Page 107 of Lucky Night

CNN is showing an aerial view of the scene. There’s the building. No flames are visible from overhead, but plenty of smoke, streaming up two sides.

That’s plenty distressing. But what stuns him is the scene on the ground.

The blocks surrounding the building are jammed to a standstill with vehicles and equipment. Three, four, five blocks in each direction clogged, this late at night, with what must be hundreds of cars, trucks, ambulances. And people—so many tiny figures clustered, or running. Hundreds? No, thousands.

Thousands of people.

It’s Times Square on New Year’s Eve. It’s a shot from an old disaster movie.

Midtown is shut down.

New York City is shut down.

This is not okay.

His mouth is dry. He sips his wine. Brian is describing and assessing, for the edification of viewers at home. Safe viewers, gloating, warming their hands over this toasty little—

You love what you do, he says. Right?

She turns to him, surprised by the question. Ido.

You do. He nods. You enjoy writing. That’s good.

Yes, she says. I mean—it’s hard.

I don’t doubtit.

I’m on my own in this fake world I’ve created. Trying to make it plausible. And I have no idea if I’m succeeding.

He nods, eyes on the screen. There’s the aerial shot again. It must be from a helicopter or a drone. More tiny vehicles are approaching, crawling along the perimeter.

You do what you love, he says. That’s great.

His glass is empty. When did that happen? The camera cuts to a shot of the mayor, standing a few blocks from the hotel, nodding and listening to a fire chief of some kind. That intersection was mayor-free when he’d hurried through it earlier. When was that, ten hours ago, eleven? He’d left work early, telling his associates he was headed to the airport. It was freezing out. The streets were filled with that gray-purple light that saturates Manhattan around four o’clock in winter. But he was humming. He was light of heart. Because Jenny was coming.

He strode toward the building. She hadn’t canceled. In fact, she’d texted:train on time. see you soon.

He passed through the doors of the hotel. Checkedin.

Jenny was coming. It had been so long.

He came upstairs. Let himself into the room. Brushed his teeth. Chilled the champagne.

Every step, leading him to this moment.

He hasn’t tried the fire department in a while. The damn phone is charged enough—he unplugs it and brings it with him to the end of the bed. He dials.

Busy.

I take it you don’t? she says.

What’s that?

You don’t love what youdo.

Oh, he says. No. It’s fine, but…it’s a job.

Guests inside the hotel are cautioned that social media sites are being swamped with misinformation concerning the severity of the fire and the availability of escape routes. In fact, we’ve learned that a video we aired earlier, purporting to be a man trapped on the thirty-seventh floor, appears to be a hoax. We apologize for any confusion.

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