OCR Text |
Show All the Variables & Other Love Stories 124 I rock her softly awake. She asks what's wrong, and I tell her I'm sorry, I've been petty, I'll get a job tomorrow. She throws her arms around me, her love moved by my newly unprincipled spirit to the happy precipice of lust. The next day Matt calls to let me know he got a job, and I should come aboard. He's delivering pizzas at a franchised pizza parlor for six bucks an hour, plus tips. I go down there and have an interview as soon as I finish the application. It catches me off guard, the quickness of it, so I don't have a chance to screw up. "You got a car? The job requires a car," the manager tells me. He's about five years younger than I am. "Yeah," I say. "It insured?" "No," I say and something in me sinks. I feel sick. I think of Greta, the hopeful solidity around her mouth when I come home from an interview and she asks how it went, already knowing. I promise from now on I will never tell the truth again, for Greta's sake. I remind myself it is Greta who pays all our bills while only I enjoy the luxury of moral dilemma. The manager rolls his shoulders and clears his throat, and I know that was it. I lost because I couldn't tell one stupid lie. "Well," he says, "you'll want to insure it right away. Can you do it fast? Today?" My eyes sting. I want to cry, and I don't know if it's out of relief or terror. The poorly lit pizzeria strikes me suddenly as ominous. I am surrounded by greasy teenagers, and the mingling scents of tomato paste and insecticide are so thick I convince myself the starchy film in the back of my throat is the result of their build up. I count the raggedy bills in my wallet. "Yeah, I can do it right now," I say, and he hires me. He wants me to |