Page 524 of Call Me Baby 2: Side B

my exposed collarbone,

a slash of wine-red lipstick,

my dark hair falling around my face

in thick, messy waves.

Andrew laughs, tipping his head back, staring up into the sky. “Madonn’, you seein’ this, or what? This why your boy’s been fightin’ people lately. It’s all her.” Then he mutters, “È lei il motivo per cui ho la fedina penale.”

I slide my wool coat out of the Escalade, blushing, and for two seconds, the bad feeling has a pillow over its face.

A massive security guard stands by a velvet rope. “Name?” he asks as he cross-references his glowing phone screen.

Once we get through heavy double doors, we step inside an empty, half-renovated shell:

exposed brick,

bare concrete floors,

steel scaffolding covered

in draped plastic sheeting.

Andrew threads his fingers with mine, glancing around at the cluster of LED candles along the raw timber beams. “Where the fuck did you take me?” he asks, head tipping back, eyes sweeping the ceiling.

I keep walking, following the candles,

dragging him behind me.

“Allison.” His fingers tighten through mine. “Just tell me now. Scale of one to Brownsville, how bad’s this gonna get? This one’a those places where I gotta fight somebody for you, or are we walkin’ like normal people?” I turn, leveling my eyes at him. He raises his palm, then points down at his Chelsea boots. “Baby, I’m only askin’ ‘cause I wore the wrong shoes to fight in.”

Do not give the night bad ideas.

My anxiety’s pre-gaming enough as is.

“Relax, Jersey.” I turn, tugging his hand.

“We gotta find a way up to the roof.”

I spot the vintage, iron-gated freight elevator. Andrew yanks the accordion gate open, and we step onto the wide, unpolished floor.

After sliding the heavy thing shut, he pushes the brass button, and the old thing jolts under our feet before we’re lifted, rising through the dark brick column of the building.

As we climb to the top, the air gets colder, the taste of frost and metal coming from the East River.

My heart’s banging in my ears.

Planets are orbiting inside my stomach.

I face Andrew. “Something bad’s gonna happen. I don’t know what. I just got the feeling. Like a premonition, but, like, it’s mostly nausea.”

He studies me for half a second, the humor leaving his face. “Hey. You’re with me.” His thumb smooths over my knuckles. “Whatever the fuck’s comin’, it’s gotta come through me first.”

Then with one final jolt, the lift locks into place at the roof level, and the Manhattan skyline floods into the dark cage.

Andrew slides the gate back,

and the view steals my breath.