The day was uneventful. Work. Effing Janet's. He sat in front of his laptop, struggling to hear a crime movie out of one working speaker over the sounds of his upstairs neighbor's squeaking bed springs and screaming girlfriend.
There was a knock at the door.
Ezra cautiously approached the door and said into the crack, "Who is it?"
"It's Lily. Please let me in."
Ezra's forehead thumped against the door. "Lily...do you know what time it is?"
"Okay, I know it's late, but--"
"No really, what time is it?"
"Like one-seventeen, but who's counting."
"Sounds like you are."
"Gaaaah...I am. I haven't slept for more than ten or fifteen minutes in at least a couple weeks and fucking Brandon and Jeanette up there AREN'T FUCKING HELPING!!!" The last part was directed at the ceiling. "I just...if I can come and sit with you and like...watch a movie or something I think I might be able to fall asleep."
"Why. Is that my responsibility?" murmured Ezra into the wall.
"What was that?" she called through the door.
"Fine...come in," he said.
He opened the door and she followed him inside and sat down next to him on his saggy little couch. She looked somehow different to Ezra, and at first he couldn't discern why. She isn't trying so hard, he thought. It was true--her hair was pulled back in a sloppy pony tail instead of its usual calculated curls, she wore no make-up and her heels and short skirt were traded for sweats and slippers. Ezra hadn't noticed how pretty she was until now. She slumped and her head rested on his shoulder.
"I'm sorry," he said.
"Why are you sorry?" she asked. "This is so nice of you."
"I feel like you caught my insomnia."
"Well, if it came from you I guess it can't be so bad." Ezra had always thought sweats were inherently comfy clothing. She reinforced the opinion.
"Well what's wrong?"
"I've got whatever you call writer's block for painters."
"You paint?"
"I did."
"What...did you paint?"
"Ummm...one of my art professors says I'm a post-modern impressionist, but I don't really try for anything. I just see something, decide how it makes me feel and paint it that way."
"That's...really, really cool," said Ezra. "I um. I really want to see some of your stuff some time."
"Maybe if I'm not too nervous I'll show you later. Hey," she picked up a piece of paper he had printed out earlier, "where'd you get this?"
"Ummm...printed it up earlier. Why?"
The paper had pictures of Upton Behringer and his associates along with reward money amounts. At the bottom of the page he had added it all up, equaling a sum that would make the future less worrisome for just about anyone.
"Goddammit, Ezra, I have to tell you. My other reason for being stressed out. These guys...they come into my work all the time. I think they're planning to break into the museum."
"I know. I'm looking forward to it," Ezra said, much, much more candidly than he had planned.
"What?"
"Oh man. They uh...I had a meeting kinda thing with them this morning. They have a plan they want me in on."
"Oh, Ezra, please don't tell me you're considering it."
"Um. I kind of am. But--" She stood up quickly, face flushed with shock and upset. "But please, listen. I have a plan too."
He began to talk and she slowly sat down on the couch. They both became very excited and paced together in different directions across his tiny living room. Eventually they paced in the same direction and were soon lying in his bed, smoothing out the edges of the plan. When he was done, she kissed him and he kissed her back.
They both slept very well that night.
***TO BE CONTINUED***
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