Page 15 of Lucky Night

Will you focus? Be here, with him, in this room. Where your luck may have run out. Did that alarm ring three times? Four? They should have called down. She knows too much about fires. She did a lot of research when she was writing the fire that destroys Wilderkill at the end of the trilogy. (Suck it, weirdo production designer!) Immersed herself in it, in fact, ending up with far more knowledge than she needed to torch a crumbling mansion.

Ten Famous Buildings Destroyed by Fire.

Notable Infernos Through the Ages.

The Twenty Deadliest Building Fires. Click to view slideshow!

Now she remembers something. You aren’t supposed to evacuate a high-rise during a fire. Not if it’s a new building. Hey, there’s a useful tidbit plucked from the rabbit hole! Fire codes are so strict now, buildings so well-made, you’re safer sheltering in place.

Okay! So they’re right where they should be. That’s reassuring.

Unless she’s wrong, and they should have left. The alarm a warning, part of a grand plan. Her bill’s come due, and it’s time, at long last, for her to know what it means to suffer.

The Lord does love a fire.

Hey. He’s stopped moving. Where are you?

What?

He brushes her hair back from her face. Where are you, Jenny? Where’d yougo?

Said so gently. So kindly! She can’t help it—her eyes fill with tears.

Oh, honey! he says. What’s wrong?

Honey. She can’t bear it. She wipes away the tears. I’m okay. I’m fine.

He doesn’t believe her. He waits. Face so close to hers she can’t look away.

I’m sorry, she says. It’s just…I’m afraid of fire. Really afraid.

He nods. He kisses her.

Then let’s get the hell out of here.

She feels him leave her. He sits up, starts looking around for his clothes. Not aggrieved, not reluctant in the least. Willing to set aside what he wants in order to soothe her fears instead.

Who is this generous, easy man?

You don’t mind? she says.

He shrugs. I’d rather stay, but so what? It’s early. We can get something to eat, then come back and resume normal operations.

She feels a rush of gratitude. She wants to take it all back—we can stay, it’s no big deal, I’m being a ninny. She’s been given what she wants, so of course now she has to try to thrust it back to the giver with both hands.

What about sushi? he says. I could go for sushi.

Let him do this for you. You’ll feel better if you know, if you run down and check.

We’ll eat, then we’ll stop by the party. He’s pulling on his pants. You can introduce me to Herve. We’ll tell him I’m your cousin. Or your close personal manicurist.

She searches for her bra among the bedding. They’ll check with the front desk, be reassured that it’s a system test, a glitch in the wiring, and she’ll stop thinking about God and guilt and Jewish children in Brooklyn.

Even better, he says. You go into the bar on your own, start hanging with the Herve coterie, talking about, whatever, split ends, the Hippocratic oath, and I’ll slink in later, in my trench coat, and leer at you from the bar.

She reaches for her blouse. You sure know how to make a girl feel sexy.

What can I say? It’s a gift. So I leer, you join me—drawn by my oily charm—I buy you a drink and put a hand up your skirt, we sidle out to the alley, where I rip off your clothes—

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