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“You’ve been so nice to me today,” she says. “I always thought you were kind of a jerk, but you’re really taking care of me right now.”
“Leila, I’ve got to level with you.”
“What’s on your mind?” she asks.
I’m not sure whether it’s the guilt from not having told her yet, or if I’m simply trying to change the subject, but I blurt out, “I’m losing my job.”
“What? What happened?”
“Well, let’s just say the place where I work,” I start, trying not to throw the fact that I lied about what I do onto the pile of things I should have told her a while ago, “they’re having some money problems. People just aren’t coming in like they used to. My boss told me that he could keep me on for another month.”
“When did he tell you that?” she asks.
If this conversation’s going to take a bad turn, it’s probably going to be right here.
“About a month ago,” I tell her.
“Oh,” she says.
“Yeah, he hasn’t said anything to me yet, but it’s probably not going to be long. I’ve been putting out my resumé, but I haven’t heard back on any—”
“Musicians use resumés?” she asks.
“Everyone does,” I answer.
“You know,” she says with a knowing look, “I’ve seen your guitar, but I’ve never heard you play.”
“I like to save that for…” I start but don’t know how to finish.
At this point, I’m just lying about my job because I’ve been lying about my job.
“Whatever,” she says. “I’m sure you’ll find something.”
She has a lot more faith than I do.
“You look like you were really worried to tell me that,” she says.
“Yeah,” I answer. “I was. Still am, actually.”
“We’ll figure it out, all right?” she says.
She holds her arms out.
I don’t know, maybe I should take the hug now and maybe when she sobers up she’ll be less likely to get pissed that I waited a month to tell her that I was going to be losing my job in about a month.
The logic is blurry at best, but it’s worth a shot.
I bend down and put my arms around her. She embraces me, and it actually feels pretty great.
I can’t really remember the last time a woman, drunk or sober, showed me affection just to make me feel better about things.
Her head starts to pull back and her grip loosens around me, so I start to pull away, but her face turns toward mine. Leila’s eyes are closed and I can feel her hot breath against my cheek.
When her eyes open, she’s looking into mine in a way I’ve never experienced. It’s like she’s actually seeing me for the first time, really seeing me, and she’s not put off. She’s not scared or disappointed.
She pulls back a little further and our lips are almost touching when I hear the sound behind me.
“Dane? Have you seen my panties? I can’t find them anywhere.”
