Read Online Other Resort Cities by Tod Goldberg - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Tod Goldberg
Ads: Link
else will have to hose their puke off the parking lot. All together, we get off pretty good.”
“I’ll be lucky to walk with fifty,” Tania says. “You know what fifty gets you? Nothing. It’s not even worth it to come in for fifty. Once I pay for the bus, get lunch, pick up dinner on the way home, what have I got left? It’s not worth it.”
Gordon places the four beers on her tray, and for a moment Tania considers picking up one of them and just downing it, maybe lining up a couple shots, too, see how the day passes with a little less clarity on things. Back in Las
Vegas you could rail a line and . . . well . . . No, Tania thinks, you just can’t compare your life along some arbitrary timeline, can’t think of yourself as a compare and contrast. The past was different. The present is ever changing. No, it has to be about what comes next. About staying focused. Keep yourself together. Gather resources. Find Natalya. Don’t force an apology. Fix things. Get a family. Buy Christmas presents. Move to the city, any city, but get out of casinos and hotels and bars. Maybe.
“How long you lived in the desert?”Tania asks. Gordon is new—she’s seen him a couple of times in the last month, but this is the first shift he’s been on alone—so they haven’t found that rhythm yet, only know each other enough to flirt a little, tell a joke or two. Nothing personal. But for some reason today Tania feels like talking and can’t stand to listen to the other cocktail girls on the floor. They call her “Mom” and always want her to listen to their problems, Sundays inevitably taken up by whatever horror happened at the club the night previous, or whatever drama they have with their “baby daddies,” a term Tania just can’t wrap her mind around. When did people stop being parents? But Gordon seems nice, maybe even smart. Smarter than her other choices, anyway.
“Five years, plus or minus,” Gordon says. “I used to come here when I was a kid, you know? I remember my dad once drove us right up to Bob Hope’s front gate and we got chased off by dogs. Big old Dobermans. I’ll never forget that.”
“I can’t see myself being here that long,” Tania says. Gordon puts the rest of Tania’s drinks down and then rechecks the order. No one ever does that, Tania thinks; no one else here gives a damn if they screw up my money.
“Oh,” Gordon says, “you live here a while it becomes like anywhere else. You find your shit, you know? This town, I can bartend until I’m sixty-five, seventy, and no one would think differently about me. Maybe along the way I find a rich old woman who wants to take care of a hot young stud like me, I hold her hand for a few years, take her to her Botox appointments, and then, one day, she dies in her sleep and I’m a millionaire.” Gordon’s laughing now, but Tania sees something sad in his face, like he’s not just joking around, like part of him believes this might be his best chance for a good life.
“You’ve got it figured out,” Tania says.
“ Presuming I don’t blow my head off first,” he says.
“ You don’t seem the suicide type,” Tania says.
“They’d just prop me behind the bar. It wouldn’t be much difference. But if you stick around until I get my millions,” Gordon says, “I’ll let you move into my guest house. We’ll sit around the saltwater pool all day reading thrillers and sipping cognac.”
“I see myself moving somewhere with a bit more character. A little history. Less tourists. All my life, I’ve been stuck with tourists.”
“Like Maine or somewhere?”
“Somewhere,” Tania says.
“No way for me,” Gordon says. “I’m California bred and spread.” Another girl—Tania can never remember if her name is Cindy or Bonnie, so she just calls her “sweetie”—slams her order on the counter, prompting Gordon to glare at her. “To be continued,” he says. “Don’t pack your bags for Maine just yet.”
Really Tania was
“I’ll be lucky to walk with fifty,” Tania says. “You know what fifty gets you? Nothing. It’s not even worth it to come in for fifty. Once I pay for the bus, get lunch, pick up dinner on the way home, what have I got left? It’s not worth it.”
Gordon places the four beers on her tray, and for a moment Tania considers picking up one of them and just downing it, maybe lining up a couple shots, too, see how the day passes with a little less clarity on things. Back in Las
Vegas you could rail a line and . . . well . . . No, Tania thinks, you just can’t compare your life along some arbitrary timeline, can’t think of yourself as a compare and contrast. The past was different. The present is ever changing. No, it has to be about what comes next. About staying focused. Keep yourself together. Gather resources. Find Natalya. Don’t force an apology. Fix things. Get a family. Buy Christmas presents. Move to the city, any city, but get out of casinos and hotels and bars. Maybe.
“How long you lived in the desert?”Tania asks. Gordon is new—she’s seen him a couple of times in the last month, but this is the first shift he’s been on alone—so they haven’t found that rhythm yet, only know each other enough to flirt a little, tell a joke or two. Nothing personal. But for some reason today Tania feels like talking and can’t stand to listen to the other cocktail girls on the floor. They call her “Mom” and always want her to listen to their problems, Sundays inevitably taken up by whatever horror happened at the club the night previous, or whatever drama they have with their “baby daddies,” a term Tania just can’t wrap her mind around. When did people stop being parents? But Gordon seems nice, maybe even smart. Smarter than her other choices, anyway.
“Five years, plus or minus,” Gordon says. “I used to come here when I was a kid, you know? I remember my dad once drove us right up to Bob Hope’s front gate and we got chased off by dogs. Big old Dobermans. I’ll never forget that.”
“I can’t see myself being here that long,” Tania says. Gordon puts the rest of Tania’s drinks down and then rechecks the order. No one ever does that, Tania thinks; no one else here gives a damn if they screw up my money.
“Oh,” Gordon says, “you live here a while it becomes like anywhere else. You find your shit, you know? This town, I can bartend until I’m sixty-five, seventy, and no one would think differently about me. Maybe along the way I find a rich old woman who wants to take care of a hot young stud like me, I hold her hand for a few years, take her to her Botox appointments, and then, one day, she dies in her sleep and I’m a millionaire.” Gordon’s laughing now, but Tania sees something sad in his face, like he’s not just joking around, like part of him believes this might be his best chance for a good life.
“You’ve got it figured out,” Tania says.
“ Presuming I don’t blow my head off first,” he says.
“ You don’t seem the suicide type,” Tania says.
“They’d just prop me behind the bar. It wouldn’t be much difference. But if you stick around until I get my millions,” Gordon says, “I’ll let you move into my guest house. We’ll sit around the saltwater pool all day reading thrillers and sipping cognac.”
“I see myself moving somewhere with a bit more character. A little history. Less tourists. All my life, I’ve been stuck with tourists.”
“Like Maine or somewhere?”
“Somewhere,” Tania says.
“No way for me,” Gordon says. “I’m California bred and spread.” Another girl—Tania can never remember if her name is Cindy or Bonnie, so she just calls her “sweetie”—slams her order on the counter, prompting Gordon to glare at her. “To be continued,” he says. “Don’t pack your bags for Maine just yet.”
Really Tania was
Similar Books
