Lulu wanted to see the Lincoln Tunnel. And other things, yes, of course. Not just the tunnel — that would be ridiculous — but they could drive in through the tunnel and drive out over the George Washington Bridge. Her Uncle Bobby, who used to drive for Suburban before he got back problems, called it the GW and always used to say he was stuck on it and the BQE, or the QBE, or something like that. Joey didn’t want to take his truck into the city at all. He thought maybe it wouldn’t fit in the garages and he just got those wheels and there were all those, you know who I mean Lulu, carjackers and shit.
She knew Joey felt bad they couldn’t afford Orlando like his cousin. Everyone on Facebook it seems was in the Magic Kingdom this year but good old Uncle Bobby, even flat on his back he comes through with his own magic: tickets to the Steelers-Giants game. And the hotel — you know Ma finds it online — it’s in Times Square and it’s got free breakfast.
The room she imagines is way high up and when they go in she’ll open the curtains and the glow from all the lights and the billboards will be so freaking awesome, like some glowing spaceship in a crater or the biggest rock concert she can imagine, and Joey will come out of the bathroom and she’ll be dressed for him, the way she planned it, wearing underwear she knows will drive him crazy. And he’ll be shy like he always is, wanting to close the curtains and she’ll just put her finger to her lips and push him back on the bed and unbuckle his jeans and take it from there, while the city pulses like a nightclub and glows like a TV and they grasp at each other all night long until laughter and exhaustion and sweat bring on a giddy hunger, and they find themselves at three in a New York morning looking for Famous Pizza and beer to wash it down.