow me", said Peter, "I say, aren't you the girl in the photograph in
the lift?". He tried to move the settee. 

"Yes, that's right", she replied, "Mummy, Daddy and I were here on
holiday whilst the publicity shots were being taken and one of the 
models didn't turn up, I just happened to be in the gym". 

"You were here last night?" asked Peter, desperate to keep her talking. 

"Yes, one nights business and up to London tonight... I think I can see
something under here". 

"Let me try", said Peter and got down on the floor to place his arm
under the heavy settee. He put his arm underneath. There was nothing 
there but he couldn't let her go, he made pretend searching movements 
in the fluff and dust. "Please", he thought, "Please....just give me 
some sign.... anything. Soon you'll walk out of here and I'll have 
nothing left. All I want is some memory of you making some gesture that 
I can misconstrue for the rest of my life as a grand missed chance." 

He was laying on the floor, flat out, with his arm under the settee. The
girl was kneeling at his side, her black nylon clad knees inches from 
his bare chest. 

She touched Peter on the shoulder. "I'm so grateful for your help, it's
very good of you" she said. 

The touch made Peter feel physically faint. His stomach knotted and his
head swam. She had touched him, not briefly, her hand was still on his 
shoulder. 

He realised that he had been lying there for over a minute and that she
would soon begin to think him odd if he stayed there much longer. 
Reluctantly he withdrew his arm, "Nothing, I'm afraid. Could it be 
anywhere else?" 

The girl looked disappointed, "I don't know, maybe......" 

"You just sit down", said Peter relieved, he could get her to stay a bit
longer, "I'll have a good look around." 

"That's very kind but I don't want to bother you", said the girl. 

"No bother, no bother at all" said Peter magnanimously and started to
search the suite from top to bottom. His thoughts raced. If I find it 
maybe I can ask her to dinner, or, better still, if I can't, take her 
address and promise to mail it to her but, of course I'd have to take 
it personally, too expensive to trust to the GPO, and then....." 

He had conveniently forgotten his wife and children, they didn't seem to
matter anymore. All that he cared about in the world was sitting on the 
settee in his hotel suite. 

He laid on the floor with his head under the wardrobe, thrashing around
in the dust of a thousand previous guests. The girl started to make 
movements to go. "I'm sure we'll find it" said Peter desperately, 
"Please don’t go. Please!" he thought. 

"Don't bother yourself any more on my behalf," said the girl, "you've
been too good to me already. I must have lost it somewhere else. Thank 
you for trying. I'm really grateful and I don't want to take up any 
more of your time." 

She made a move towards the door. Panic struck Peter speechless, the
sheer hopelessness of it all struck him. After all, why should a 
stunning girl like this be interested in a paunchy, balding nearly 
middle-aged man with his arms and head covered in dust and grit. 

"OK", he heard himself say, "I think you're right, can you give me a
lift up?" 

"Sure", she replied and walked over. She put a hand on Peter's arm and
helped him to his feet. As quick as a flash, Peter, reached out, put 
his arms around her, pulled her to his chest and kissed her. 

"Christ, that's torn it!" thought Peter. Once the shock of his actions
had worn off, she'd be running through the hotel, screaming rape and 
he'd be straight down the police station. Would it make things worse if 
he tried to restrain her? Should he stop now and apologise? 

But there was no struggle, his kisses were returned passionately and
longingly. 

Suddenly she broke free..."No, this can't be ....... please .... we
mustn't.....". Running to the door she turned with tear filled eyes 
"I'm sorry... I'm sorry...". She opened the door and left, the door 
slamming behind her. 

Peter was bewildered and ran after her. Tearing open the door he looked
up and down the long corridor. The girl had vanished into thin air. 

He dressed as quickly as possible and went down to reception. The left
hand lift took him down but it didn't matter now, soon he'd have the 
real girl in the lift by his side. After all, she'd stayed there last 
night and all that was required was her address. He could soon make up 
a story about finding her bracelet and Lara would be OK. Yes, that's 
it, that's what to do. All he'd got to do was to find her and reassure 
her of his true feelings and everything would be alright. 

He went up to the receptionist with a confident air. 

"Hi, Lara," said Peter, "erm.... I'm looking for a....er...friend of
mine, erm.. Scottish colleage, she stayed in my room last night... I.. 
er.. wonder if you've seen her." His confidence had evaporated. "Long 
dark hair," he continued, hopefully, "She was in the hotel just now" 

"Single girl?" asked Lara. 

"Yes," replied Peter, he didn't know if she was single. The thought
suddenly struck him that she could be married with five children or at 
least have some strapping young man, built like lifeguard with a PhD 
from Oxford. Maybe she had just made a silly mistake and had fled, 
never to return. 

Lara looked through the register. "I'm sorry, room 105 was occupied last
night by a Mr. & Mrs. Baudmann from Ontario. You must be mistaken." 

"No, that can't be right," said Peter, "look, she was here with me
earlier this evening. Maybe you've got the wrong day." Peter leaned 
over to try to see the register. Lara snapped it shut. "I'm sorry, Mr. 
Dean, "it is our policy NOT to leave the register open for scrutiny of 
our guests, confidentiality and all that," she said, softly but firmly. 


Peter was dumbstruck. "Look, you must know her. She stayed here last
night on her way to London.  She's stayed her with her parents on 
holiday, you must know her!" Peter was starting to shout, "She's the 
girl in the lift, you know, on the exercise bike and......" Peter 
stopped dead. 

Lara's friendly demeanour had gone. Her skin went pale and her mouth
drew back in anger. Her eyes were both fierce and watering with tears. 
"I don't know who you've been talking to, but I think you are a horrid 
little man making pathetic jokes like that," and she turned on her 
heels and ran through the door at the back of the reception desk. Other 
guests were looking at Peter with disapproval as she fled, tears 
streaking her make-up and her shoulders rent with uncontrollable 
sobbing. 

Peter went back to his room and lay on his bed, trying to make some
sense about the evenings events. 

Had she been there at all? No, it must have been a dream, a very
realistic dream admittedly, but all in his aching head. The dream was 
vivid, but how many dreams are so lifelike that you can remember them 
thirty years on? He reflected on a dream he had as a boy about his old 
school pals. He didn't know where they were now and probably wouldn't 
recognise them if he did, but the memory of that dream was still there 
after all those years. 

He'd lain on the bed, exhausted, thinking about the girl in the lift and
he'd fallen asleep, dreamt it all, and woken up with reality and 
imagination hopelessly confused. And what if it had been real? Was he 
going to leave his wife and the boys for some stupid pipedream based on 
one kiss? 

So what about Lara, the receptionist? Her reactions had been real
enough. Maybe they were friends and the girl in the lift had done 
something nasty to her, maybe run off with a boyfriend or something. 

He must get to the bottom of the affair in an attempt to exorcise his
painful memories. He had a shower and, feeling suitably refreshed went 
tentatively downstairs. 

He walked boldly to Lara on the reception desk and apologised for his
actions. He explained that he had not been well of late and he had 
fallen asleep, dreamt of the girl and had got somewhat confused. He 
assured her that he hadn't spoken to anyone and had had no malicious 
intent whatsoever. Lara accepted his apology, somewhat stiffly, and he 
turned and walked into the bar. One couple in there were at the 
reception desk during the embarrasing incident earlier, on seeing Peter 
they started to whisper together. 

Peter didn't feel much like company so he ignored all the other
businessmen. He ordered a pint of lager, lit a cigar and settled 
himself into a barstool. The beer tasted good and soon slipped down, 
followed by a second and a third. Peter felt better and started a 
conversation with a carpet warehouse manager. By the fifth pint they 
agreed that cheap foreign imports of carpets were shattering the 
British carpet industry and by the sixth they agreed that modern vacuum 
cleaners do more damage than good. By the seventh pint the carpet 
warehouse manager had exhausted his entertainment value and 
thoughtfully went to bed. "'Hope I don't bump into him at breakfast," 
thought Peter as his company of the last three hours called the lift. 

The lift. Peter remembered the dreadful events of earlier that evening.
What was the significance of the girl in the lift? 

He'd have to be careful, although the alcohol removed most of his
wariness of the affair. He drained his glass again, waived over the 
barman, bought a pint and casually added "Have one yourself." 

When the barman returned with his change, Peter broached the subject.
"Look, I've got to ask," he started and asked the barman to tell him 
what had happened, leaving out much of the details, of course, 
specifically the incident with Lara. What was told him over the next 
twenty minutes was done in hushed tones, between serving other people 
and shocked him to the quick, in spite of his beer induced haze. 

The girl in the lift was called Joyce something. She came from Dunbar
and had stayed at the hotel with her parents about eight years ago. At 
the time she was seventeen and the photograph in the gym had been taken 
when the booked model from the agency didn't turn up for a series of 
publicity shots. She had graduated from Edinburgh University with a 
degree in Art and had, since then, regularly come to Brighton doing 
business at many of the art shops in the town. 

"Until, that is," said the barman, but didn't finish. "Whisky and dry
ginger, please," said a customer and the barman went through the 
routine of serving him. 

The barman continued, "Well, one day she booked a call at seven o'clock
as usual but didn't respond. When they went up, she'd killed herself, 
overdose or summat." 

Peter felt faint. "Who found her?" he asked weakly. 

"Lara, the Receptionist....." replied the barman, "Room 105 it was." 

When Peter came round he was lying on the floor of the bar with a small
crowd around him. "Can't take their drink, some people." he heard 
someone say. "Why do they drink so much?" was the reply. 

"Are you alright, sir?" he heard the manager ask and the rest of the
evening passed in a blur as he was taken to his room and lain on the 
bed. 

He slept fitfully, constantly waking to a state of semi-conciousness. At
one stage he got out of bed and was violently sick. The morning light 
came slowly over the horizon after the longest night of his life. She 
was talking to him again, telling him it would be alright in her lovely 
soft Scottish accent as he stroked her hair and told her he loved her. 

In the morning he resolved to settle his bill and get out of the hotel,
never to return. The effect of the hangover he now suffered protected 
his memory from the worst excesses of the past twelve hours. He 
resolved to rationalise the events at a later date, but he had already 
decided that the barman had made up the story last night as a joke in 
bad taste. He'd probably heard about the earlier affair at the desk and 
had taken his chance to get his own back on the guest who had upset 
Lara so much. 

Peter started to feel better already. Best to get on with the day and
put it all behind you. He packed his bag and cursed as a envelope of 
business papers dropped down behind the heavy dressing table. He bent 
down to pick them up and his head started to thump. Blast, just out of 
reach. 

He stretched his arm behind the dressing table and pulled out the
papers. Hooked around the paperclip was a jade bracelet. Peter picked 
it up and put it in his pocket. "You'll have to come and find it one 
day, Joyce" he thought, "and then what?" 

On his way to reception, he took a last look at the girl in the lift. On
her right wrist was a jade bracelet. 


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