She was beautiful the way career women are: great figure, smartly styled hair, and expensive clothes, which she wore with ease and grace. He stood in front of her desk holding the files in his hand. It always annoyed Frank that Miss Bailey’s secretary allowed him to enter her office and then he ended up waiting like a schoolboy who had been sent to the principal after one too many pranks.

Amy Bailey looked up at Frank.  “Yes,” she said in her well modulated voice.  Sometimes Amy felt exhausted from how hard it was for her to play this role. When she made the decision to pursue a career in business, she knew that she had to abide by the rules. But there were times she wished she had the freedom to grab lunch with the girls from the office.

Frank discreetly handed her the bulging file folder. She set it on her desk and thanked him. Taking that for a dismissal, Frank headed toward the paneled oak doors that isolated Amy in her coveted corner office from the warren of cubicles where the workers toiled. Amy swiveled around on her cushy leather chair and drank in the panoramic view of Lake Erie. A kaleidoscope of sailboats skimmed over the green-blue water.  The dome of the lighthouse peeked out from the treetops.  It was summer in Buffalo—a short season of warm days followed by cool nights, perfect for afternoon picnics or evening campfires on the beach.

“If only,” Amy whispered.  It had been two years since there had been anyone in her life.  The last romance had ended, as they all had, with recriminations and hard feelings.  Her career was ramping into high gear while his had stalled.  After that last breakup, Amy had allowed her work days to become never-ending and to spill over into her weekends.  Even her girlfriends had stopped calling, tired of her excuses for why she couldn’t join them for drinks and a chick flick.  Her work engaged her, and to Amy it was like nurturing a child.  Her service on several boards of directors earned her accolades for community service.  And the annual charity ball that she organized gave her a certain celebrity in the community.  Photographs of her, dressed in designer gowns and escorted by strikingly handsome men, appeared regularly in the newspaper.

Yes, she had come a long way for a girl from gritty, blue-collar South Buffalo.

As Frank went back to his desk, he wondered about Miss Bailey’s life outside work, although the office rumor mill claimed that work was her life.  He imagined her going home to a fashionable condo with a stunning lake view and savoring the dinner her housekeeper had cooked, or dining at a trendy restaurant with her model- handsome boyfriend.  Frank had seen the pictures of her at the Charity Gala, dressed to the nines—as Frank’s father would say—with a guy that  the office gossips called eye-candy.  Frank looked at the clock, another hour to go and then the usual Friday afternoon fish fry with his parents at Ryan’s in the South Buffalo neighborhood where they still lived. Later his friends from the office were headed out for a pub crawl on Chippewa Street which would end with breakfast at the all-night Greek restaurant.  Frank was finishing last minute phone calls when his email alert dinged.  He was half tempted to ignore it—after all it was 4:57—but instead he clicked the message open.  Miss Bailey needed him for “just a minute.”  He shrugged back into his jacket and knocked diplomatically on her office door.

She had her back to him.  Her shoulders were squared and her auburn hair was pulled back into an intricate French braid.  For a moment Frank wondered what she would look like with her hair freed from the tight weaving and discreet clip that held it in place.

“Beautiful view, Miss Bailey,” Frank said to interrupt her reverie.  He had plans and he wanted to be on his way.  She turned and smile, a really engaging smile, Frank noticed.

“Yes, it is lovely.  But sometimes I envy those people out on their boats.”  Her voice had an almost nostalgic quality to it.  Frank nodded and looked at her expectantly.

“Okay, listen, I hate to do this, but I’m really stuck.  Corporate wants figures on projected costs for the Henderson account updated right now.  I know you have a handle on things—could you stay a few more minutes and run the numbers again?” she asked.

Frank dashed back to his cubical and logged onto his computer.  He really wanted to impress Miss Bailey. Rumor had it that a managerial position was opening. Frank had his eye on that job, and he knew that she would be making recommendations to fill it.  He had just looked at the file earlier today; it shouldn’t take more than a half hour to update that information. As he scanned his computer screen, he called his Mom and apologized for missing their traditional Friday dinner.

Two hours later, his eyes crossed from looking at numbers and a calculator tape that wound its way like a garden snake to the wall, Frank had completed the task.  He sent Miss Bailey the file, but in his desire to be thorough, he ran a single copy and then decided to use the copier to make a few extra copies.  Forty five minutes later, his shirt smeared with toner, he had the copies, which he now realized would have been a cinch to run on the computer printer.

Meanwhile, Amy Bailey wandered out of her office to find Frank.  He was in the copier work room, his coat and tie had been abandoned on a nearby chair while he tried to coax a paper jam into submission.  Hurrying back to her office, she waited for Frank. She wondered if he had any idea that he was her first choice for the position that was coming up.  She felt herself blush when she thought about how much she would enjoy working more closely with him.  Get a grip woman, she though. I’m sure that he has a real life—and a girl friend to go with it.  She shook her shoulders as if to let go of any thoughts about Frank other than what a dedicated worker he was.

A moment later, he was at her office door, his hair a little disheveled, his tie and jacket missing.  Amy had to look away to keep from blushing.  She took a deep breath and accepted the collated and bound copies he presented.  Man, he did good work, she thought.  She started to thank him, but he had left.

Suddenly her office felt like a cage. Deciding to call it a day, she quickly packed her briefcase.  The sun wouldn’t set for at least another hour, and maybe she could enjoy what was left of a picture perfect summer evening.

Nearing the elevator, she saw Frank standing there punching buttons. He turned and smiled as she approached, “I think the elevator is on the fritz,” he said.  She found it curious that he used such old fashioned expressions.  Sometimes he talked like her father, even though she knew that Frank was about her age.

“Again,” Amy said in an exasperated voice.  “This is the third time this week.  It looks like we’re going to have to walk down,” she added.

They clambered down to the first floor landing.  It was like a monk’s cell, and sweltering.  Frank went over to the red steel door that was clearly marked, EXIT.  He pushed and then he pulled.  Nothing happened.  Then they both tried together.  The door would not budge.  Finally Amy used her cell phone to call the building superintendent, and after three tries, got his voice mail.  Tension showed on her face as she left an urgent message.  Then both Amy and Frank slumped on the bottom step of the stair well.

“Should I try to go back to the office?” Frank asked.

 Amy shrugged her shoulders. “Thanks for offering. But I think we just have to sit tight and wait.”  With that she reached up and freed her hair.  Then she kicked off her high heels and began to rub her feet. “These shoes are not meant for anything practical,” she said, looking up at Frank.  He felt a little off kilter, sitting in this tiny space with Amy.  The atmosphere was charged, much like the moments before a first kiss.

They sat there awkwardly.  Amy made another call to the building superintendent, and then in a frustrated voice asked, “Is there anyone you need to call? Is your girlfriend waiting for you?”

He shook his head, “No, no such luck.”  He wondered if he could ask her a similar question.  After all, weren’t they like two survivors who had to bond to live to tell their tale?

An hour later they had shared the granola bar Amy had in her brief case and split Frank’s emergency can of Coke.  Soon they were talking about their lives outside of work.  She laughed a surprisingly hearty laugh when he related tales of the mischief he and his brothers managed to get into as kids.  And he nodded sympathetically as she explained that her mother had died when she was a baby, and that she wanted to impress her demanding father, a noted lawyer.  For a moment, Frank sensed that Amy’s no-nonsense exterior hid a woman who felt vulnerable.  He wondered what would happen if he reached over and took her hand.  Geez man, this isn’t a rom-com, he thought. This is your workplace and she’s your boss!

Then they heard the welcome sound of someone unlocking an outside door and the distinctly gravelly voice of Hank, the building superintendent. Amy looked at Frank with an unguarded look in her eyes.

“Well, your company has made this little ordeal a lot more pleasant,” she said, her gaze steady and unnerving.  By now they both had removed their business -correct jackets and had rolled their sleeves up to the elbows.  Both were glowing with perspiration that beaded on their lips and brows.  Then the exterior door opened, bringing a welcome surge of cooler, fresher air.

“Hey, Miss Bailey, I’m so sorry for the delay. I was out with my wife—fish fry night, you know,” Hank explained.  “Just checked my voice mail and I got here as quick as possible.”  Hank watched as they headed out to the parking lot.  From his vantage point, they looked like a nice young couple.  He smiled when he noticed Miss Bailey reach out and touch her companion’s arm.  He could tell by the tilt of their heads that they were lost in conversation.  Then both cars sped away, heading in the direction of the new lake front restaurant.

                                                               ******

It was a mild winter day, the sun brilliant on the newly fallen snow, when an email was sent instructing the office staff to assemble in the conference room ASAP.  Everyone knew what the announcement would be: Frank was being promoted to the new managerial position.  Upon entering the room the staff saw Frank and Amy standing close together, smiling and chatting.  To the casual observer, they might look like a young couple who were in love.  But the office gossips knew better— Amy and Frank in love? That was impossible!

Frank beamed as he announced his new job at the law firm on the second floor.  Then he took Amy’s hand as she announced their engagement.  Later champagne was poured and a toast was made to the couple.

Hank smiled as he raised his glass to celebrate the joyful news.  Too bad that neither of them had known enough to jiggle the door handle that Friday evening six months ago he thought—the door would have opened and they could have left right away.  Funny what a stuck door can do.