Chapter Twenty-Three #2
‘Don’t move,’ he said before popping up.
On his way to the door, he found his wallet on the entry table, and pulled a crisp hundred-dollar bill from the fold. He opened the door and made a quick exchange before heading right back to Lucy.
Her eyes lit up as they landed on the pack of cigarettes and lighter in his hand, then at the shit-eating grin on his face.
‘How the hell?’ she asked.
‘Concierge.’
‘You have the concierge on speed dial?’
‘We call it text here in the twenty-first century, but yeah.’ He held his empty hand out to her. ‘Come on.’
Without balking for a second, Lucy slipped her hand in his.
They bounced through the suite, hand in hand, like a couple of teenagers.
Into the primary bedroom where Nicky slid open the balcony door.
The tiny outdoor space wasn’t exactly luxurious.
Not a stick of furniture, a temperature just a touch cooler than the surface of the sun, and glass safety panels that extended up five feet, but it was something.
Nicky whacked the pack a few times on his wrist, then opened it, handing Lucy a cigarette.
‘You’re a bad man, Nicky Broome,’ she said, completely giddy.
Nicky played it up. ‘You know, every one of my albums has a parental advisory sticker.’
‘Such a bad influence,’ she cooed, holding back a laugh.
‘Hardcore,’ Nicky corrected.
He lit her cigarette. Then his.
She took a drag and groaned with pleasure in a way that made his boxers a tad too tight.
‘So good,’ she mumbled, exhaling a cloud of smoke into the sweltering desert air.
The look on her face was that good. Better than the cigarette. Better than almost anything he could imagine in that moment.
‘Here we are, smoking on a balcony again,’ she mused.
‘Couple of hoodlums,’ he teased.
‘Slackers,’ she added. Then: ‘It didn’t last long enough.’
‘What didn’t?’
‘Youth.’
‘Wasted on the young,’ he said, leaning back against the cool glass of the sliding door.
‘That is bedrock truth, right there,’ she said, exhaling again and joining him in his lean. ‘Do you know what bothers me the most about living on a college campus?’
‘Tell me.’
‘I see these girls – these young women – every day. They’re everywhere.
Fresh and bright, and so full of optimism.
And I remember being like that. I remember the feeling of life stretching out like an endless field of stars just waiting to be captured and explored.
Out on my own, independent, but also so safe and protected.
The amazing and wonderous just right there .
In striking distance. All of the possibility and promise only waiting to be fulfilled.
And none of the failures and the fucking grind weighing you down.
I think … I think maybe I’m a little jealous of them. I think I might have …’
Nicky waited for her to finish. When she took a drag of the cigarette instead, he prodded, ‘Might have what?’
Lucy sighed. ‘I might have done it differently. If I had to do it again.’ She flicked some ash to the concrete, smiled. Almost convincingly, too. ‘Never mind me. It’s probably just a midlife crisis.’
Nicky didn’t have the words to fix those feelings for her. So, he took his free hand and threaded his fingers through hers.
He squeezed her hand and declared, ‘You know, I think the midlife crisis gets a bad rap.’ He took a drag, exhaled.
‘I mean, sure, there are guys who go out and buy a Porsche and a terrible toupee and abandon their family for Margaritaville or whatever. But I think there are also plenty of people who just look back at the first half of their life and then ahead to the second half and just … reassess. Reset. Adjust their lives because their dreams are different and their priorities have shifted. Or the world around them has shifted.’
Lucy released a heavy, thoughtful hum around her cigarette, then squinted up at the radiant Las Vegas day.
They stood in silence for a while. Inhaling and exhaling in tandem while Nicky watched the slow crawl of an LED sign offer Keno and free brunch at the casino across the street.
‘Oh no,’ Lucy said suddenly, clutching her stomach. Disappointment colored all of her features. ‘It’s making me queasy!’ Or maybe that slight tinge of green was from the cigarettes?
He felt it too, but was ready to push past the discomfort to be there with her. Since she’d folded, he admitted, ‘Same here. Shit.’
Nicky dropped what was left of his cigarette and took hers from her fingers, ground them both out on the concrete balcony floor.
He opened the sliding door and guided her inside by their intertwined hands. He closed the door and the curtains.
‘Lie down,’ he told her, with a kiss to her forehead.
He dashed to the bathroom and made a cool compress with a washcloth.
He found Lucy on her back on one side of the bed, eyes closed again, one hand to her middle.
He resisted the urge to stand there and stare at her like a weirdo, and instead placed the washcloth on her forehead.
He slid into the spot on the bed right beside her, before pulling the comforter up over them both.
He folded the fingers of his left hand through the fingers of her right, and squeezed.
‘I’m too young for the midday nap,’ she grumbled – half-laugh, half-groan.
‘Relax, baby,’ he whispered. ‘I won’t let them issue your AARP card while you’re out.’
Nicky held tight to Lucy’s hand and listened as her breathing evened out into the long, slow murmur of sleep.