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She cursed with me, and crumpled it up, throwing it across the room. “What are we going to do?”
“About what?”
“All of it.” She gestured to me, to the laptops, to where my keyboard was set up over by the living room window.
“First thing is to marry a wealthy patron,” I started, putting out a finger.
“Get on their health insurance,” Nora continued. We put out two fingers.
“Then we convert one of the rooms in their mansion into a recording studio, and we write a hit record.”
“I’d marry you if I were rich,” Nora said.
I tapped her stockinged foot with my bare one. “Me, too.”
She looked around. “You’d have to be a little cleaner.”
“Whoops.” The floor we lay on was dusty. Three different shirts graced the futon like throw pillows. Old magazines were stacked on the shelves next to the knickknacks. My bartending apron was tossed over my keyboard, its contents falling out. I really had to take more care. In every way. “I’d try,” I added.
“I wish we had rich friends who we could marry for their benefits,” Nora said.
“Yeah, well. We need new friends.”
As we spoke, my eyes landed on my bartending apron again. Sticking out of the pocket of the apron was the corner of a colorful brochure.
The army brochure.
