Life’s Good (if you don’t look down)

By Eamonn Ryan

Vince (‘Romeo’) Calderone didn’t flirt. He shimmered.

Supplied by Mike Schaefer.

Vince floated through life the way air floated through a poorly sealed return grille – gracefully, mysteriously, and always where it wasn’t supposed to be.

His service shirt was tailored just a little too well. His hair hadn’t moved since 2014. His tool bag contained more lip balm than spanners, and yet somehow every air conditioner he touched purred like it had just been complimented.

Which is why Sonia, Apartment 6F, had noticed him immediately.

“It’s been rattling all night,” she whispered, leaning against the kitchen bench in a way that suggested the AC wasn’t the only thing vibrating. Vince popped the indoor unit cover. “LG split system,” he grunted. “Life’s Good.”

Sonia smirked. “Is it?”

One thing led to another – a hand brushing past a filter, a comment about airflow, an unplanned discussion about pressure differentials. Vince was explaining static pressure when he lost his train of thought as Sonia kissed him, hard.

Soon, Sonia’s bedroom glowed in the soft, flattering light of late afternoon. The split system whispered overhead, obedient and discreet.

“Listen to that,” Vince murmured, reclining back against the pillows. “Perfect airflow. Even distribution. Life’s Good.” Sonia laughed, “You say that about everything.”

They had just gotten down to business – the sort of business that requires tool belts abandoned on chairs and instruction manuals ignored entirely. That’s when the front door slammed.

“HONEY! I’M HOME!”

Gerrie, the husband, had the build of a retired rugby prop and the voice of a man who believed doors should fear him.

Sonia didn’t scream. She didn’t panic. She merely pushed Vince toward the bedroom window and tucked his tools under the bed.

“Out,” she whispered calmly but with steel. “Now.”

Vince assessed the situation like a tradesman faced with a live electrical panel. He opened the window, glanced down six floors, and spotted the twin outdoor condensers bolted to the façade. Twin fan. Solid mounts.

“Life’s Good,” he muttered again – this time without irony – and leapt.

He landed sprawled across the two condensers like a discarded towel, hugging one unit while his boots rested on the other. Warm condenser air blasted up his back. Somewhere below, traffic honked. Somewhere above, bad decisions were made.

Inside, Gerrie wrapped Sonia in a bear hug. “I missed you,” he rumbled.

“Oh, I know,” she purred.

They disappeared into the bedroom.

Minutes passed. Then more minutes.

Vince lay frozen, cheek pressed against the condenser trying not to look down, listening to sounds that should never be heard through double glazing. “Life’s good for someone.”

The condensers cycled on and off, humming beneath him. His mobile rang: “Vince? You still on site?”

“Affirmative,” he muttered breathlessly through clenched teeth. “Performing… external inspection.”

Forty-five minutes on, silence. An hour. Gerrie snored.

Eventually, the apartment went quiet. Vince rolled onto his back, staring at the sky, arms draped across the units like a man who’d lost an argument with gravity.

He finally climbed back in through the window. Now alone, Sonia handed him his tool belt.

“Thanks for fixing the AC,” she said sweetly. Vince straightened his shirt with affronted dignity. “Ma’am,” he said, deadpan, “next time… we replace the unit.”