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I’ve been doing this “pick the topic week” on my blog, where readers determine the subject. This one is from Margo Moon, a cool new blogger I hope you’ll check out. She wanted me to write about what would happen if I ended up stuck in an elevator with my favorite celebrity. In the fine tradition of bad lesbian erotica, without the actual erotica, I give you Sela & Me—and though this story leaves the story unfinished, trust that in my mind, the entire thing played out to the very best kind of conclusion.

The doors opened and I stepped cautiously into the nearly empty elevator. Never did a ride go by that I didn’t give at least passing thought to what I’d do if it started spiraling down, out of control. Would I be able to jump up in the air at the right moment and save myself? I went to the back of the elevator and turned around so I was facing forward as people on an elevator, for some strange reason, do. I glanced briefly out of the corner of my eye and noticed that there were two women on the other side, but didn’t investigate further.

The blonde said to the brunette, “Okay, I’m going to run back to our rooms and get your press schedule. I’ll meet you at the limo in five minutes.” The elevator let out a little “ding” and the elevator gently stopped and the doors slid open. “See you in a couple, Sela.” The blonde, much younger than I expected, marched purposefully down the hall. The door closed.

“Sela?” It couldn’t be. My mind reeled. I felt all the muscles in my body contract, some more than others, and I forced myself to look to the left. My God, it was Sela Ward! Please, please, please, don’t say something stupid to her. Too late, my mouth, as usual, was moving faster than my brain, “I love your work, I’m a big fan.” Damn. What an idiot I am.

“Aw, thanks.” She looked at me and smiled. I heard just a smidgen of Alabama in her voice. I felt a rush of blush move up my neck and onto my face. She politely asked, “Are you staying here? We just had lunch upstairs.”

I shifted awkwardly and dug my toe into the carpet. Make mouth move, I silently screamed to myself—insert the freakin’ words—I was able to muster a kinda’ sorta’ look towards her, not quite directly at her: “Yes, I’m on my first vacation in years. They do good lunch up there.” Where to go from there? I was silent. That sounded smooth and relaxed, right?

Just then, we felt a big jolt, a large mechanical sigh, and a thud. We had stopped. The indicator said we were between the 8th and 9th floors.

“Damn,” she said, “I need to be at the studio for an interview in 30 minutes. I hope it doesn’t take long.” She seemed mildly annoyed, but was still smiling.

I looked up gratefully at nothing and silently mouthed, “T-ha-n-k-Y-o-u-U-p-T-h-e-r-e.”

“Well, I don’t know—lucky me, I get to spend some time with you.” Oh, my God, did I just say that? Was that me? Trapped prey must bring the best out in me. Thinking quickly, I grabbed my phone and called the hotel front desk. I was told they knew about the problem and were working on it. “Sela freakin’ Ward is in the cab,” I whispered hurriedly into the phone, “She needs to get to an interview.” Sela smiled at me again in a way that sent urgent signals to every part of my body.

“Thanks, that was nice of you to give them an added incentive.” She sat down on the floor of the cab, one knee bent, leg pulled nearly up to her chin, and one leg outstretched—guess she was in for the long haul. Incredible. I sat down across from her. She said, “I was really looking forward to this trip myself—I left my kids at home—too much work to do. I miss them though. Maybe this is telling me I need to slow down and enjoy this trip more.” And, that’s how it started.

We spent the next 90 minutes talking about everything under the sun—never mind that we had nothing in common other than a shared experience of a broken elevator. The little tension wrinkles I’d noticed when we stopped, slowly left her face. We compared past experiences in travel, funny stories about our kids, and politics. We talked about getting older. I made her laugh. And then I made her laugh some more. Time was slipping by effortlessly. I never wanted it to end.

Just then, we felt a familiar jolt, a mechanical sigh, and a thud as the elevator started moving again. We stood up and finally stopped at the Lobby.

She turned to me, “You have been so incredibly….why can’t I find someone like…wait…what am I….” Then, she blurted, “Listen…I’ll be back later this evening…how would you like to come up and have dinner with me…we can…talk…? This has been fun—God, if my agent found out I was having fun while I’m supposed to be nose to the grindstone! I know you probably have better…”

I could forgive her the fact she suddenly wasn’t able to finish a sentence and said, “Sure…fun…” Apparently, it was contagious. She then grabbed my hand, reached over and gave me a brief kiss on the cheek, her breast teasingly brushing against me.

I must have looked like the proverbial deer caught in the headlights, because she took charge and said, “I’ll have Jean call you when we get back…I think champagne is in order after a day like this.” I just nodded, and she smiled.

She stepped off the elevator, but then turned toward me, smiled again and winked, and then she strode out through the lobby into the waiting limo.

Truth is stranger than fiction, but it is because Fiction is obliged to stick to possibilities; Truth isn’t. ~ Mark Twain

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