She was sitting in the darkened living room smoking when he finally stumbled in. It was late, very late. And from the pile of cigarette butts, she’d been waiting quite a while.

“I can smell the booze on you from here.” She hissed, smoke rolling out of her mouth.

He winced as she snapped on the light, squinting and holding his hand up over his eyes.

“Look at you. You’re drunk.” Her cigarette burned down to the filter, she ground it out in the others. “What kind of example are you trying to be?”

“You can’t talk to me like that.” He was trying desperately not to slur his words, stand up straight. “I’m the money maker, I pay the bills, I put food on the table.”

“Yes, that you do. You make just enough that the lights don’t get turned off and the heat stays on. You make just enough that the kids don’t starve, they just can’t eat more than Wonderbread and bologna.”

She turned the light off.

“I’m going to bed. I’ve left a pillow and a blanket out on the couch. You’re going to have to decide what’s more important in your life: your family or his.”

Memphis Note
The Memphis Mafia were Elvis’s entourage. They were friends, fellow musicians, employees, business associates, anyone that Elvis liked, really. The King paid them for their fellowship and they enjoyed lavish gifts that came with being a friend to a music legend. But, there was a flip side to this lifestyle. The raw pay of a Memphis Mafia member wasn’t great, and for some of them, it was a struggle to maintain their finances and their personal lives.