First dates are never easy...
|There were two big men at the top of the stairs in front of a heavy black door. The two men held the same expressions on their faces as the door, which means none at all. They, the men, wore identical black suits with starched white shirts without ties. The only real difference between the man on the right and the one on the left, and the door, was that the man on the right stepped forward.
“Chew want?” he asked.
I was out of breath from climbing all the stairs-- there were six landings. You would have thought that anybody who had to climb all these stairs on a daily basis to guard a big black door would be thin, probably drinking Avian Water, most likely passing the time jogging in place with a white towel around his neck.
But you would be wrong.
I briefly wondered, gazing at these two behemoths, if there was an elevator I had somehow overlooked.
I now stood, as I said, on the top floor landing, and the big guy on the right didn’t seem too pleased to see me. I can’t blame him for that. I wasn’t too pleased to see him.
I held up an index finger signifying to all concerned to give me a moment while I regained myself. I am not big, nor heavy, but I smoke a lot of cigarettes.
“Is Janette here?” I finally got out.
All I got back were cold eyes and pinched eyebrows.
“Janette,” I tried again. “Is this 1216 W. 123rd,?”
Eyes and eyes and eyebrows and eyebrows and finally, one head shake:
“I’m afraid I made a mistake.” I said. I turned and began my decent of the staircase.
First dates are always hard.
I hoped Janette had an elevator.