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for a noisy bunch of Giants fans in the booth closest to the TV. They were regulars, rowdy but good-natured, and they tipped well, which had endeared them to me. Occasionally, they’d ask me how I thought the team would do, and I’d just shake my head and make a wild guess, knowing next to nothing about football.
    ‘Hi, Delia. Welcome to Eddie’s. Pretty filthy night outside, huh?’
    ‘Yeah, whatever happened to the heatwave they were promising on the news?’
    Eddie set down a round paper mat with a fluted edge in front of Delia, and placed a glass of red wine on it. At the side of it, he put the complimentary dish of mixed nuts he offered to all customers with their drink. ‘Friend of yours, hey, Summer?’
    ‘Yes, this is Delia. We used to work on the Reporter together.’
    ‘Pleased to meet you, Delia. Any friend of Summer’s is a friend of mine.’ He seemed about to add something else, but noticed someone further down the bar indicating that he wanted another beer, and went to oblige.
    Delia sipped her wine. ‘So, it looks like you’re doing OK.’
    ‘Yeah, I’m enjoying it so much,’ I assured her, the enthusiasm in my tone obvious even to my own ears. ‘Eddie’s a great boss to work for, and we get a really nice crowd in here.’
    ‘And to think we always reckoned this place was full of sports nuts and losers.’ Delia grinned. ‘So what’s all that about?’ She gestured to one of the beer taps at the back of the bar, which was crowned by a photograph of a silver-haired, middle-aged man in a firefighter’s uniform.
    ‘What, Sergeant O’Malley’s Ale?’ I’d asked the same question on my first night at work, and Eddie had filled me in on the story. ‘He used to drink in here when he was off shift, along with the rest of his crew, and that was his favourite tipple. He was killed rescuing a girl from a burning building on East 14th Street a couple of years back, and that’s when Eddie decided to rename the beer in his honour.’
    Delia raised her wine glass in the direction of the man’s photograph, paying her own silent tribute to him. Like all New Yorkers, she appreciated the sacrifices the emergency services made in the course of keeping the city safe. Then she took a sip of her drink, and her eyes brightened. ‘So what you’re saying is the bar gets full of firefighters? Maybe I should start drinking here on a regular basis.’
    ‘Whatever happened to your dream of hooking a rich stockbroker?’ I asked, casting an eye round the bar room to make sure no one was in imminent need of serving.
    ‘Oh, maybe what I really need is a guy who’s more down to earth, got some dirt under his fingernails, you know?’ She flashed me a secretive smile. ‘Just like you’ve got here.’
    ‘Delia, what are you talking about?’ A noisy party of four in the back booth had stood up to leave, throwing a pile of dollar bills down on the table, and I had to go collect the money and clean away the empty glasses.
    ‘Well, you can’t deny your boss is hot, with that fine ass and that whole “just got out of bed” thing going on. You’ve landed on your feet here, Summer, really you have, and I’m just wondering what you’re going to do about it?’
    ‘Oh, you’re crazy,’ I told her, leaving her to her wine and nibbles while I attended to the recently vacated booth.
    That didn’t stop me thinking about her words even after she’d finished her drink and bid me goodnight – though not before filling me in on all the gossip from the Reporter , including the rumour that they were looking to make further job cuts, not only in the advertising department, but on the editorial floor too. She was pretty sure her own position was safe, but she admitted she’d started looking at online job listings, just in case.
    Delia was smart, and good at what she did; I knew if the worst did happen, she’d find a similar position without too much difficulty. Still, it didn’t stop me worrying about her a