When Lowell saw the lightning out the plate glass windows in the Bird Cage Lounge in the Grand Hotel, he recalled the weather briefing he’d had that morning at Hurlbert Field. A band in the Bird Cage Lounge played music from the forties and fifties, catering to the fiftyish and older clientele of the Grand Hotel. There were several couples who were younger, but who were obviously newlyweds, experiencing luxury on their honeymoon that they probably wouldn’t be able to afford again until they were in their fifties. He looked at one kid, who was staring with awe in his eyes at the girl in his arms, this creature who not only had just promised to love him and honor him and cherish him until death did them part, but who had, as obviously, just given him what he knew was the best piece of ass any man ever had in the evolution of the species. Me too, kid, Lowell thought. The only difference between you and me is that society is shouting hurray at you, and I don’t think it would be likely to smile knowingly at me if they knew the lady was legally mated to somebody else.
