The woman broke the awkward silence a half minute into the elevator stoppage. “My name’s Jamie, and the first one of you to look below my chin gets Fu Man Chu in the ouchie-ma-mas.”

One of the men burst out laughing, the other looked at the ceiling. Laughing man said, “I think you might mean Taekwondo, but the ‘owchie-ma-mas’ works.” He smiled at Jamie. “My name’s B.T.”

“Hello, B.T.”

The ceiling starer asked, “What if my shoe needs tied.”

“Kick ‘em off right now,” Jamie commanded, her stare leaving him no options.

“Smart man, there …” B.T. waited for the man to introduce himself.

“Maurice.”

Jamie smiled, “What, you cause your Mother a lot of delivery pain, she pinned that name on you?”

“It was her father’s name. He died.”

“Bet I know why. Sorry,” Jamie added with a face-contorting grimace.

B.T. choked back a chuckle.

“Jamie, Maurice, either of you have cell phone signal?” B.T. asked as he put his phone away.

Both checked, shaking their heads

“By the way, Jamie, that is a very nice chin. You should be proud.” B.T. grinned the successful kid-in-the-cookie jar smile.

Jamie figured him for exceptional peripheral vision.

“I was trying to decide whether yours was Kirk Douglas or Dudley Do-right.” Without breaking stride, Jamie spoke to Maurice, but kept her eyes glued on B.T., “You can put your briefcase down, Maurice, neither one of us is going to steal it.”

Maurice began to lower his eyes to make sure the case wouldn’t bother either of the other two.

“Uh-uh-uh. Ouchie-ma-mas.” Jamie tucked her head, looking to Maurice through her eyebrows, causing him to snap his head back up. He opted to continue holding his case.

“So, what’s south of your chin that we might risk our progeny, dare I ask?” B.T. asked, a smile in his eyes.

“Now if I told you, how could I stop you both from … never mind. I slopped my dripper at lunch.”

Maurice’s eyes darted to the right, toward Jamie, stopped cold by her furrowed brow.

“A friend of mine on fourteen has a spare blouse.”

“The fourteenth.” B.T. thought for a moment. “Sandra Cullum.”

“How’d you …” Jamie eyed B.T., wondering how in the world he could have known, but refused to give in to asking.

“Slopped your dripper?” B.T. repeated, the slightest hint of a question in his voice.

“Quid pro,” Jamie said, simply.

B.T.’s eyes questioned her.

“You tell her how you came up with Sandra, she’ll tell you about the cherry tomato,” Maurice said, an exaggerated grin on his face.

“You …”

“No, I didn’t look,” Maurice claimed in defense, making an obvious squirming, sideways move. “I saw you when you got on. Fresh tomato because it’s too thin to be paste, too faint to be wine, and besides, there’s no wine aroma. And … there’s a seed.”

Jamie tucked her head to look for herself. Impressed, she awarded a point for using aroma instead of smell or odor. She glanced toward B.T. to see where he was looking. Seeing that he was behaving himself, she exclaimed, “No, I wasn’t chewing with my mouth open. My table mate … anyway. That little sucker popped like a water balloon. Then, was when I dripped my own slopper.”

As B.T. reached a hand to his mouth, he said, “Gotta watch those cherry tomatoes. I had one blow out a tooth.” As he finished, he pulled out a front tooth that was obviously affixed on a post. His grin was infectious.

“Guess I have ta yank off my wooden leg to top that,” Maurice said.

“I’d better not see any … never mind.” Jamie self-censored.

“Sandra Cullum?” Jamie reminded B.T. that he was to spill it.

“Delightful woman. Everyone’s go to.”

“So, you work with her?”

“Round about. I’m on fifteen.”

Jamie nodded.

“I knew someone named Cullum. And I have a sister-in-law named Sandra. And get this, her daughters are fourteen and fifteen.” Maurice grinned. “But I’m not pulling a tooth just to get a smile.” He started to cross his arms over his chest, but checked himself when he realized he still held his briefcase.

“Put down the briefcase, Maurice. “We’re not going to steal it.” Jamie offered Maurice a sisterly grin.

“Unless you have a flying monkey in there.”

B.T. chuckled. “A Frank Baum fan, are you?”

“Be surprised where a yellow brick road might lead,” Jamie replied.

“The fourteenth floor of the Simpleton Building.”

“I’m on the twelfth,” Maurice began, but before he could inform them that the twelfth was the floor below the fourteenth, both Jamie and B.T. simultaneously cut him off with “We know.”

“You owe me a Coke,” B.T. simultaneous to Jamie’s declaring “Jinks.” They both knew that the expressions were synonymous, smiling at one another.

Jamie noticed that the tooth had been restored and she couldn’t tell which front tooth it was.

“The left one,” B.T. offered, noticing her stare.

“Oh, sorry. I was …”

“Transfixed. What do you do?” B.T. asked.

“Software. That’s why I’m here. I have a two o’clock presentation on fourteen. Sandra’s been a family friend forever. Matter of fact, it was a conversation with her, that I thought of the concept. So, naturally, I developed it with her company in mind.”

 “Weather forecasting,” Maurice interjected.

With a Popeye half squinched face, Jamie told Maurice that he was wrong, but close without elaborating.

Jamie checked her phone for the time. With a grimace she said as how she’d hoped for a few minutes to brush up on her spiel.

“Why don’t you practice on us?” B.T. offered. “Pretend we’re the board, or whoever, and you have fallen into a mud hole, your blouse is a total wreck. Which it is not, by-the-way. A man would have to be a complete idiot …” Thinking of Maurice’s feelings a moment too late, B.T. stopped before saying idiot.

“Ah, come on, Jamie. I’ll let you pet my flying monkey.”

Watching Maurice redden at his potential faux pas, the other two let it wither.

Jamie confidently moved to a corner of the elevator and thrust out her chest as she turned to face the two men. “Now, on this wall is my Power Point.” She mimicked a Vana White of Wheel-of-Fortune two-armed movement. “You’re sure about this?” she asked, watching closely for tells that she would read to stop.

“Please,” B.T. said, convincing her to proceed with her presentation of software that would enable smart phone pictures to automatically transfer to identified devices within a WIFI system. It had great potential application for investigators, insurance claims adjusters, law enforcement, even school systems.

“Bravo, Miss Jamie! Bravo!” B.T. exclaimed as she finished.

Maurice clapped his hands. "And I hardly looked at the tomato stain at all!”

Jamie gave him a friendly through-the-brow glare.

“The power point demonstrated how easy the application worked.”

“Well, Jamie, you would have sold me! How about letting me repay you for your work? Say dinner this Saturday evening?”

Jamie offered him her business card. “Call me this evening after seven, or so, and give me a chance to let a gentleman down gently.” She smiled at B.T.

Suddenly, the elevator began its climb.

Maurice bade both of them well at the twelfth.

At the fourteenth floor, the door opened to an awaiting Sandra Cullum. “Oh, I see, you’ve met. I guess this means that you won’t be needing this top?”

Jamie was a bit confused, but thanked Sandra in any case. “No, I’m afraid I missed the appointment,” Jamie said.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that, Miss, uh …” B.T. looked at the card. “Jasmine.”

“Sandra, would you give me about ten minutes with Frank in procurement and then bring Jam … Miss Jasmine to us. Jamie, Sandra might be able to find you that Coke I owe you.”

Sandra looked back and forth to Jamie and B.T. “Yes sir, Mr. Tolliver.”

“B.T. … William Tolliver?” Jamie asked through her brows.

“At your service, madam.” B.T. tipped his head, his hand motion as if tipping a hat. “Honestly, I didn’t know until you began your presentation. Ten minutes?”

Jamie offered a hint of a bow and tipped hat, a huge smile on her face.