LADY BIRD ✶ NICKY VALENTINO

II: THE MAN.

The moments during which Birdie was blinded by a bright, white light were terrifying. They seemed to stretch on for eons, and she felt like she couldn't breathe. When her vision was, at last, returned to her, she gasped for breath, as though she'd been holding it the whole time.

As her surroundings came into focus, swing jazz filtered through her ears, accompanied by a low hum of chatter. The smell of alcohol and cigar smoke hung thickly in the air and made her lungs feel like two weights in her chest as she breathed it in.

The novelty of Birdie's new environment wore off relatively quickly, her original intent in opening the door through which she came once again coming to the forefront of her mind. That man.

Her eyes once again scanned the room, but found no sign of him. With a grunt of frustration, she sauntered over to the bar, lazily shifting her gaze to the menu. Drinks with names she only vaguely recognized were listed in chalk, handwritten. But she couldn't care less; she had a bottle of Rosé and a pound bag of M&Ms in her bag and she wasn't about to waste it. Nonchalantly, she took the prized alcohol from her satchel and popped the cork, then took a long pull of it.

"Thirsty, ain't you, doll?"

Birdie nearly spit out her drink as she turned to look in the direction of the voice. It was the man from before, an amused smile on his lips. His eyes were crinkled at the edges. He had warm, kind eyes.

"We all know that alcohol is the only drink in the world that'll leave you thirsty for more," she responded coolly, eyeing him. This earned a chuckle from the stranger, and he squinted slightly to read the label of her drink.

"Rosé," he echoed, lifting his chin in curiosity, "is that new?"

Birdie briefly flicked her gaze down to the bottle in her hand, then back up to him. "You...you don't know what this is?"

He shook his head, and she frowned. "What year is it?"

Arching an eyebrow, he replied, "Freshly the twenties."

"The twenties," she paused, considering this, "you mean the nineteen twenties? As in, the 'Roaring Twenties?' As in flappers, Gatsby, gangsters and the Prohibition Era?"

Tilting his head to the side, the man gazed upon her with an unreadable expression. His lips were still curved into a grin that was almost boyish in nature. He seemed not to recognize the Gatsby bit, but nodded anyhow. "Yes, ma'am. Do you not read the papers or something?"

"I—" Birdie hesitated. "Hold on. Who the hell are you?"

His grin grew wider and his brown eyes lit up in delight. "I was wonderin' when the knockout gal would ask for my name..."

Birdie's cheeks burned red with a blush that extended all the way up to her ears as Nicky bowed with a flourish. "The name's Nicky. Nicky Valentino."

Her voice sounded choked when she spoke. "Birdie."

"You got a last name or should I just give you mine?" Nicky asked, his once boyish grin turning roguish. Birdie blushed furiously as she replied, "It's Marino."

Nicky chuckled, taking her hand and placing a kiss on her knuckles. As his lips touched the soft skin of her hand, he looked up at her through thick lashes. "Marino, Valentino...same thing, no?"

At this, Birdie had to roll her eyes. "Easy there, cowboy. Keep talking like that and you might walk out of here a married man. And I don't mean to me, either."

With her free hand, she pointed as discreetly as she could to a young woman eying the two of them, her brown eyes slightly narrowed. The woman met her gaze and exhaled a long, thin line of smoke.