Page 27 of Lucky Night

No, he’s fluent. He studied at Oxford.

Oxford. The bastard! Did she sleep with him?

Don’t ask. None of your business.

He taps on another image. Juan Pablo is so young. No hair on his chest. Low testosterone, probably. Honestly, what seriousdirector allows shirtless photos of himself to show up on the internet? Frolicking in the surf!

It’s unprofessional.

He tosses his phone and stretches out, hands behind his head.

Well well well, he says. Looks like our Mrs. Gryzb snagged herself a hottie.

She’s twirling her hair again. She looks up from her phone and frowns. Don’t call me that.

Did she sleep with him?

Do.

Not.

Ask.

Yes, he says, Mrs. Gryzb is doing very well for herself out in Hollywood.

She grabs a pillow from the bed and whacks him with it. That’s Tom’s name, not mine!

It’s poetry, he says. Such poetry.

She whacks him again, and he catches the pillow, pulling her with it onto the bed. Film sets are very sexy. Rampant coitus, if you believe the gossip sites, which he doesn’t because he doesn’t read them.

He tickles her. She squeals and squirms out of reach. No, he’s not jealous. He’s curious.

She can do what she wants.

I hate my name too, he says.

Why? Holloway is a great name.

Holloway is fine. It’s Nick I hate. Nick is a crook. A shyster. He’s the guy who stands on a street corner with slicked-back hair, ready to show you some nice watches he’s got on special.

You might be overthinking this, she says.

Who,me?

They both laugh. She picks up her phone and looks at it again. Sets it down.

Shouldn’t they have made an announcement by now?

It hasn’t been that long, he says. I’ll call in ten minutes if we haven’t heard.

She said it was ambiguous whether Juan Pablo hit on her. But she could be lying. Did she suck Juan Pablo’s cock—not for her own sake of course, ha ha we knowthatwouldn’t happen, meaning if she did, it would have been to please him, some jerkoff Iberian? Short, no doubt. Small-dicked. He could google how tall heis.

No, he could not, because that’s pathetic.

You’re not drinking your champagne, he says.

Trying to get me drunk? But she takes a sip.

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