The God Particle: Excerpt page three

The waiter arrives with their entrées, and Serena plows immediately into her spaghetti, washing down every other mouthful with a swallow of wine. Steve's Pizza Dante blisters the roof of his mouth before he finishes the first bite. Their entire bottle vanishes in minutes, and Serena orders another as she uses her fork to chase the last orphaned bits of spaghetti around her plate.

"What's the matter?" he asks when the waiter takes away their empty plates.

"Nothing."

"Come on, Serena. You haven't said a word in ten minutes."

"I stopped talking because you weren't listening."

"I said I was sorry," Steve says.

"Answer my question, then. Is money the only thing you ever think about?"

"Of course not. Money is just a means to an end."

"What end?"

The waiter appears again, and Steve requests the bill.

"Why are you asking for the check?"

"So we can pay. Did you want to stay here all night?"

"Jesus, Steve. Do you ever have any fun?"

"What kind of question is that?"

"I paid this much. Bring the check now. It's inefficient to remain in the restaurant any longer than necessary. They don't bring the check, Steve, because they expect you to sit here and have a conversation. That's what people do over here. They don't rush home from the restaurant to watch American Idol."

"We can have a conversation in the cab ride back to the Hilton."

"Cab ride? I thought we were having a drink after dinner."

"We have a ten o'clock flight tomorrow morning. We have to be at the airport three hours early."

He drops two hundred francs on the table and takes off after her. In the entryway he is confronted with an array of black overcoats, all seemingly identical to his own, and by the time he finds the right one, Serena is long gone.

Serena stands. "Fine. We better get plenty of sleep now. Wouldn't want to doze off during the thirteen-hour plane ride to L.A."

Steve tries to say something, apologize, but she's already heading for the door. He drops two hundred francs on the table and takes off after her. In the entryway he is confronted with an array of black overcoats, all seemingly identical to his own, and by the time he finds the right one, Serena is long gone. It's dark now, and the crowds have dwindled to a few umbrella-toting stragglers. Steve has no umbrella. He turns right and walks in the direction of the nearest road, hoping to find a cab quickly. Wet cobblestones glisten beneath his feet. Rain pours from his hair in tickling streams.

Someone grabs him.

He turns quickly, ready to strike, but it's Serena. She has stepped out from a narrow opening between two buildings, and mascara streaks her face like black ink. She pulls him into the alleyway. Her brown hair is now jet black and draped over her shoulder like thick rope.

"Are you happy, Steve?" she asks, breath humid with garlic and red wine.

"What are you talking about?"

"It's a simple question, honey. Are you happy? Because you don't seem like it."

She's holding him by his upper arms. Her face floats mere inches from his.

"I'm fine. But I think you need some rest."

"I don't want you to be fine. I want you to be happy. Ever since I met you--it's been two years now, do you realize that?--you've been so serious, so driven. You think you've got this plan, that you've got life all figured out, but life is flying right past you and you don't even realize it. I've waited for you to open your eyes, for you to see this for yourself, but you won't. You can't. Life isn't about staying on schedule or making money or retiring by a certain age. It isn't about marrying some girl just because you think it's time."

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