Billionaire's Escort

“I know when I’m outgunned.” My mom pulled a soda out for herself. My father reached out with his mouth full and motioned for her to grab him another. He’d already finished his, and the butter was half-gone from the amount he was putting on his biscuits.

“Why are we talking when there’s food?”

My dad shoved another biscuit in his mouth, and we all laughed. The tension melted once I started serving bowls. My father didn’t say a word, aside from a few grunts and a thank you each time I handed him another bowl.

“So, what’s it like?” my mom asked when she was finished picking at hers.

“What?” I asked. “My job?”

“It’s so easy,” Loren said. “We drive, hand people packages, and leave.”

“But you have to carry them around, don’t you?”

“Most of them are small.” Loren caught my eye.

“But some are really big,” I said.

“Yeah, but most of the ones I get are nothing,” Loren said.

“So, the packages vary in size. It can’t be good on your back. Why would you do that to yourself, Mercedes? You’ve got so much potential.”

I motioned behind me at the drawer where we kept the money. “I don’t even think I could make that much with my degree.”

“I just don’t understand why you’re making so much.”

“This isn’t just a package delivery service,” Loren said. My eyes went wide, and I glared at her. “These are specialty packages, important stuff. That’s why they tip us so good, and it’s all cash. We don’t have to report our tips at all.”

“Are you happy?” My mother looked me right in the eye.

“I am.” That came out too fast, before I could stop myself, and with it, a flood of sentimentality.

“Then that’s what matters.” When we were all done, and I had my father settled back in bed, Loren pulled me outside to have a cigarette. She had these super thin sticks. I couldn’t believe she got anything out of them.

“What happened? Are you doing okay? Are the guys getting to you?” She lit her cigarette, and we sat down at the patio table.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re doing it,” she gasped.

“I am not.”

“You’re defensive. I can tell. Don’t do it, Mercedes. It’s not worth it. They just treat you like dirt, and it gets to you.”

“I’m not whoring myself out, which is clearly more than I can say for you.”

She sighed. “It’s not a regular thing. I’ll go weeks without it, but I need to pay my bills, and I’m very picky about who I do it with.”

“It’s weird. I don’t like it. I do feel dirty. I feel like I’m getting myself in over my head, and I know I’m gonna get hurt, but it’s…”

“It’s what?”

“It’s the money. Look at my dad. They’re gonna cut him off pretty soon, and I need to save up enough for his treatments.”

“You’re doing it for every delivery, aren’t you?” Loren took a puff of smoke and blew it out.

“No, I’m not. I only have one guy.”

“One? How are you making money? You’re not selling Tony’s special packages, are you?”