THE NARRATIVE ARC
‘Guilty as Charged’ in The Elevator
The ups and downs of friendship
The Beverly Hills mansion had many rules, but the biggest one was, “Don’t take the elevator.” So, of course, I took the elevator whenever I could get away with it.
Normally, I’m a rule follower, but I couldn’t resist the siren call of the elevator.
If I had to go from the basement disco to the gift-wrapping room on the third floor, I took the elevator. Similarly, if I had to turn on all the lights in every room to prepare the mansion for an open house, I could have taken the stairs — but where was the fun in that?
I worked as an assistant to the personal assistant of an extremely wealthy woman. My workspace was a tiny, chilly room that felt like a cave because of the boulders that lined the wall. Behind the main pantry, my office was isolated, and the division between the “haves” and the “have-nots” was as clear as the tiny viewless window.
Since the house was on the market, my main job was to prepare it for potential buyers, which meant turning on all the lights and fireplaces and lighting expensive, overly-scented $300 candles.
The mansion's interior wasn’t flashy, but it was a lot and not to everyone’s taste. Janet Jackson only got as far as the…
