Ground Floor

 

 

“WHO IS she?” Leah asked tartly, getting her now customary coffee. This time, Zach had brought six scones, and told her to share the goods with the other office assistants in the firm.

“I’m sorry?”

“It’s someone. You’ve been actually—that thing on your face, the one that still shows through your five-o-clock shadow. I’ve been seeing it a lot in the morning. Who is she?”

“There is no she,” he said quietly, and he kept his voice uninflected. “Actually, that does remind me. Remember the Christmas party?”

“Where I got to be your plus one and drink champagne and eat foie gras? Yeah—why? Your dad having another fundraiser?”

Zach nodded. “Do you have a favorite department store?”

Leah’s smile was blissful. “Oh yay! Shopping on the firm’s expense account—I love this job!”

Leah’s Christmas dress really had been worth buying—he wanted to see her happy.

“Well good,” he said soberly. “We want to keep you here.”

Suddenly her eyes narrowed. “No, seriously, why aren’t you taking her to this thing?”

Zach’s face heated. “Honestly, Leah, the only person I see in the mornings is a male substitute teacher who likes to play dress up. My father would not approve.”

“Wait a minute….”

Zach increased his pace to his office, the better to throw himself in and slam the door, but he heard Leah’s feet clacking behind him with absolutely no dignity at all in her platform spikes, and she was in the doorway to his office as he turned around to shut the door.

“I’ve been asking the wrong question!” she burst out as soon as the door closed. “I should have been asking who is he!”

Zach swallowed. “My father would not approve,” he said again, his throat dry.

“You mean your running-for-a-Republican-office father who doesn’t approve of you being a union lawyer!”

“He approves of the second word,” Zach said, and Leah rolled her eyes.

“Look, Mr. Driscoll—”

“You know, you can call me Zach,” he said. He didn’t have any real friends. He had coworkers and cocktail-party friends and his father’s political friends—but not one person in his entire life had ever actually asked him who he’d want to really take to a party.

Leah looked surprised—and justifiably so. She’d been working there for three years. She’d called him “Mr. Driscoll” when they’d walked arm in arm to his father’s fundraiser.

But then, sexual harassment had never been further off the table before.

“Okay,” she said simply. “Zach. You don’t even know? What’s the worst your father could do?”

Zach swallowed. He didn’t know. “I had this train set when I was a kid,” he said, thinking. “It was great. One of those wooden ones—I must have gotten a new train and new tracks for every birthday and every Christmas for like, five years. And then, I turned… I don’t know. Ten? And I woke up Christmas morning and I thought I was going to get another train—there’d been an engine I wanted and me and the nanny had rewired the train for it, and—anyway, I woke up and ran to the nursery where the Christmas tree was, with the train around the bottom, right?”

It was the longest, most personal thing he’d ever said to anyone, and he was talking to his secretary. She nodded, barely, because her mouth was open and she probably couldn’t say anything until she thought to close it.

“And the train was gone. Dad decided I was too old for it, so the train was gone, and I had a laptop with learning software under the tree.”

Leah closed her mouth with a snap. “That’s the saddest fucking thing I’ve ever heard in my life,” she said, appalled.

Zach shrugged. “I’ve heard sadder,” he said frankly, thinking of the nurse who’d gotten fired because she’d gained weight. “The point isn’t the sad.”

“Oh the hell it isn’t—”

“The point is that I don’t know what he’ll do,” Zach said evenly, because that was the point. “He has an idea of what the world should be like, and I don’t know what he’ll do to make that work.”

Leah swallowed. “What can he do?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.

Zach shrugged. “You, uhm, ever wonder why we get a nice office building doing union law when the rest of the building is all corporate law and high-priced media attorneys?”

“Oh.”

“And, you know, my own apartment is sort of awesome.”

“And all your employees get discounts,” she said numbly, and Zach nodded, thinking about six people in an apartment, struggling with rent.

“Yes, yes you do.”

“Oh,” she said again.

“Oh,” he repeated quietly. “So, uhm, enjoy your shopping trip. The party is in three weeks.”

Leah took two steps toward the door, and then turned around. “You, uhm, well, maybe not a month ago, but now, you know I’d move, right? To see you smile every morning like you have been.”

Zach shrugged, and managed a small smile from that reserve of all those moments in the elevator. “I promise, I won’t stop bringing coffee.”

She sighed and left, and he got to his day’s business.

 

 

HE TOLD himself that he’d have to be content with visions of Sean in the mornings. From floor fourteen to floor one, he had a relationship with someone funny, quirky, kind, smart, and surprising.

It was almost a perfect relationship, really. Except that the more times Sean came galloping down the hall begging Zach or someone else to hold the elevator, the more Zach felt like he was missing something in the greeting. A simple kiss, a peck on the cheek, a pat on the arm or the shoulder—shouldn’t he be getting in on some of that?

He had to keep reminding himself that the relationship didn’t really exist.

 

 

IT WAS hard. Two weeks after the Mae West dress the entire world was strewn with red paper hearts and doilies, and Sean blew his mind.

“Oh my God.” Zach’s eyes were so big he could feel them drying out.

“Don’t say it,” Sean warned him, but his eyes were twinkling under the big blonde bouffant wig he was wearing.

“I know you’re not teaching today,” Zach said, seriously, and Sean’s mock seriousness started to dissolve under blush-highlighted dimples.

“Don’t say it,” he warned, the giggles threatening as Zach took in the entire ensemble. Flesh-colored leotard and tights, giant white diaper, golden halo, little wings, and a quiver full of valentines.

“Cupid!” Zach burst out before clapping his hand over his mouth.

Sean nodded, smiling so wide his makeup flaked and crinkled around his eyes. “I’m….” Sean nodded some more and Zach blurted out, “Fucking adorable!” at the same time Sean said, “Cuter than hell!” They were both still laughing when the doors opened.

Ding!

 

 

“SO,” LEAH said when Zach brought her coffee and pink-iced lemon cake slices. “What was he wearing today?”

Zach closed his eyes and his face split into a grin. “He was Cupid!”

“Oh my God!”

The entire rest of the day was sort of tinted pink.

 

 

ZACH WAS late home that night per usual, but as the elevator doors were closing he heard a familiar voice.

“Hold the elevator! Oh, hi!”

Zach smiled at Sean, relieved that he was back in his street clothes. It was cold outside, and while cute, the whole Cupid thing had to have gotten old after a bit.

“Hi,” he said quietly. “No date tonight?”

“Party at my apartment!” Sean said, holding up a case of cheap beer. “And a date there.”

Zach’s heart crumbled quietly into his ribcage. “Really? You have a date?”

Sean rolled his eyes in embarrassment. “Well, it was actually a customer. I delivered an apology telegram, and he tore it up. And then asked me what I was doing. I figured why not—if we don’t work out, someone at the party is going to make his day better, right?”

Little fragments of heart began to reassemble themselves in Zach’s chest. “That’s sweet.”

Shrug. “Well, it’s a stupid day. I mean, I’m almost glad I didn’t sub today. The kids—like in middle school—maybe 15 percent of them have a good day. The rest of them are just on the shitty side of the popularity scale, you know? As adults, I think it’s better to go out and get plastered than to try to find the perfect lay.”

Zach had to laugh. “I think that’s a good policy,” he said, pursing his mouth and trying to look sage. “Have a nice evening.”

The door opened for Sean’s floor, and Sean took a step out of the elevator. The doors started to close and he held out a hand and turned around.

“You, uhm, you wouldn’t want to come to the party too, would you?”

Zach swallowed. “That’s really nice of you to ask,” he said sincerely. “I have work to do at home though.”

Sean shrugged, and Zach had to tell himself that the gesture wasn’t wistful. “Next time?” He actually sounded hopeful, and Zach found himself promising something he shouldn’t have, even though he really wanted to promise it anyway.

“Absolutely,” he said, nodding. “I’d love to come next time.”

After all, what were the odds he’d actually meet Sean at the elevator at night again, right?

 

 

SEAN STOOD in the lobby when Zach arrived three nights of the next week. For a brief, wild moment, Zach entertained the idea that Sean was actually waiting for him, but that couldn’t be right, could it?

“Your, uh, friend didn’t work out?” Zach asked tentatively, the first night he found Sean in the lobby waiting for the car.

“Not for me!” Sean said brightly as the elevator arrived. “But someone else at the party got lucky, so it’s all good. I told you—Valentine’s Day hook-ups never work. No skin off my nose.”

Zach noticed that Sean’s nose was a little freckled and a little pink every day. “Good,” he said. “Because you don’t have a lot to spare.”

“Ouch!” Sean hammed, clutching his chest as they got in the car.

Zach chuckled, because he was clearly not all that put out.

“What about you?” Sean asked. “Get all your work done?”

Zach thought about the files he had in his briefcase and shook his head. “No. Never. My work is always waiting for me to finish it.”

Sean grimaced. “Wow—is that the pain that comes with the suit?”

Shrug. “That’s what comes from being the boss.”

Ding!

Sean turned and waved on his way out.

 

 

THE NIGHT after that, they shared the cab with five other people, smashed against the mirrored back, close enough for Zach to smell his body wash again. It had changed—now it smelled like oak. Zach sort of preferred the last one, but really? The skin beneath the soap was all he cared about.

At the “ding” for Sean’s floor, Zach waved his briefcase like a weapon and said, “Out of his way, folks, he’s got to get out!” As the doors closed on him, Zach could swear Sean was executing a little bow.

 

 

THE NIGHT of the benefit, Zach actually met him on the way out of the lobby, as Sean was walking in.

“Oh my God!”

Zach stopped in the middle of the doors and looked at him, startled.

“What? Do I have a stain? A hole? A wrinkle?”

“That’s a tux! That’s an Armani tux! Where the hell are you going?”

Zach grimaced. “A benefit for my father,” he said. “My secretary is my plus one.” He wasn’t sure why he added that. Maybe he didn’t want Sean to think he was going on a date, which was stupid, because he’d already consigned the man to his own love life, right?

“Wait,” Sean said blankly. “A benefit? For your father?”

Oh. Oh hell. “Yeah. Uhm, Gordon Driscoll.” He smiled greenly, and watched as Sean’s mouth dropped open. A gaggle of people approached: a woman with a poodle, and the two stockbrokers who shared the top floor with Zach.

Zach stepped out of the elevator and let them step on, and Sean just stood there as the elevator doors closed, looking at him like he’d kicked his dog.

“You’re Gordon Driscoll’s son?” Sean said, sounding hurt.

“Zach.” Zach extended a hopeful hand. “Uhm, pleased to meet you.”

Sean’s hand was clammy in his, and Zach’s heart once again crumbled into powder. He wondered how many times it was going to do that before it just blew away like dust.

“I, uhm, promise, I’d never tell my dad how many people live in your apartment,” Zach said for the sake of saying something. “He charges too much anyway.”

“Gordon Driscoll, the Republican candidate for state assembly.” Sean was still making sure Zach was related to a douchebag, apparently, and Zach sighed.

“I never vote for him, if that helps.”

Sean let go of his hand abruptly. “Wait—what do you do for a living? You said you were the boss?”

“Union lawyer,” Zach told him. Sean’s hurt was starting to penetrate his chest. Maybe this would help, right? He was a good guy, right? “If, uhm, you know, anyone ever gives you crap about being a gay teacher, you, uhm, well, know where to find me.”

Sean didn’t respond. His blue eyes were still huge and Zach was seized by the sudden urge to kiss him, right there, and say, “I’m just as human as you are!” but that would be silly, right? What purpose would it serve?

He saw his town car pull up to the front of the building and sighed when his driver got out and started walking toward the lobby.

“I’m sorry I disappointed you,” he said at last, and then turned toward the driver. He wanted to turn and look back to see if Sean had snapped out of it, if he’d smiled yet or recovered his humor, or remembered that they’d laughed together several times in the past two months, but he couldn’t.

God. It was hard enough already.

 

 

THE BENEFIT was held in a library galleria, with an indoor fountain and great windows looking out onto the San Francisco night. It was a glorious venue, something that needed a costume and quiet humor to appreciate.

Which made him think of Sean the minute he walked into the reception with Leah on his arm.

He proceeded to get quietly, devastatingly drunk. Leah honed in on his mood, and instead of getting charmingly tipsy, she made sure his glass was always filled with top shelf vodka and cranberry juice, and that he never had to talk to someone alone.

At the end of the benefit, his father walked up to him, looking hale and distinguished. His hair was silver instead of sable, but his eyes were still the warm brown Zach’s were, and his handshake was hearty.

“Good to see you here, Zach,” he said genially, but Zach wasn’t feeling genial.

“Did I have a choice?” he asked bleakly, and Gordon blinked.

“Well, this is what you do for family, isn’t it?” Gordon’s aide came up to his elbow and murmured something in his ear, and Zach raised ironic eyebrows.

“Yeah, Dad—every family meets four times a year at political fundraisers. It’s in all the sitcoms.”

Leah tugged on his sleeve. “Uhm, Zach? I don’t think this is a good night for this.”

“Well,” Gordon said, annoyance lacing his voice, “if you’d like to visit more often, your mother would be happy to see you. Have Leah make an appointment with her secretary, but I think we’re usually available for Sunday brunch.”

“Yeah but that’s when all good boys sleep in with their b—” Zach had his mouth open to say it. He was going to by God finish that sentence and say Sunday brunch was when good boys slept in with their boyfriends, even though he didn’t have one—but Leah grabbed his sleeve in earnest this time and he managed to turn his bleary attention toward her.

“Not tonight,” she said quietly. “I don’t know what got into you, but this is not the mood you need to go about this, okay?”

“If you’ll excuse me,” Gordon said smoothly, and he shook his son’s hand again and left without looking back.

The arrow of memory suddenly pierced his alcohol haze, and he was abruptly miserable.

“He found out who I am,” Zach mumbled, wanting to cry. Did he know Leah well enough to cry on her? She was wearing a new black dress with rhinestones up the sides, and one sturdy brown shoulder exposed. She’d obviously come prepared to have a good time on the company dime, and he’d just gotten drunk for the first time since his freshman year in college.

“Elevator boy?” she asked, but Zach couldn’t talk about it anymore.

“I didn’t tell you that your dress is fabulous,” he said with dignity. “And I think I need to go.”

“I’ll take you home,” she said, and her wide face was suddenly so kind he thought he really would cry. She patted his cheek and smiled, and none of her usual sarcasm was in the gesture or in her sweet brown eyes. God, he owed this woman a raise.

 

 

WHEN HE woke up the next morning to find her on his couch, wearing his sweats, he thought that maybe a raise wouldn’t be good enough.

“Fuuuuck!” he groaned, stumbling into the living room in his boxer shorts. She stretched and yawned and looked out his bay window onto the city below.

“Damn, this is some view,” she muttered. “If I woke up to this every morning, I’d be singing like a fucking bird!”

“No singing!” he pleaded. He kept the painkillers by the coffee, and right now he needed both.

“Water first,” Leah directed, scrambling out of the blankets on the couch and rushing into his kitchen to take over and boss him around. “My God. Have you never been drunk before?”

“Why are you still singing?” he groaned, resting his head on the counter and wrapping his arms around it. “Why are you singing and why is the sun stabbing my brain and why do I feel like shoe gum?”

“Because you drank enough vodka to fund an entire Russian coup,” she muttered. “Jesus—you almost told your father you were gay, do you know that?”

“You’re lying,” he mumbled. “I don’t even tell myself I’m gay.”

“Well, you apparently do now, because I don’t think I’ve seen a more serious broken heart in my entire life.”

Oh God. Oh God. Zach felt actual tears starting. “He wouldn’t even look at me,” he mumbled. “Just for who I am.”

“Well, it probably took him by surprise,” Leah said kindly. She poked at him until he took his arms from around his head and stood up. “Here. Motrin and water. You’ll feel better. Or you’ll throw up. Either way you’ll feel better.”

He took the Motrin and drank the entire glass of ice water.

And then he threw up.

And then Leah made him take more Motrin with more ice water. And added soda crackers with it.

That he kept down.

And then he felt better.

And then?

Well, he took a shower, brushed his teeth and dressed, but Leah insisted that he only dress in sweats. “You have an amazing entertainment center,” she said thoughtfully when he emerged from his room with wet, uncombed hair and in his old college sweatshirt. “Come, sit next to me and let us explore.”

He felt a reluctant smile on his face. “What are we exploring?”

“Bruckheimer movies,” she said with decision. “We can see Alcatraz from here—I think we need to watch The Rock.” Sure enough, it was on Netflix, and she made him watch the whole thing. She fixed him instant oatmeal, because it was the only thing he had in the cupboards and then ordered take-out delivered for lunch. And besides that all she did was sit on his couch, lean on his arm, and talk about how Nicholas Cage had made a mockery of his career. They watched Con Air and Ghost Rider to prove it.

Sometime between The Rock and Con Air, he actually started talking. And then he started listening.

He found out that Leah Chambers was from Hawaii, and that he couldn’t really pronounce her real name. He found out that she roomed with another girl who was a librarian, and that they both mourned their love lives but really didn’t want anything to change about them right now. He learned that she had six nieces and two nephews and that she sent them gifts every month, and that during her vacation over Christmas she went back to Hawaii, and had every year since he hired her.

And he told her about Sean.

He told her about the freckles and the blond curls and the funny costumes and the umpteen roommates. He told her about the ankle boots and the way he’d brought a stranger into his Valentine’s Day party in the hopes that someone would have a happy evening.

“Why didn’t you go?” she asked. “When he asked you, why didn’t you go?”

He sighed and leaned against the arm of the couch, and to his surprise she leaned on him. “Are we snuggling yet?” he asked fuzzily. “Isn’t there some sort of rule about when two people can snuggle?”

“Yes. We’ve known each other for three years. We’ve met the requirements.” She poked him in the ribs with fingernails that had recently undergone a bright-red manicure. “Answer the question.”

“Because I don’t do anything,” he said after a moment. “I work and I come home. And when I get lonely I pay for sex.”

“Ew,” she said, wrinkling her nose.

“And you’re the only person alive who knows that,” he told her grumpily. “So if that gets around the office—”

“I’ll hire the assassin myself.”

He didn’t believe she’d do that, but he was, at this moment, too hungover and too heartbroken to care. “Anyway, I don’t do anything. I wouldn’t be a lot of fun at a party, because all I’ve got is work, and a lot of that is confidential.”

She dug her flat little chin into his bicep until he looked at her.

“What?”

“Well, for starters, you do a good impression of big, bad boss—I never knew you were an overgrown eighth grader. I’m proud of you for that, by the way, because it’s a lot more likable than big, bad boss. And for finishers, Jenn and I are going to Golden Gate Park next weekend to play Frisbee and visit the Exploratorium. Do you want to come with us?”

He was planning to say no. It was absolutely on the tip of his tongue. And then he thought about that look on Sean’s face, the utter disappointment in the person he’d thought he’d been talking to.

Maybe Zach could be a better person.

“Yeah, okay,” he mumbled.

Leah took pity on him then and pressed play on the remote. He fell asleep in the middle of Con Air and didn’t wake up until Ghost Rider, and after that Leah bid him a reluctant good-bye.

Yeah, he could have given her a raise, but it wouldn’t have been enough. Frisbee in Golden Gate Park was a much better payback for a day spent teaching him how to nurse a broken heart.