Page 22 of Lucky Night

Oh my God, stop waggling it atme!

That’s not me, he says. It’s the patriarchy. The patriarchy is waggling my dick at you.

Yeah, well, the patriarchy can kiss my ass, she says.

That’ll work too. Roll over and…where are you going now?

Because she’s out of bed once more, reaching for something on the sofa.

Four

She holds up her phone. Just want to check on the boys.

He heads for the bathroom, leaving her to it. She drifts toward the window, tapping and swiping.

But as soon as she hears the door slide shut, she walks back across the plush carpeting. She doesn’t tiptoe, she’s not absurd, but she does walk…carefully.

To the door of the room.

Where she leans in, close to the doorjamb, and sniffs.

Very quietly.

No smoke. Good. That’s excellent.

But let’s just confirm…

She sniffs again. A big old inhale, low and slow.

Nothing. Great!

That’s what she expected, of course, but great.

She sneaks past the bathroom again, eyes on her—whoops, she loses her balance, wobbles a little. What’s that about? Too much champagne. Maybe slow it down with the drinking? She skirts the bed and takes a seat on the sofa.

Her first search—nyc fire tonight?—yields no results. How about:

fire midtown nyc now?

Nothing. Good. Now she’ll just skim Twitter. And Facebook. And a few of the firebug subreddits where she’s lurked in the past, for research purposes.

r/wildfire

r/arson

r/nationalfirenews

Some of those weirdos have police scanners. If there’s a problem downstairs, a sexy Manhattan high-rise fire, someone will be talking aboutit.

That’s all she needs—news, or preferably, the absence of news. Then she’ll be able to continue mistressing the universe, beating back the flickers of unease that kept popping up while they chatted and sipped their champagne. It wasn’t constant, she forgot about the alarms and stern instructions for long stretches, thanks to Nick and his barrage of hoo-ha. Reluctant fellator. How does he come up with this stuff? She sits at the desk and grinds it out sometimes, it can be excruciating to write one line that isn’t total garbage. Meanwhile it just pours out of him.

Oh, good—this is good: according to @nycfirewire, the FDNY is battling active fires at an office building in Staten Island, a townhouse in Brooklyn and a small warehouse in Queens. Good? None of that isgood,but there’s nothing burning in Manhattan. That’s a relief. Though still cool it with the drinking. And no sex, obviously. Sex would be wrong right now. Unlike sex all the other times you have sex with him, which is fine, totally moral and aboveboard and stop.

She walks to the window. She still can’t see any flashing lights, not even reflected on the building opposite. But maybe they aren’t on the street-facing side? Which way is north?

She’s all turned around.

Nick doesn’t believe in the self? Or free will? He certainly has a free willy. The way he keeps eyeing her, playing with the tassel on her belt. And he doesn’t think people can change? She should havepushed back at his smooth certainties. She tried—she always tries—but he’s too quick for her. He’s like a speed skater, gliding effortlessly through points and counterpoints, while she feels like a duck who woke up to find its legs frozen into the ice of the pond.

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