Damsel in Distress!
Catherine Greitzer

                    There I was, on a hot, muggy late afternoon in New York literally stuck in my apartment. It was dinnertime and I was all ready to go out and do some food shopping and I couldn’t get the front door open! I twisted and tugged with all my might but nothing—the door wouldn’t budge. I didn’t know what to do!  My live-in boyfriend was out raising money for a new show we were doing, so he wasn’t near a phone. It was rush hour, so all my other friends would be on trains in transit on their way home. My windows were too high up to jump to the street and there wasn’t even a fire escape. I tried the door several times, paced around the apartment and finally figured I’d better call the police. I went into the bedroom, which I had painted the week before a bright brick color. In the heat and humidity, the room was uncomfortable, but I sat on the bed and called the New York City police department.

            “Ya what?”

            “I can’t get out of my apartment.”

            “Lady, don’t ya have a key?”

            “No, I’m not locked out of my apartment, I’m locked in. I can’t get out the front door. It’s stuck!”

            I felt like an idiot and I’m sure the sergeant thought I was pulling his leg. He told me he couldn’t help me and to try the fire department. So, I called the fire department, told them the situation and they said they’d be right there. Great, I thought!

       It was a little after five-thirty in the afternoon. I lived on Watts Street just above Soho which is the street that leads to the Holland Tunnel. All the traffic using the tunnel from Manhattan to New Jersey had to travel along our little street. During rush hour, the street was no longer a quaint, cobblestone and brick lane, but a crowded, congested thoroughfare crammed with not two lanes but at least four. People sometimes drove up on the sidewalk just to get into the tunnel a little ahead of someone else or maybe get home three minutes earlier. I looked down from my third- story living room window and saw the madhouse down there: traffic was stacked up, horns rudely honking.

            The next thing I know, sliding down the street with ease, comes this humungous red fire engine blaring it’s siren. Cars moved to the left to allow it to stop at my door. Not only that, but up came an official New York City firefighter ladder and it was aimed at my window. I mean, I knew they were coming, but somehow I didn’t expect this! I stepped back into the room and in through my window bounded a tall handsome man dressed in suspenders, and high boots. My, he was virile! He had thick, dark curly hair, wet with perspiration and dark eyes to knock your socks off. For some unexplained reason, I immediately felt like a princess in a tower! I don’t know what came over me; I was always so practical, so able to take care of myself, but somehow having this big, rugged man come in through my window and stand six-foot tall in my living room, I felt giddy and overly feminine, like I was tittering around in spiked high heels! I fluttered out what the problem was and this gallant man went over to try to open my front door.

            Outside in the hall, I could hear his fellow firefighters talking and moving about. I thought maybe there were a two or three of them. He told them to push the door when he pulled. (I remained in the background in my high heels!) After several minutes, the door burst open and in rushed five more firemen, again dressed for duty in their suspenders and high boots. They were all boyish and muscular.

            “Oh! Thank you! Thank you so much! “ I gushed. “I couldn’t get it open and I tried and I tried. Last week the same thing happened, my boyfriend and I couldn’t get out of the bedroom all day----“         

            They all stared at me and smiled: big, beautiful manly smiles.

            “Oh, I mean, well, we finally did get out of the bedroom—“

            A couple of them snickered. I felt like I was wearing something from Frederick’s of Hollywood.

            “Do you have a bar of soap?” asked the Knight in Shining Armor.                               
              I was puzzled, but I gave him what he asked for. He took the soap and rubbed it around the edges of the door

            “Why are you doing that?” I asked him.

         He looked directly at me and said, “I smelled that you’ve recently painted the apartment. When you painted, you painted the edges of the doors and the doorjambs. In the heat and humidity, the paint swelled. That’s why the door stuck,” he told me kindly. His eyes sparkled and his strong white teeth showed when he smiled

            I felt so embarrassed.

         “Oh. My. God. I can’t believe it! Well, thank you! I’m sure sorry to bring all you guys up here for just that!”

            They smiled, a few laughed a little but said that it was okay, no problem, that was their job and so on. I watched as they filed down the hall, their broad shoulders and strong arms showed beneath their green tee shirts I listened as their friendly banter disappeared out into the street. The man with the dark eyes went out the way he came in, through the window. He was extremely agile despite his big black boots.

            When they all left, I was alone again. I was finally able to leave my apartment, but somehow I didn’t want to just yet. I lay down on the ruby red comforter on my bed. I lay down, closed my eyes and just imagined.