Page 79 of Good as Gold
“No kidding. Which is why bartending is kinda nice. Just happy to be making money right now,” he says. “One day at a time.”
“Right,” I agree. “Sometimes that’s the best you can do.”
Rory hands a beer to another thirsty client. “Another couple months like this, and I won’t have to take money from Leila anymore.”
My hands freeze on the stack of cups. “Say what?”
Rory gives me a guilty sideways glance. “I get alimony.”
“Alimony?” I echo. “Why?”
“Just assumed she told you.” He gives a guilty shrug. “I get a thousand dollars a month from her—but only for a year. To help me get on my feet.”
I fish a bottle out of the cooler, sell it to the customer, and then turn back to Rory.
“Dude, hear this—Leila doesn’t complain about you to me. I wouldn’t want her to. I don’t have big opinions about your marriage. It’s not my place.”
“Yeah.” He sighs. “Thanks.”
“But since you brought it up, I don’t know why an able-bodied man would take money from his ex. Sometimes the pride hurts worse than the bank account.”
“I guess,” he grumbles. “But when she left me, I could barely get out of bed for a month. So depressed. I’m pulling it together now.”
“Yeah, you are,” I say. And now I feel like a shit for lecturing him at all. As if I didn’t fuck up my own finances by being depressed.
Losing Leila could bring a man to his knees. I guess I’m not surprised it happened to him.
And one thing’s for sure—if Leila gets pregnant, I won’t be bragging about it to anyone. Rory wouldn’t be able to take it.
“The Goldenrod tap is kicked,” he says. “You want me to change it?”
“I got it, man. Thanks,” I tell him. “You keep doing what you’re doing.”
* * *
The jobs keep coming. I’m sitting outside the trailer, drinking coffee and keeping an eye on that evil rooster when yet another text from Otto comes in.
Can you handle one more? Next Saturday night. Good pay because a party planner fucked up, and they’re desperate.
Scanning the details, I mull it over for about five seconds. But then I reply:I’ll do it. More money is more money. Plus, it’s a week away.
I should offer it to Rory, except he and I are working together the evening before. That’s a lot of togetherness in the wagon. This is another wedding. Those make him broody.
And I’m the boss, right? On a whim, I dial Leila. “Want to make five hundred bucks at a wedding?” I ask her. “It’s next Saturday night.”
“Oh, I really do,” she says. “Where is it?”
“Down in Norwich. About an hour’s drive.”
“No problem. Just don’t tell my dad, because he asked me to increase my warehouse hours, and I said no.”
“You slacker. I won’t say a word.”
Leila chuckles. “Hey, Matteo? There’s something I need to tell you. I’m not pregnant.”
Everything inside me sags. “Really? Shit.” Then I realize that’s not a proper response. “I mean—I’m sorry. Are you all right?”
“I am,” she says convincingly. “It wasn’t as big a surprise this time. I’m in a good place.”
