Page 16 of Lucky Night

He is interrupted by a short, piercing chirp.

They lookup.

The smoke detector above the bed chirps again.

They hear a faint, buzzing static.

Then:

May I have your attention, please. May I have your attention.

A statement, not a request.

The voice is a man’s. Bronx-accented. Calm, yet firm.

This is your fire safety director speaking. An alarm has been triggered on the fifth floor of the building. The New York City Fire Department is currently en route to investigate the incident.

Oh no, she whispers. No nono.

It’s fine, Jenny, it’s—

There is no need to evacuate at this time. We ask that guests remain in their rooms to facilitate access of fire personnel to stairwells and hallways. We apologize for any inconvenience. Further announcements will be made shortly.

Another chirp.

Then silence.

Part Two

Criminal Conversation

Three

The voice stops, the smoke detector lets off another weird little chirp, and he’s already halfway around the bed, reaching for the phone.

I’m sure it’s nothing, he says. I’ll just call down and ask for a few details.

She watches him, heart in her throat. She tries to avoid canned phrases like that when she writes, clichés and tired flourishes, but you know what, this one works, it pretty much exactly describes how her heart feels right now, stuffed way up in a space too small for it, hammering wildly, desperate to escape.

And go where, heart?

What’s the plan?

Hello, he says into the phone, this is…yes, I’ll hold.

He rolls his eyes at her like,these people.He must not be the only guest who, while sure it’s nothing, decided to call down for a few details. In dozens—hundreds?—of rooms like this one, up and down and all around, they stand at identical bedside tables, hold identical receivers, not nervous, not frickingsaturatedwith apprehension, oh no. These chill information seekers are simply exercising their right as paying guests to ask questions, and to have those questions—

Yes, he says. This is Nicholas Holloway in room…that’s right. I’m not bad, thanks, but I am a little curious about…exactly.

Look at him. Phone to his ear, brow furrowed. Listening, nodding.

Mm-hmm, he says. Hmm. Mm-hmm.

This must be what he does every day. Standing in his office, astride the world, making calls, assessing the evidence. Asserting his prerogatives. Not shirtless and barefoot with his fly undone, but otherwise? Exactly like this.

I understand, he says, but surely…no no, you go ahead.

She makes fun of such men all the time. Makes fun, or rages against them. The supremely, oh-so-naturally entitled males of the species, with their brimming confidence, their—look at that wide stance, the fist on his hip!—power poses. Presented with a general announcement, anything preceded by aMay I have your attentionor, especially, any kind of chime or bell? Forget it. Those are for plebes, darling. No, these exalted beings will call down by God, they will insist on bespoke replies to their, let’s face it, probably pretty basic questions. They take their outsize portion as their due without a thought, a qualm. They’re infuriating.

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