Who replaced the phone with the pot?: Day 25, and 44,101 words

I decided to let the deflated balloon do the talking, so to speak, and just write whatever came out when I sat down today. I like what happened when I did this! Not sure if you will all agree that it is a satisfying way to move forward, but it felt good to me.

I feel so good today! I have less than 6,000 words left, and now the end is much clearer to me than it was when I woke up this morning.

Oliver did not speak to either of them, but reached for the phone in the elevator only to find that the phone was not at all where it was supposed to be. Instead, there was a small pot with shells adorning the upper rim. The embellished clay pot with shells was a beautiful—and practical—container that any gardener, or appreciator of the finer things in life, would have loved. The creator of the pot had probably worn a protective dust mask and used latex gloves while painting and sanding the pot to a beautiful, smooth finish. The blooming shell arrangement gave the shells a whole new purpose, as well as add a touch of beach to the elevator. It really made waves. Unfortunately, it did not make phone calls. The trio were not any closer to getting out of that elevator.

“Who replaced the phone with the pot?” Nora thought to herself. Was it an act of mischief? Or an act of magic? Indeed, is there a difference? The Technical Standards and Safety Authority of Ontario, who runs the Elevating Devices Safety Program that regulates elevating devices in Ontario so as to ensure all devices conform to the Technical Standards and Safety Act of 2000 and applicable regulations, codes and standards, would probably disagree.

Oliver closed the small door miserably, glaring at the two other occupants of the broken elevator. He pulled out his phone and tried to make a phone call, which was presumably not answered, and then settled for sending a text. Apparently Noah was busy.

The three sat in silence, not making eye contact. “That was unexpected,” Wynn finally said. In response, Oliver simply glared at him.

“Are you referring to the three of us being trapped inside an elevator? Or the shell-covered pot that has replaced the phone?” Nora asked.

“Well, both, I guess,” Wynn replied.

Wynn and Nora looked around expectantly, hoping that someone would figure out something to say. When no one did, it was surprisingly Oliver who spoke.

“Why did you follow me?” he directed his question at Wynn. “Why are you here?” His voice was full of misery, rather than resentment.

As uncomfortable as Wynn had looked before, his discomfort reached new heights as he was being questioned.
“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about that time that we saw each other at Jackie’s Place, and you responded by running away,” he admitted.

“Neither have I,” Oliver said, almost like a whisper. He was doing his best to look away, eyeing anything that wasn’t Wynn’s face.

“I just, well, I feel so unsatisfied with how things ended. And how we didn’t see each other for years and years. As much as Toronto has felt like the smallest city in the world in the past few weeks, up until that point it seemed cavernous. Even though we never ran into each other all those years, I kept expecting to. I would go to the places that we used to go and hope that you would be there.”

“Why?” Oliver asked, finally looking up.

“Because I’m sorry. Because I was really young and foolish, and I didn’t handle our relationship ending the way that I should have. I was sad that you were too wrapped up in your own writing to notice me, to notice that I was trying to get your attention in increasingly destructive ways. I’m sorry that I hurt you the way that I did.”

Nora felt incredibly awkward. When they say that two is company, three is a crowd, they probably hadn’t envisioned an uncomfortable elevator encounter between two ex-boyfriends and a woman who is there for some reason, but they certainly could have. She was really regretting her decision to run into the elevator, particularly this elevator that did not have a working phone in it.

“But I’m also sorry,” Wynn continued, “about the way that you hurt me.”

“You cheated on me!” Oliver exclaimed angrily.

“I’m not proud of that,” Wynn countered. “But our relationship was doomed long before that. You got lost in your work and you stopped being a partner to me. You have to admit that you were neglectful. I feel like you have only seen me as a villain, when you contributed to our relationship falling apart, too.”

“I can’t believe this is happening,” Oliver cried. “First I get yelled at, at a gala where I am getting an award, by you,” he gestured to Nora, “then I get trapped in an elevator with you two, which causing me to miss my award, and then, I have no choice but to listen to yet another listing of my faults?”

“If we’re being true to history, Oliver, you are the one who confronted me,” Nora pointed out. “I was minding my own business, enjoying a pleasant summer sip, and awaiting winning my own award, as well! And you stalked over and blamed me for the dissolution of our friends’ relationship.”

“‘Stalked’ is not the right word for it,” Oliver complained.

“Well, whatever word choice you prefer,” Nora replied, “it sounds like you don’t enjoy taking responsibility for things.”

“I’m sorry that I haven’t dealt with the most painful experience of my life in a way that is to your liking,” Oliver said angrily.

Nora rolled her eyes, and Wynn looked down.

“Maybe you should extend that grace to others,” Nora said, thinking of Shalini and Noah, and his anger about their break-up.

“And perhaps you could, too,” Oliver alleged.

Nora knew that he was right.

The three sat in silence for what seemed like eternity, retreating into their corners of the elevator. They heard the chimes indicating that the cocktail hour was ending and that the attendees should take their seats for the awards ceremony. Nora took off her painful heels and massaged her feet, while both Oliver and Wynn loosened their bow ties. Depressed sighs abounded.

“I never really tried to see your side, Wynn. It was more flattering to myself that I not,” Oliver said, breaking the silence. “Cheating on me with someone in our Toronto writing group was so painful to me and I wanted to think that you did it because you are a bad person, and only a bad person, through and through. I didn’t want to think about why it happened. I didn’t want to think about you. But now that I am being forced to, because of bad luck and a shell-covered pot, I guess that now is as good a time as any to say that I’m sorry that I neglected you. I was a horrible partner and I took you for granted.”

Wynn was speechless for a moment. His face, however, said it all: surprise, sadness, and gratefulness.

He finally found the words and started to speak. “There just aren’t words for how meaningful it is to hear you say that. There’s a lot that I wish I had done differently, but hearing you say that is really validating.”

Oliver nodded. “I accept your apology.”

“Thank you. And not to push my luck here, but I’m sorry for making fun of your book. I hated it because I saw myself in it and I was jealous of it. I’ve always been jealous of you and it’s made me feel horrible. I want to say that I loved Portman’s Complaint. I’m so proud of you for writing this book.”

“Well, I didn’t know that you had made fun of the book, so thanks for bringing that to my attention,” Oliver said, not without humour. “But, everyone feels jealous sometimes. Every author, feels jealous sometimes,” he said emphatically, looking in Nora’s direction. “I owe you so many apologies.”

Nora shifted her weight awkwardly. She had been listening to their conversation, obviously, but was trying to pretend that she was not to give them some semblance of privacy as they laid their souls bare to one another while sitting on the floor of the elevator. She was surprised that she was being invited back into their conversation.

“I shouldn’t have insulted you that day in brian j. Pickles’ office,” Oliver said. “I have been so embarrassed about it ever since. It was rude and not being the kind of colleague that I wish to be.”

“Thank you for saying that,” Nora said.

“I knew who you were before I met you that day. Of course I did—you’re one of brian j. Pickles’ biggest clients. And my sister, as I’ve said, loves your books. I was jealous of your success. I was intimidated, too, when I saw you for the first time. My insecurities got the best of me and I insulted you to make myself feel better.”

“I assumed that you were just very sexist and have continued thinking that,” Nora said truthfully.
“I hate to say it, but I deserved it,” Oliver laughed.

“I don’t hate to say it,” Nora smiled.

“I know, and that’s something that I like about you. That I really like about you,” he said was some emphasis that Nora found intriguing. “After I met you and told my sister about it she lent me her copies of your books. I read them in a weekend. They were so funny, so poignant, and so smart. I particularly liked the way that you fleshed out an entire caste system within this world that you created. I found myself constantly drawn to Eliza, and drawn to the lack of Mr. Collins stand-in. Reading your books was a real lesson for me on prejudice. One look at the cover, and I assumed that I wouldn’t like the book.”

“Don’t even get me started on the cover,” Nora said with a huff.

“And I’m sorry that I blamed you for Shalini and Noah breaking up. I knew that it wasn’t your fault. As I do, I wanted someone to blame for it. You were an easy villain. I should know by now that there aren’t easy answers to these things and that sometimes, you can’t say that one person is to blame. Clearly, I’m just a confused centaur.”

Nora laughed out loud.

“Quoting my book to me is basically my love language,” Nora joked.

“I was banking on that.”

Nora felt stunned. She blinked a couple of times, not sure how to respond.

She was saved from what would have surely been an embarrassing reaction by another jolt of the elevator. The three of them stood up quickly and watched as the floor numbers went down. The door finally opened on the main floor.

Of all the people that they had expected to see standing outside of the elevator, brian j. Pickles certainly was not at the top of the list. But there he was, wearing a white tuxedo with a single red carnation in his cummerbund. The overall effect was upsetting.

Behind him were two faces that were very much welcome. Shalini rushed over to hug Nora, while Noah seemed ready to cry with relief.

“Free at last!” brian j. Pickles exclaimed. “As soon as I heard from Noah that three of my clients were trapped in an elevator at the Writers’ Union of Canada Gala, I had to act fast!” He gestured towards some technicians who clearly had acted much faster.

“You have to hurry, Oliver, they are about to announce your award!” Noah said as he pulled Oliver away, towards the ceremony. He looked back as he went, but did not stop.

Nora looked at Shalini expectantly. She just shook her head.

“They already announced your award,” she said sadly.

“And the open bar?” Nora asked hopefully.

“Closed.”

To say that Nora was devastated was an understatement.

“Let’s just go to Jackie’s Place,” Shalini offered, taking the hand of her disappointed friend. “I hear that Black Labbath is performing tonight.”

“I guess I can settle for that,” Nora said.

Wynn was left alone with brian j. Pickles and the elevator technicians outside the elevator.

“There’s a shell-covered pot where the phone is supposed to be,” he said nonchalantly. “I have to think that it violates some safety codes.”

And he made his exit as well.