Post-Elevator 1 - He
"Bloody cell phone. Bloody modernity. Since when has network coverage been made possible in elevators? We would have done the deed. Totally. Irrevocably. Necessarily. I would have felt complete again. I felt so alive when we were trapped in there for an hour; more alive than I had felt in months, probably years. No, this is not quite correct: I felt alive in the car after the second earthquake; I felt alive when she opened her eyes and I lied, said it was dust that wet my eyes, whereas it was sheer fear. I was terrified. To lose her for good, totally, irrevocably, unnecessarily. I love her. I have only loved her. I don't know what it means to love another woman. And I don't want to know. Because I have been privileged enough to appreciate what it feels like to be loved by her, despite our dysfunctional marriage, our destructive selves. But I had to let go of her when she came back from the cruise. I screwed everything up when I took the bait and signed the divorce papers. This was a bad decision. And then we were reunited, twice, in huis-clos, in a damaged car, in a damaged lift. As though they were the spitting images of our damaged souls. But still, I let go of her again when the elevator doors opened and Annie locked her arms around my neck. Red-headed nutcase. Niagra. What a ridiculous name for a virility drug by the way. Too close to the Falls. Nonsense. If anything, it made me go up. Incredibly so. I want to taste my ex-wife, I want us to go all the way again and then climax as we used to at One Ocean Avenue, losing all control, blurring all the lines, on the sofa, in my study, in the king size – totally, irrevocably, necessarily. And, more importantly perhaps: I need to cuddle in her arms afterwards. I need her to tell me we're gonna be okay, that we will sort things out forever this time. Every single time I sleep with my wife, I feel like I'm cheating on Olivia. I feel bad, more awful than when we were married and I had my way with all those insignificant women. I wonder whether she feels the same. Is she sharing AJ's bed carnally? Probably not. She is smarter than I am; she only sees him as a friend, not as a threat to our deep bond. Bloody AJ Deschanel though, probably sugar-coating his inanity as I am thinking this. Olivia does not need sugar-coating. She craves passion as much as I do. The real deal. I want to put her first, I want her back. Totally, irrevocably, necessarily."
Post-Elevator 2 - She
"Oh no no no." Olivia could not believe what the thin white stick in her hand was begging her to realise. She was reliving the very same scenario she had been doomed to accept one year before. "I can't be pregnant! What am I gonna do? Bette. I should call Bette," she decided. "No, I definitely can't tell her this time," she reflected. "How could I confess to her that I'm pregnant by her niece's husband, my own ex-husband! She would say that my life is a soap opera, blablabla! And she would be right, God dammit!"
[Olivia was getting increasingly excited, and not only because she was remembering the hot moment she spent with Gregory in the elevator a few weeks earlier.]
"What am I gonna do?," she reiterated. "I will keep the baby, that's for sure. At least this time I'm sure it is Gregory's baby. How could AJ be the father of my child when he's been such a listless wimp since he's back, full of words but devoid of any action! No, the child who is growing inside me is Gregory's - Gregory has always been inside me anyway, especially so one month ago - and I shall carry this pregnancy to full term. Full stop."