Caught In The Stairwell

It may have been wrong, but it was the end of the world.

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December 31, 1999—Y2K, Los Angeles, CA.

It was supposed to be the end of the world.

To prepare for our impending doom, we were on round-the-clock skeleton crew shifts at CNN. This was a bigger deal than OJ.

I was still clinging to my desire to be an actress and hadn’t yet started my climb up the production ladder at the network. I was still basically the Dwight Shrute of CNN-Los Angeles. And of all times for my boss to be out for months recovering from surgery, it was during Y2K. This meant I was serving as the business manager for the bureau — HR, payroll, accounts payable, and accounts receivable all rolled up into one helluva ball of fun. I needed to be around to help employees, do their expense reports, run payroll, and help where needed — and for me, there was no backup.

My parents were in town over Christmas and the New Year. For New Year’s, I had to be at the bureau for nearly 48 hours straight — with a small window of time in between when I could go home. We were allowed to sleep in offices.

It sounds horrible. But…my heart was tickled.

I was not happy in my marriage and was shamefully infatuated with a man at work. In my mind, on the most famous New Year’s Eve ever, Alberto would whisk me to the roof of CNN, overlooking Hollywood and rare fireworks over the Hollywood sign, and we’d finally share the kiss I’d fantasized for years about.

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I remember the first time I met him. The Spanish Department’s office was straight ahead when you came in through the reception doors. He saw me first. He followed me around like a puppy dog. A beautiful, young, green-eyed Puerto Rican puppy dog.

The more I ignored him, the harder he tried.

God, he was young.

God, I was married.

God, he was beautiful.

God, I was unhappy.

God, he wouldn’t stop.

He wasn’t the first man to follow me around though, and he wasn’t the last.

But…it didn’t take long for him to stick.

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And if you said this life ain’t good enough
I would give my world to lift you up
I could change my life to better suit your mood
Because you’re so smooth
And it’s just like the ocean under the moon
Oh, it’s the same as the emotion that I get from you
You got the kind of lovin’ that can be so smooth, yeah
Give me your heart, make it real, or else forget about it*

---

He knew the right things to say. The right things to do.

We started going to lunch together.

Then…we’d take the stairwell, and linger.

One day, he grabbed my face. His body close to mine. He touched me dominantly— not delicately, not forcefully, but sensually. So that my neck overheated. So that every part of my body melted right there.

He didn’t kiss me. He didn’t do anything. He just…looked into my eyes passionately. The move drove the nail in. And I became obsessed. Obsessed. Overcome with passion and desire when I should not have been. It was sexy. It was hot. It was foreign to me. What was this? What was this feeling?

---

But I’ll tell you one thing
If you would leave it’d be a crying shame
In every breath and every word
I hear your name calling me out
Out from the barrio
You hear my rhythm on your radio
You feel the turning of the world, so soft and slow
It’s turning you round and round*

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He called me “Principessa.” Not “Princessa.” But Principessa after Life Is Beautiful.

I called him Principe Guapo.

We would go to lunch at Cat ‘n Fiddle and have Vanille Stoli and soda with fries and ranch dressing. We’d go for Thai food. We’d go for lunch every day. And we’d flirt in the stairwell.

We had us an emotional affair. Well. I had us an emotional affair. He was free to do what he wanted. We never kissed. We never did anything physical. Ever. I couldn’t understand why. I wanted him to so bad. It just never crossed the line, no matter what signs I put out there or what I said.

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And if you said this life ain’t good enough
I would give my world to lift you up
I could change my life to better suit your mood
Because you’re so smooth
Well, and it’s just like the ocean under the moon
Well, it’s the same as the emotion that I get from you
You got the kind of lovin’ that can be so smooth, yeah
Give me your heart, make it real, or else forget about it*

I thought this could be it.

But I had duties.

We were all at the bureau. All of us.

I was in my office. It was evening and I was working on expense reports. Alberto came by. We talked about midnight. We agreed. Midnight. We’d spend it together…on the roof. I knew. I knew this would be the romantic moment I’d been waiting for. I call it infatuation and obsession now, but then — then, I called it love. I was anxious and excited, counting the minutes.

He’d come to me. And that was the dance of it. I could let it be. But he’d come to me.

---

Well, and it’s just like the ocean under the moon
Oh, it’s the same as the emotion that I get from you
You got the kind of lovin’ that can be so smooth, yeah
Give me your heart, make it real, or else forget about it

Or else forget about it

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But he didn’t come. Midnight passed without a whisper. And the world didn’t end.

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I’d like to say my obsession with him ended there. But life isn’t that easy, isn’t it? I did go home after midnight though and celebrated with my visiting family — dead exhausted and disappointed as I was.

As for the stairwell —

You don’t get away with shit when you work in an office, let alone a cable news network bureau. Rumors quickly surfaced about our shenanigans when security guards thought it cute to let others know we were lingering around in there.

The only thing that happened was him grabbing me all sexy by the face, but — fuck — it was just that smooth.

1999, Los Angeles/Miracle Mile. New Years. Had just finished a 24-hour shift at CNN in emergency preparations for the pending destruction of Y2K.

*Lyrics by Santana and Rob Thomas