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“It’s going to work this time. I’m sure I figured out the problem, and I measured the part twice. More like seventeen times. Those hands are about to move, brother.”
“Awesome. Can’t wait for you to work your Sinclair magic.” I looked up at the scaffolding structure Fort had erected to reach the clock. “You’re sure that’ll hold you?”
“If it doesn’t, it’s your job to catch me.” He held out a small cardboard box and opened the lid. “This is the piece, man. This is the part you needed all this time. Once it’s in there, that clock’s going to keep perfect time.”
“From your lips to God’s ears.” It was one of my mother’s favorite sayings, an incantation for when you really wanted things to work out. “Do you need me to hold the bottom of the scaffolding to keep it steady?”
“I borrowed it from a friend in construction, and he helped me put it together. Everything’s going to be okay.”
“Because The Gallery doesn’t carry workplace-accident insurance.”
“Why the fuck not?” He laughed and shoved the cardboard box in his pocket, and started scaling the outside of the scaffold structure. True to his word, it seemed sturdy, barely swaying under Fort’s muscular bulk.
“That toolbelt’s pretty sexy, man,” I said, looking up at him. “What do you have in there? Your engraver? Your needle punches? A petite metal solder?”
“I do have a metal solder, jackass, and some wrenches and screwdrivers. Do you want me to fix the clock or not?”
I waved my hand in apology—jewelers’ tools were sopetite—and looked around the empty club. So many horny memories, and one really disturbing one. I wished I could enjoy The Gallery together with Alice, but I was apparently too jealous and possessive. “Fuck,” I muttered to myself.
“What?” asked Fort. Every sound echoed in the quiet dungeon.
“Nothing,” I replied.
I heard a grinding noise, an alarming clang, and a curse from Fort, but then he yelled down, “Everything’s okay. Just getting in there.”
“Yeah, you’re good at that.”
He laughed. “I try my best.”
“Hey, how’s the wedding planning coming along?” I didn’t want to distract him from his work, but I also couldn’t stand to look at the dungeon around me.
“Planning’s going great,” said Fort. “Going to be medium sized, lots of food, open bar, and Goodluck’s insisted on doing the decorating.”
“Holy crap.”
“I know, it’s going to be a riot.” He looked down, his expression bemused, as it always was when we talked about Juliet’s crazy boss. “He volunteered his cat, Mr. Snail Shell, to be the Best Man, but I told him the job was taken. I would have picked you but—”
“I know, you’ve known Devin longer.”
“Yeah, and he’ll probably give a jollier toast at the reception. You aren’t known for your uplifting speeches, although you play a mean violin. Can you play during our service?”
“I’d be happy to.”
“And Ella’s going to be Juliet’s Maid of Honor. Speaking of which, Dev’s going to pop the question any day now. The lessons sealed the deal.”
“What lessons?” Another loud clang was followed by a grinding sound, and I had to repeat my question. “What lessons?”
“Flying lessons, man. ForElla.”
“No way.”
“I swear to God, it’s true.”
“But she’s petrified of flying. She always has been.”
“Not anymore.” Fort grunted, turning a gear and tugging it off the clock face’s massive spindle. “She fell in love with a pilot, now she wants to do pilot-y things. People change.”
There’s nothing wrong with changing.That’s what Alice had told me Saturday night. She’d changed me in so many ways over the past few weeks, I hardly recognized myself. “Who’s giving her the lessons?” I asked. “Devin?”
