The Top of The Stairs

She told herself out loud as she gripped the steering wheel “This will be good for you, Kayla.” Slow down, that sign said 20, you are going 45. Your KIA Soul isn’t a Porsche.

Does he have a Porsche? I haven’t even seen his car.

You deserve this, Kayla. You’ve worked hard and you’ve been a good girl and now you deserve this weekend with him.

But his wife doesn’t deserve it? No, that bitch hates him. It would be torture for them both.

How much further? She glanced at the phone stuck in her cup holder. 3.something.

She looked up and had to slam the brakes on to stay in the lane as a turn crept up.

Crap! Slow down, you don’t want to die on the way to your…

Well now that’s an interesting dilemma. What to call it.

What did Craig say? “Working Session”. Right, they were going to be working closely on the new account. Thursday to Sunday. They had to be super focused, this was their moment.

And in between, they’ll be in separate rooms. It was a 2 bedroom unit.

She glanced down at the phone again, 2.1 miles. Her eyes caught sight of the bunch of yellow roses she’d set on the seat.

Yellow roses, for friendship of course. Because they were such good friends, but they’d never met in person. A whole year of working on Zoom, and not once had they had coffee, or lunch, or shared a co-working space.

She slowed as a big RV appeared in the lane in front of her. Google spoke up.

“In 500 feet, turn right at Wooded Trail.”

She was glad for the RV. She’d have missed that spacing out. The sign appeared and she veered right, across the little bridge over the drainage ditch, to the bottom of what looked like a double black diamond ski run with a paved path up.

She gunned it. “Come on Sallie!” She yelled at her little KIA. She was 24 now, but still named her cars. It was cute right.

The engine roared as the little compact worked its way up the single lane road. It wasn’t far, the map line was tiny.

As she climbed the hill slower and slower she wondered if Craig had beat her here. It was impossible. She’d booked the place, and was in contact with the host. He was coming all the way from Santa Barbara, and she was driving in from Thousand Oaks, so it was feasible, but he didn’t even know how to get inside.

As she rounded the corner, a massive blue pickup rounded coming down the 1 lane drive and she let her foot off the gas. The truck stopped quickly, as did she.

“Fuck” she said out loud. But the truck, whose driver she could not see due to glare from the soon-to-be-setting sun, backed up slowly and gave way to her so she could complete the last 100 feet of the climb.

She slammed the accelerator and Sallie screamed again, turning her wheels ever so slightly up to the summit.

She passed the truck and the driver, a middle-aged woman with sandy brown hair, whose window was down, waved and smiled. Kayla smiled and nodded back but kept her hands gripped on the steering wheel.

She crested the top, and at the end was the cul de sac where they’d said to park. It was almost full. No Porsche. Just a Prius, an old weird truck/car thing from the 80’s, and not one, not two, but three Subaru’s, all with Biden/Harris stickers.

She smiled. Girl Power, Kamala.

She squeezed her KIA in behind a Subaru and let Sallie rest. It was not quiet outside. Birds were chirping. There was a chainsaw or something wailing in the distance. It was the golden hour, and there was nobody around.

And there was no signal. Crap, how would she text? Or know if he were here or not.

Then she saw, in the driveway. A beautiful BMW 3 series. Shit. He had probably hit less traffic.

She looked down at her dumpy yoga pants and t-shirt and hated herself. This was a real man, a man who was important. He wouldn’t respect her if she showed up in this.

She looked around. Fuck it. She unzipped the duffel bag on the seat next to her and pulled out her planned attire. First the grey silk slacks that hugged her butt cheeks and hips like they were painted on but flowed around her legs like she was wading in the waters of the Nile. and a glossy black one-shoulder top that paired with them to make her look like a runway model in a Vera Wang runway show. She also flipped out some very professional looking black flats.

She slipped into both from under the steering wheel like she was a professional magician in a costume change trick, and then saw her face. She’d gone a bit overboard on the hair and makeup. I mean, she wanted to look good, but with the one shoulder top, feathered hair, hoop earrings, and makeup, she did look more like she was headed on a date than meeting her professional mentor for a purely business related weekend.

She bit her lip. “Business only” she said firmly to her steamy, 25 year old self in the mirror.

She gathered her bag and opened AirBNB. Luckily she’d saved the info before going out of signal. “Yours is at the top of the stairs, 2nd door on the left. Key is in the flower box.”

OMG that is so quaint, the flower box. Flowers, right! She padded to the lift-gate of the KIA and opened it to find the fresh yellow roses she’d bought on a whim at the gas station. Friendship roses. For business friends.

She’d planned to put them in a vase in the unit before he arrived, to make it clear why she was here. But he was already up there. Now she was bringing him a bouquet. Hopefully he knew what the yellow was for.

Under the flowers was a bottle of prosecco. She grabbed that too.

She slung her duffel over her shoulder, held the flowers in the same hand, and then the prosecco, with her keys squeezed in for good measure, in the other, the one with the bared shoulder.

As she flexed her arms and hunched her back the shoulder strap drooped and on the shoulder-less side it got dangerously close to a nipple reveal. She set the bottle down and hauled the top up to its proper height.No time for tape now, we’ll just have to manage.

She was impressed with herself as she arched her back and made her way up the wooden stairs, noting how each bounce threatened to flop out a mammary. Her A-cups weren’t exactly something men often stared at anyway, but, every man she’d shown her nipples to hadn’t left her alone for months. The 13 year old horny girl part of her personality sat on her shoulder like a demon chanting “flop flop flop flop”. But found control in the rhythm.

My god, what are there, 100 steps? The staircase was sturdy and had railings on both sides most of the way, but it was steep and draining with her arms full and she had to keep her back arched to keep the wontons in the steamer. Steamer was right, she was sweating as she neared the finish.

She reached the top and took a big breath, which immediately invited her now erect nipple to get some fresh air too. She rushed toward a nearby table, to set the Prosecco down and save her dignity.

She saw a deck now, and a bay window. Second door on the right. Is that a door? She set her stuff down while staring aimlessly in the window and hurriedly endingher right nipple’s tiny bid for freedom.

And there he was, seated at the desk inside, watching her. It was her boss, in the flesh for the first time, with his salt & pepper hair and beard. His clever looking glasses in front of blueish eyes, and his smile. Craig smiled and waved.

Her heart swooned. Oh who are you fooling Kayla? This guy is going to have you naked in 5 minutes. Look at you just throwing your toned 25 year old body at this man. You both know what this is and he..he..is.. in.. a crimson bath robe?

Craig stood up in the bath robe and wandered toward the door. The first door. Not the second. Was there a second? She followed and stupidly waved back at him, still clutching the roses and her bag, but having left the prosecco and keys on the table.

He opened the door. Shit. This was not craig. She frowned as her arms suddenly ached from flexing, which somehow amplified her shame.

The man before her did have a salt and pepper beard, and glasses, but was younger than Craig, and shorter, and wider, and dumpier, and well just.. not Craig!

She started to stammer through “Are you the host?” But just got out “Are you” when the man cheerfully said “Hi! I think you might be at the wrong one.”

She blushed even more. Oh crap. Here I am looking all dolled up and swooning. He can smell it on me. He thinks I’m a godamn moron. That smile. This fuck knows. He fucking knows I’m here to mess around. She donned a confused look.

“There’s another one down there, maybe it’s that one?” he said as he pointed all the way down the steps, where a small path split off and led to another small structure.

No it’s not that one Kayla. Don’t say OK don’t say “OK! Yeah!” her shamed good girl from Thousand Oaks answered this time in a panic.

He looked at the stuff on the ground behind her. “You.. want help carrying it?”

She knew he was just being polite but she thought about all of the lacy underwear she’d packed in there for no good reason and just thought “pervert”. Instead she just panicked and grabbed it all “NO I GOT IT!”

She glanced further down the deck, past the dumpy imposter. There was a bulge in the building and then a depression, probably the other door. Where Craig might be.

But she was too ashamed, too worried she’d embarrass her self further. So she just smiled like a rabid goblin and turned as he said “OOok, bye.”

She tapped her way down the stairs slowly, in a daze. It was physicaly easier but emotionally humiliating. How did she now go back up? No internet, and these steps seemed the only way up.

She got to the bottom and put everything down on the last step, including her own butt, risking snagging her best pants on an old rustic staircase.

She put her hands on the step beside her and started sobbing.

“You idiot. You’re so dumb.” she said to herself through slow tears.

Then she heard tire noises coming up the one way street. And a large engine. She dabbed the tears away from her eyes and sniffled the snot back in to the depths of her throat where it could stay loaded as a lugie in case the pervert came down.

The tire and engine noise got louder and she saw a large, very shiny black vehicle pull around the corner. A convertible Mustang. It growled low as it pulled itself up the final steep bit of the incline.

She stood up and looked closely. Behind the wheel was a middle-aged man with more silver than salt & pepper, and clever glasses perched on his nose. He was looking around the circle for a spot when his eyes found her, and he looked stunned.

She laughed briefly. Craig. My knight, my savior. Come on a horse of sorts. This is so damn cheesy. Our kids will love this story.

Craig parked behind Sallie and the door swung out. He stood and looked at her with a smile and just said “Kayla. Nice to actually meet you.”

She bit her lip and let her hip swing out and said “Hi Mr. Greer. Are you ready to get to work?”

He coughed once and said “Uh, yeah. Where are we sleeping.”

She pointed up the hill and said “Up there, but, beware. There’s a creepy dude in the next unit over. Caught him staring at my boobs.”

Craig, like all men at the mention of boobs, stared at her boobs. Briefly, then back to her eyes. He smiled and said “Whoops, guess I’m a creep too.” he put his hands up.

“Well, at least you’re a cute creep.” she said and grabbed the stuff off the stairs, turned around to make sure he saw all of the pants’ glory.

She looked over her shoulder “Come on, lets find our separate bedrooms and then do some business, Mr. Greer.”

An explanation is in order. I found myself amused recently on a trip to the mountains outside Los Angeles. As I tapped away working on my next novel, a young woman appeared almost half-topless at the top of the stairs where I thought there was only one apartment. I found out later I was wrong, there were two at the top. But poor thing, I first confused her by waving, then embarrassed her, and then sent her all the way down with a blush and all her stuff, including a bouquet of yellow roses and a duffel bag. I later noticed her returning with a man matching the description of the fictional “Craig”, and this story just crept deep into my brain. So, this is my speculation at her side of the story.

If you’re reading this and it seems familiar: please do not reach out, we’ve had enough awkward moments already.

The names have been invented, and the place obscured to protect the potentially guilty.