"Fifth floor, number 5015." I told him.
I looked around my apartment. It was modern art deco. All my furniture was red, the walls were white with silver accents, my coffee table was silver and glass and sat atop a very large white sheepskin rug. There was a loft
above. The silver and glass staircase curved up to it. Everything was tidy, too tidy.There was a knock at my door. My door had frosted glass on the sides, so although you could see in and out, you couldn't make out any details. I looked through my peep hole and saw him standing there, a little wet from the rain outside; his dark brown hair now black from being wet. I wrapped my white robe around me, my hair still dripping and opened the door.
He smiled at me and then paused.
"Is this a bad time?" Noticing my present state.
I rolled my eyes and turned, walking towards my little dining table, conveniently only ten steps from the door.
"No. This is the best time actually. I have meetings and all sorts of things to do the next few days."
He walked in and shut the door behind him. I looked back at him.
"Have a seat!" I threw him a towel I had begun to used for my hair.
He walked to the table, pulled a chair out and sat down; drying himself off.
"Really nice place you have here. Like it?"
"Oh, I love it!" I lied.
He saw through me.
"No, you don't."
"Yeah, its nice, but its cold. A nice place to stay, but not live."
We both agreed that a house in the country would be more suitable, but inconvenient at the moment.
I rounded the corner to where the kitchen entrance was. There were light switches there and it was dark in the apartment. There were round dimmer switches and regular ones. I tried them all. I turned the dimmer switches this way and that, no light. I flicked a switch and a red light outside my door flashed. Oops, emergency signal. I turned it off, tried other switches. I managed to turn a light on but it was more of a night light, hardly useful for reading.
He came over to try and help, to no avail.
"New place, I haven't worked out all the gadgets yet."
I was frustrated, no, infuriated, and embarrassed. I couldn't work the lights in my own apartment!
"Its all right!" he laughed. I looked at him and he had a broad smile. Even in the dark I could see his eyes shining with laughter.
I sighed. My attention was caught by a black man standing on the stairwell outside my door. The window above my door was not frosted and had a small view of the stairwell leading up to the sixth floor. The black man was holding a clip board and had an ear piece.
"All secure at this level." he said.
I flicked a bunch of switches again and he peered into my apartment. I felt embarrassed again and, along with my male guest, smiled and waved to the black man. The black man left and I realized too late that I could've asked him how to turn on the lights!
"Really, we don't need any light to discuss the script." he insisted.
I shrugged. "Alright then. I'll be right back, gong to make myself more presentable."
I headed up the curved stairs to the loft area where my bed was. The only disorderly place in my house was my computer desk next to my bed. The rest of the place was kept in immaculate condition. I had a dressing screen so that I could change without prying eyes. I threw on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt. I came back down stairs and sensed relief from my guest.
"I'm glad you're not one of those people who think they need to dress to the nines when they have a visitor over."
I looked at him and blushed. He laughed. He was dressed in a black jacket, green t-shirt, black jeans and brown sandals. I went to my windows, opposite of my kitchen and opened the curtains. Hopefully there would be light from outside to brighten up the place. The windows were massive, from floor to ceiling, from one wall to another. The street lights offered little help through the pouring rain. Water cascaded down the windows, distorting everything outside. Lightning flashed, illuminating my apartment for a brief moment. I sat down on the big red couch against the window, my legs curled under me and gazed out; feeling and hearing the rumble of the thunder that followed.
"I love thunderstorms." I said, lying my head casually on my arm, which rested on the back of the couch.
"They're magnificent." he said, sitting down on the couch, gazing out the window with me.
"There's always something calming about them."
"Exactly." I whispered, hypnotized as the water on the window made the street lights outside seem to waver.
The storm raged on and we both sat in silence, enjoying it.
