The Best Laid Plans

Patrice was a person who did not like waiting for anyone. It did not matter their reasons for tardiness, it did not matter that their complex lives didn’t always include her, but there she stood, dressed to the Glam with the purse she bought while in Italy and the smart shoes from Greenwich Village, donning her Vera Wang brushed silk day dress with her Foster Grant’s dressing her face. Patrice was just standing in her living room, you know, the one designed by Pierre? She was standing in her living room, waiting in her uptown condominium for the doorman to buzz her.


In the meantime, Chloe was trying to deal with a broken heel as she hailed a cab in the rain down in SoHo. It was going to be a long, uncomfortable ride, but she was doing the best she could, after the heel broke and having broken four of the five nail tips on her left hand. When the traffic came to a halt. It was a sea of red tail lights lining Fifth Avenue as far as she could see between the wiper blades.


After seven minutes of not moving, she told the cabbie to let her out, she would find another cab, but to her dismay, the cabbie said she wouldn’t find one that could get through all of the congestion, that Barnum & Bailey were moving wide-load trucks with equipment for their new show at The Garden.  Miffed, Chloe said, “Fine, but turn the meter off, I’m not paying just to sit here!” The cabbie obliged, but clicked it up four bucks before turning it off.


Meanwhile, looking out her condo window, Patrice started to daydream and her stomach was starting to growl. Simultaneously, Chloe was looking out the window of the cab thinking about the salad she would order when they arrived at the restaurant. Finally, the cab was moving again.


Forty minutes late, Chloe arrived at Patrice’s building, ordered the doorman to ring Patrice, but he just stood there. “Do–you–under–stand–eng–lish?” Chloe belted to him. “Yes ma’am, I can’t call for anyone, because you can’t go up”, was his reply. “Why not? You’re not in charge, who’s in charge here?”, Chloe stomped her feet in that two-year old’s way. “The tenants have known about this for a month and a half, it’s not my problem” the doorman said smugly.


“Well !”, Chloe was irritated more than she wished, for she was wet, hungry and had broken parts and pieces and now she was not allowed upstairs? “No ma’am, not until the men from Otis get here, ya see the elevators are 119 years old and they, they, stopped working. All four of them.” Chloe new this was bad, she’d never get to have lunch in that new Bistro. She must have looked like she had a sad case of the blues, because when she least expected it, the doorman was holding a brown bag he took from the drawer, opened it and offered her half of his bologna sandwich and Chloe… she took it with apprehended appreciation and thanked him.


What about Patrice, you ask? She was so stuck in her designer dream that she took sleeping pills, instead of fiber tablets to hold her over… now she can continue her dream of running into Paul Newman at the Bistro, and the story she’ll get to tell.

-dld 11.15.10


T10 – an elevator


4 responses to “The Best Laid Plans

  1. Sandra Grifo Montimurro

    LOL I loved it and I’m hungry for more!

  2. I wrote this earlier, but wasn’t happy with it…
    wrote a few thoughs out on my TypePad page, then went back to this story and re-worked the wrongs. Glad you liked it Sandra… no worries for more, maybe not tonight, but tomorrow will have things that I don’t even know about yet! ;-))

  3. I rather liked this too..but Paul Newman is dead sorry to say…still given the protrait you paint of her…she may not know that. 😀

  4. I know Paul is dead… but how do you know I didn’t write this ten years ago? Kidding… it was the first name that popped in my head… are you trying to get my goat up, Charles??? ;-))

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