One of the advantages to working on the fifty-first floor of a Manhattan tower is the view, always assuming you're senior enough in the firm, in my case Pearson's Public Relations, to warrant a room with a window. As a comparatively recent recruit, I was not yet in that position. For me, the comparative isolation of working three hundred yards about street level, brought merely solitude, phones, e-mail and teleconferencing notwithstanding. I often felt cut off from the world and made a point of eating lunch out, something my obsessive colleagues seldom did. I didn't enjoy eating alone, however, and trying to persuade people who worked fourteen hours each day to join me was never easy.

      That all changed after Rob McKellan arrived. A Scot, Rob hailed from a nation that still understood the need for a break from working. I was glad to find him in on this particular July Friday, when most of our colleagues had taken off for a long weekend to make the best of the Fourth of July celebrations. It would be their only concession to relaxation between now and Labor Day. Rob, finding no particular reason to celebrate the Fourth, was happy to stay put, saving his days for what he called a proper holiday.

      Arriving in the office at eight thirty as usual, my first act was to visit Rob's office and invite him to lunch with me. I confess, it wasn't because he was the only willing taker most days, but I genuinely enjoyed his company. Okay, if I'm going to be honest about it, my feelings ran rather deeper than that. I cared what he thought about things, and especially about me. For example, at the end of his first week at Pearson's, he had, under the influence of a little too much booze, declared himself a legs man when it came to women. After that, I invariably wore a jacket and skirt suit around him rather than pants, making sure my heels were high enough to give my calves that elegant curvature that men seem to admire so much. It worked: I frequently caught Rob admiring my pins when he thought I wasn't looking.

      "Lunch. Definitely," he said, his soft Scottish brogue easy on the ear. "Let's try that new place on Third Street, opposite the fast food joint that smells like they've got fried yak on the menu."

      "Luigi's," I supplied, grinning at his humor.

      "That is so staggeringly original," he said, rolling his eyes. "How do you think he came up with it?"

      "Twelve. Okay?"

      "It's a date." He flashed me his most charming smile.

      "A day date only," I countered.

      "Of course. Oh, and on the way, if you don't mind, I'd like to pick up a backpack and some paraphernalia to put in it."

      "Thinking of camping?"

      "Hiking, in the Rockies. Next weekend, when the silly season is over."

      "Wise man," I said, and returned to my windowless office.

      With only a skeleton staff, most of the incoming calls were routed to me, running me off my feet until Rob appeared in my doorway and tapped his watch. "Are you standing me up, Claire?"

      "What? Oh my God, is it really that late? I'm sorry. Let's get out of here before the phone rings again."

      We called in at an Army Surplus Store en route to Luigi's where Rob found a backpack and cooking utensils, including a water bottle and a kettle for making proper tea, as he referred to it. "Not that lukewarm slop you yanks like to drink."

      We reached Luigi's to find it packed, and had to wait fifteen minutes for a table. They finally wedged us in, almost literally, at the back of the room. "Must remember to book next time," Rob commented. We drank water to quench our thirsts, then ordered wine. I was on my second glass by the time the food arrived and feeling a bit tipsy. The Linguini al Pesto was excellent and worth the wait, but by the time we'd finished, it was almost two o'clock. "We'd better get back," I said.

      "Yeah. Just a quick visit to the little boy's room first," Rob said, and rose.

      "I'd better see if I can find the one for we girls."

      "Well, if you can't, you can always join me."

      "How gallant."

      We threaded our way across the still-busy restaurant to reach the bathrooms. When I stepped inside, my heart sank. A dozen women were lining up for two stalls, which probably meant a wait of ten minutes. Joining the line would make us seriously late getting back to the office, so I decided I could wait. I returned to the restaurant just as Rob emerged from the Gents -- clearly no waiting for him. Adjusting his backpack, he indicated the door. "Shall we go?"

      "Wish I could," I muttered, too softly for him to hear.

      The walk back took about fifteen minutes, during which my need for the bathroom steadily increased. With mild shock, I realized my last visit had been just after arriving in the office, so coupled with the wine and water over lunch, it was hardly surprising that my poor bladder was starting to protest.

      Stepping from the hot afternoon sun into the air-conditioned lobby of our building only heightened my desire to pee. My heels clicked loudly on the marble floor as I hastened toward the elevator. Rob stood aside, allowing me to enter first, then followed me in. He pressed the button for our floor and we began our rapid ascent. "Next stop, fifty-first floor," he declared in a nasal voice. "Women's apparel and lingerie."

      "You wish," I said, trying to keep my voice light while doing battle with my throbbing abdomen.

      "It would certainly help to keep me awake," Rob admitted.

      I smiled dutifully, but my thoughts were focused almost entirely on my proximity to a bathroom. Unbidden, my treacherous brain was sending out signals of imminent relief, making my need to pee grow in leaps and bounds until it became so bad that I could hardly stand still.

      Then, suddenly, midway between the seventeenth and eighteenth floors, the elevator abruptly stopped. A loud grinding noise came from above and the lights winked out. Emergency lighting flickered on a moment later. The shock made my heart pound, and for an awful moment I thought I was actually going to wet myself.

      "Oh crap," Rob said as he recovered his balance. "Looks like we've broken down."

      "An accurate if somewhat obvious statement," I remarked, unintentionally sounding sharp with him.

      "Right. Sorry. Let's get some help," he said, and opened a panel on the wall to retrieve the emergency phone. "Hello?" he spoke into the mouthpiece, then took the handset away from his ear. "The phone's out too," he informed me.

      I felt the muscles in my abdomen turn to jelly. "What are we going to do?" I asked, sounding rather pathetic, even to my own ear.

      Rob waggled his eyebrows. "Not to worry. I've got my celluloid phone with me."

      "Don't you mean cellular?"

      "My mother, bless her heart, always insisted it was celluloid. How can I argue with that?"

      "Fine," I said shortly, too worried about my aching bladder to be amused.

      Rob frowned at me for a moment as he waited for his call to go through. "Hello? Yes, is that building maintenance? I'd like to report an elevator out of order." After a pause, he added, "What, all of them? Really? Oh. So when do you think--?" Another pause. "Why so long?"

      That sounded ominous. I crossed my legs as discretely as I could, hoping the news would not be as bad as it sounded. In fact, it turned out to be worse.

      "Right, the holidays," Rob was saying. "Okay, but hurry it up if you can."

      He broke the connection and looked at me. "They say the company that repairs the elevators in this building has all its vehicles out on call, and they can't get to us for maybe an hour, perhaps even longer."

      "Oh my God," I whispered, realizing that I was now really in trouble.

      "Oh, don't worry, Claire. I'll regale you with tales of Aberdeen and the bonnie Highlands. The time will pass in a jiffy."

      "You don't understand," I said, my cheeks flushing as I prepared myself for my embarrassing admission. "I need to go to the bathroom."

      "But I thought you just went at the restaurant?"

      "I did. I mean, I tried, but there was a long line in the Ladies and I didn't want to make us too late getting back."

      "Oh," he said. "Well, we're certainly going to be late now," he observed, glancing down at my crossed legs. "Are you going to be all right? I mean, can you wait?"

      "For an hour? I don't know. I doubt it."

      "Oh hell," he said, then fell silent.

      He continued watching as I bent my right leg and planted my foot against the wall, turning my knee inward and simultaneously curling my toes inside my shoes. I was really desperate to pee, but I didn't want to admit to Rob just how bad it was, not yet anyway; not unless I really had to. It was so awkward, being stuck inside this confined space with him and feeling so vulnerable.

      Apparently divining my thoughts, Rob said in a gentle, reassuring voice, "Don't worry. You'll be fine. They'll have us out of here in no time."

      I nodded, wishing I could believe this little fiction, but I feared that I wouldn't be fine at all.

      As the minutes passed, I was forced to start pacing back and forth in the tiny space, arms folded across my stomach, releasing the occasional gasp and moan as the pressure on my distended bladder went on increasing.

      After twenty minutes of this, I had to face up to the fact that i only had two choices, neither of them palatable: either I could lift my skirt and squat down in front of Rob to pee on the floor, or I could keep putting it off until I was finally forced to wet myself.

      "Oh, oh God," I finally exclaimed, then drew in a sharp breath through clenched teeth. "I can't wait much longer, Rob. What am I going to do?"

      I turned to again find him watching my legs, apparently mesmerized by the way I was squirming and dancing to suppress my terrible desire to pee. "Could you pay attention for a second?" I demanded irritably. "I'm bursting here and I need help!"

      Rob cleared his throat, and said, "Of course. Sorry."

      He sounded a little injured, so despite my frustrating discomfort, I made myself sound less confrontational. "It's okay," I said, squeezing out the words. "You're a legs man, right." He nodded mutely, so I went on, "Well, I hope you like them wet, because that's what they're going to be in a minute."

      "I'm sorry," Rob repeated, obviously feeling rather awkward by this time. "I wish there was something I could do to help, but I can't."

      My bladder muscles suddenly spasmed, trying to force me to release several pints of pee. The contraction was so violent that it almost overpowered me, and I was forced to bend at the waist and thrust my hands under my skirt, pressing on my crotch to help me keep it in. I was absolutely bursting, and knew I was only moments away from losing control. Even so, my upbringing compelled me to keep fighting, even though I knew it was ultimately useless.

      Aware that I was finally out of time, I was just steeling myself to ask Rob to turn his back while I pulled down my panties and pantyhose and urinated on the floor, when he slapped his brow with his palm and exclaimed, "Oh crap! Why didn't I think of that before?"

      "Think of what?" I asked in a small, panicky voice, still holding my crotch and right on the verge of wetting myself.

      In answer, he opened his backpack and produced the water bottle he had purchased at lunchtime. "Do you think you could pee into this?"

      I stared at the bottle, noting the wide neck. Whimpering as I struggled not to lose it now that there was a glimmer of hope, I nodded briskly, took one hand away from my crotch and held it out for the bottle. Rob handed it over, but instead of doing the honorable thing and turning to face the wall to give me a modicum of privacy, he went on staring.

      "Do you want to watch?" I snapped.

      He looked as if I had just slapped his face and quickly turned away. I realized that I could dimly see his reflection in the stainless steel wall, and that he could therefore see me, but I no longer cared; I was just too frantic to pee.

      I unscrewed the cap and, holding the bottle in one hand, I contrived to lift my skirt with the other and tugged my panties and pantyhose down to my knees. I squatted, placing the bottle beneath me just as pee exploded out of me with all the force of water erupting from a fire hose. Some of it missed the opening, so I quickly repositioned the bottle until it was catching virtually all of it.

      The force was so great that I felt the bottle shudder in my hand, growing rapidly heavier. As I filled it, I let out a long, heartfelt sigh as the agonizing pressure on my bladder began to ease. When the flow was more manageable, I sank to my knees and hung my head, relishing the colossal relief as I emptied myself. By the time I was done, I'd filled the bottle to within an inch of the top.

      With trembling fingers, I screwed the cap back into place, set the bottle down on the floor, and rose unsteadily to my feet. I adjusted my underwear, smoothed down my skirt and straightened up, hoping to recover a semblance of dignity.

      "Can I turn around now?" Rob asked.

      I nodded, realized he couldn't see me (or so he wanted me to think), and said, "Sure."

      His gaze fell to the bottle standing on the floor at my feet. For a few seconds, neither of us spoke. Before we could find our voices, the main lights flickered on and the elevator resumed its interrupted ascent. Rob quickly snatched up the bottle and tucked it inside his backpack, saying, "No need for anyone else to see that."

      "Thank you," I said with genuine gratitude. "I can dispose of the bottle if you like."

      "No need," he said, grinning as we stepped off the elevator and headed for the main doors of the office. "I think I'll substitute it for the Glenlivet in Pearson's liquor cabinet. I bet the old fraud doesn't even notice the difference."

      I laughed at the joke, although given Rob's sense of humor, I wouldn't have put it past him to actually do it.