Page 28 of Lucky Night

Did Juan Pablo come to her room late at night, needing some rewrites? Did he engineer a tryst, with wine, perhaps some chorizo? Did he take her in a four-poster bed, part of the set dressing, of hisatmosphere of decadence,surrounded by candelabra and—

This is killing him. It’s also turning him on a little. Why should he care? She can do what she wants.

You don’t think people can change? she says.

What’s that?

What you said earlier. That we can’t free ourselves from the norms and the brainwashing and so forth.

Oh. Yeah, no. Maybe a little around the margins, but major transformation? That’s rare.

She nods, thinking that over. Then:

Has this changed you?

This? he says.

You know. She waves a hand at the space between them. This. Our…thing.

Ah. He nods. Right. This.

Five

He knew what she meant right away. Playing dumb—huh, this, whuh?—was a stalling tactic. Because while he’s happy to bullshit all night about books and blow jobs, delving into theirthis? Theirthing? No thanks. Why should they? They’re so good at not talking about it, at reveling in it without wrestling with its murky implications. Itsthisness.

They’ve managed to avoid most conversations about it for six years. So why is she bringing it up now, and why in God’s name is she asking whether it’s changed him?

Has it changed me, he says, as if he’s mulling it over, really considering it.Has it changed me, hmm, let me feign contemplation…

Where the hell is the all clear? He should call down.

We’ve been doing this for a while now, she adds. Six years.

That long? he says, stalling, stalling. They’ve always been on the same page about whatthisis. A fun—more than fun, a joyful—escape, a release valve from the limited and the humdrum. Since they realized how compatible they were in certain key respects, since they assured themselves that nobody was going to get hurt, that they would be careful, careful,so careful—since that time, how great has this been? If, you know, essentially unimportant.

Just over six, she says. It was New Year’s Eve, six years ago…

When I abased myself before you in the Parks’ kitchen, he says.

Essentially unimportant? That’s not fair. He’d needed this, or something like it. Though in the privacy of his own mind, in the story he tells himself about his life—easy, pal, she’s the storyteller, not you—he has tended to minimize its importance. Her importance. Because not everything has to be momentous, okay? Not everything has to be Something. Still—to call it unimportant because it’s physical, because it’s sex—that’s not right, either. That diminishes sex, when it should be celebrated.Glorified. Especially sex with her. It’s delirious, their connection. Alchemical. The things she does to him. The things she lets him do to her! She laughs—laughs while they’re fucking! They’re free with each other, they play. He asks her for things, says outrageous, filthy things to her, with no filter, no fear that she’ll misunderstand or get offended. It’s such a relief, so liberating, compared to…well, to the rest of life. They don’t have to worry about consequences, judgments, even what the other thinks of them, outside of rooms like this.

That’s what they have, and it’s always been enough. For both of them. Though it’s true that one time, early on, swept away, overglowed, he had suggested they meet more often, once a week instead of once a month. She’d shot that down quick. And rightly so. Better to keep theirthislimited. Reduce the chance of complications.

And so they’ve had six supremely uncomplicated years—he knew it was six, of course he knew—free of heartfelt protestations and fraught exchanges. She can tell her little lies. They can both fuck other people. He hasn’t, but he could. Has she? Look at her, glued to her phone. Is she texting the baby Spaniard? Sending him erotic emojis, thanking him for the scores of simultaneous orgasms they enjoyed this week, his—

Your phone is a real source of fascination tonight, he says.

Sorry, I’m…she sighs. Bites her lip.

What isit?

I’m looking at news about the fire, she says.

There’s news?

Not much. I found one tweet, and now there are a few more,but all they say is that the fire department is investigating. I can’t even tell if there’s actually a fire, or if they’re just responding to the alarms. It seems like there’s something, though. They just issued a new radio code, a 10-76, which is a notification of an incident in a high-rise, which—

Jenny, he says. It’s fine. They’re doing their job.

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