Bathroom Conundrum (1 of 4)
A romantic short story about two strangers, a man and a woman, accidentally locked together in a bathroom.
An entire story in full-cast audio version is here.
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Chapter 1
Don’t you just love it when you rush to the bathroom, open the door, getting ready to do your thing, then you notice someone’s already there?
“Don’t mind me, I just sit here.” A young woman’s voice makes me jump.
“Bloody hell…” My hand freezes on the zipper when I see her on the toilet seat, her dress hiked up, her long bare legs casually crossed at the ankles. Dark hair cascades over her face, concealing her features.
“Sorry. I thought it was vacant.” My face gets hot and I try not to stare. “Why didn’t you lock the door?”
“I locked it.” Her voice hints at amusement. “No harm done. I love your accent, by the way. British?”
I sneak a hasty glance. Despite her compromising situation, something about her is… captivating. Perhaps it’s her nonchalance in my presence.
“I’ll just… go.” I fumble with the doorknob. It won’t budge. “Brilliant….”
“What’s wrong?”
“The door’s jammed.” I jiggle the doorknob, hoping it’ll miraculously give.
“Typical. What are you doing in the U.S.?”
“What’s typical?” I turn to her. “There’s nothing typical about it.”
She shrugs. “It’s just my luck. Every time I come to a party, something goes wrong. Last time, some dickhead spilled wine all over my dress. The time before that, I got stuck in an elevator with a dude who wouldn’t stop talking about his pet ferret. Now I know everything about ferrets. I hate the beasts… Do you have a pet ferret?”
“What? No, I don’t have a… Look, I’m sorry I caused your bad luck tonight.”
“It’s not your fault. We’ll have to wait it out, I guess. Unless you break down the door. Hmm… If you had a trained ferret, you could slip it under the door, and… no, it wouldn’t work—ferrets are way too big for that. So what’s your story?
What brings you here? By the way…" She lifts a thick book off her lap. "Look what I've found. The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. I got to chapter three. It's wonderful!"
“One of my favorites, too.” I manage a feeble grin. “And I don’t want to break the door.”
“Fair enough. When did you come to the US? Do you like it here?”
“I’m an American. My parents sent me to a boarding school in England when I was a kid, and I kind of picked up the accent. I still live there. Just finished college.”
“Oxford?”
“Cambridge. I’m visiting my parents here. You think you could… finish what you’re doing?”
“Oh, I’m not doing anything. I sit here as an excuse for not joining the others.”
“Avoiding the party downstairs?”
“This extrovert is ready for some introvert time.”
“I get that. I'll call someone downstairs to help us out.” I pull out my phone. But when I try unlocking it, it doesn't react. "Impossible."
"Dead battery? Happens to me all the time."
"I remember putting it on the charger last night."
"My bad luck seems to be following you."
"Do you have a phone?"
"I left it in my jacket downstairs. I’ve been trying to get off the damn thing. You know—social media and stuff. I trained myself not to pull it out at parties, but I’m still too weak-willed to leave it at home."
"Brilliant..."
“We can yell. Maybe someone will hear us. Or we can take turns reading the book to each other. Your accent is straight out of Downton Abbey, guv’nor.”
That makes me laugh. I steal another glimpse at her slender legs. “Um… If you’re done, could you possibly—”
“Oh, I forgot. You wanted to go.” She gets up, and her dress falls down her legs. “Go ahead. It’s all yours.”
"Uhm…"
"Go on, don’t hold. It’s unhealthy."
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“I can’t do my business while you’re watching.”
She bursts into laughter. “Shy bladder?”
“Kind of…”
She puts the book on the vanity and steps into the bathtub behind the shower screen. I can see only her silhouette through the frosted glass, but I hear her voice. “There. I can’t see you. Better?”
“I guess.” I hesitate before moving to the toilet.
The sound of running water comes from behind the screen. She must have turned on the shower to mask any potential noise I might make.
“Thanks,” I mumble.
“No problem. We’re in this together.”
When I flush and wash my hands, she turns off the shower and comes out. She’s soaked through, shaking, the wet dress clinging tightly to her body. I avert my eyes, feeling suddenly self-conscious.
Chapter 2
“What were you thinking?” I grab a towel and toss it to her.
She shrugs and begins drying her hair. “I was trying to help.”
I reach out and touch her cheek. “You’re ice cold and you're shivering.”
“I guess I… should’ve used warm water.”
I force myself not to comment, turning my attention to the door. I try to banish the image of her nipples showing through the damp, thin dress.
“You sure you can’t kick the door open?”
“It opens to the inside. And it’s solid wood.”
“Or you’re just too weak.”
I turn to her with an angry retort on the tip of my tongue, but she looks so miserable that I change my mind. “You’re shaking. Take off the dress and dry yourself properly. Or you’ll catch a cold. I’ll get you a clean towel.” I rummage through the cabinet, find a bath towel, and hand it to her.
“You know it’s a myth?” Her lips quiver as she forms the words.
“Take it off.” I turn away from her to give her some privacy. “What myth?”
“That you can get sick from cold water. You get it from viruses, not the cold. Although when you’re cold, your immune system—”
“Yes, well, right now you’re shaking like crazy, so I’d rather not take any chances.” I keep my back to her as I hear her undressing and toweling herself dry.
Something wet touches my hand. “Can you wring it out, please?”
I bring the wet dress to the sink and squeeze it tightly. Then I pull it apart to stretch it flat over the shower curtain. The sound of tearing makes me freeze. “Oh, no… I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s okay,” she sounds amused despite the catastrophe.
“I’m terribly sorry. I can… I’ll pay to replace it.”
“Don’t worry. This dress was never my favorite. Let’s figure out our exit before something else goes wrong. Oh, and you can look. I’m no longer naked.”
She’s wrapped in a towel that barely reaches her thighs. Her hair, damp and pulled back, reveals her face. Her beauty is undeniable—the delicate shape of her lips, large brown eyes looking at me with amused curiosity. “Something wrong?” She tilts her head.
“The party downstairs… I wondered if you could dance in this… outfit.”
"Dance in a towel?" She flashes a cheeky grin. “Think I should give it a try?”
“When we get out of here, at least.” I turn to fight the doorknob one more time.
Meanwhile, she fumbles through a cabinet, searching for anything that could be of use. She pulls out a few bottles of toiletries, a pack of razors, and a hairbrush. “Nothing to help us escape, but we’ll be well-groomed.” She starts brushing her long hair.
“I think it might be the time we yell for help.”
“Okay. You first.”
We take turns shouting, but since the loud music downstairs is barely audible up here, it’s unlikely anyone will hear us from the top floor.
After a while, we give up. With our backs against the wall, we pant from the effort.
“C’est la vie.” She sounds unbothered.
We lapse into silence for a while.
Then she hums a tune—a melancholic melody. “Know this song?”
I nod, recognizing it from the radio.
“Want to sing with me?”
Despite the odd situation, I join in. Two strangers locked in a bathroom, singing a sad song at the top of their lungs is absurd, yet comforting. We laugh, then sing other songs until our voices turn hoarse and the tension dissipates.
The last song ends, and we stare at each other, as if for the first time. Her eyes crinkle at the corners when she smiles, her lips forming a gentle curve, inviting me to move closer.
"The window!" Her sudden blurt makes me freeze, thoughts of getting closer forgotten. "We can try the window. It’s too small to get out, but people are bound to be outside. We can ask them to open the door."
“Sure,” I force a reply.
She steps on the bathtub’s edge trying to push up the tiny window. As she raises her arms, her towel rides up, no longer fully covering her buttocks. “Can you help me?”
I don’t move. I’m too preoccupied with what I see. Her bra is not the only thing she forgot to wear.
“Little help here, please?”
“Right.” I get into the bathtub. I’m tall enough to reach the window without risking the unstable position she took.
“Together.” She steadies herself.
“Let me try first.”
As soon as she pulls her hands away, her balance falters and she tips backward.
I grab for her, but instead I snag the towel. Arms flailing, she spins out of it and teeters for a split second before tumbling into my embrace. Our gazes lock. We remain speechless, entangled in an intimate pose, her nude form cradled against me. Through my t-shirt, I feel the warmth radiating from her bare skin.
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