Swipe Right - The Chronicles of an Unpaid Prostitute

Chapter Twenty Two

I was summoned to help my mom decorate the hall. I'd been informed when she'd picked me up from the airport yesterday that it was a double birthday party; Mimi and her friend Marg's birthdays were a day apart and they were both turning the big 8-0.

I was drowning in silver balloons as I shoved them out of my face, pulling them from my mom's little car and dragging them into the hall. There were old photos of my grandmother everywhere; photos of her and my grandfather, they looked so in love, photos of Mimi and Marg. My grandmother was currently at the salon getting her hair and makeup done; she'd blown the lid on her own party. No one could keep secrets from Mimi, it was a known fact. I don't know how she found out, probably from the neighbors, cousin's paperboy or something.

"Come on, the hall will do everything else," my mom said, grabbing my elbow and dragging me outside. "I scheduled time for us to meet Mimi at the salon and get a blow out." I wasn't going to argue, this hair needed some love.

Mimi sat in her chair like a royal queen, her nails, hair and makeup being tended to. By different people. I was ushered into a chair and explained that I just wanted to wear my hair down. My mom sat in the chair beside me. We listened to Mimi tell the entire salon about her friendship with Marg, how they'd been friends for over forty years and lost touch then found each other again. "Marg was the one whose grandson lives in San Francisco," she said, pointedly at me.

"Oh great, the successful business man, right."

"I think he's coming to the party you know, you can finally meet him." Oh lord, this would be interesting. I couldn't even refuse, it was Mimi's birthday and what she said was the final word.

I'd changed into a tight black dress. I walked down the stairs and felt my mom's eyes on me. Judging.

"This is a new look for you," she mused. It was. When I was with Aaron, I would take to cardigans and button downs. Now, I felt comfortable in my body and felt better wearing tighter clothes that showed off curves I was proud of. Yes, it gained more attention and if I was honest, this was a dress that was one of my more modest outfits from my recent closet overhaul.

"It's nice, looks good on you," Mimi said, walking out of the kitchen. "You know I knew this girl when I was about twenty, she was just the nicest person and I would stop and talk to her when I was on my way to my job. One night I saw her and she was all dressed up wearing a dress exactly like that. I asked her where she was going and she told me she was working – she was a prostitute."

"Mimi!"

"To like rich men, she had standards, no judgement," she implored holding her hands up, "all God's children." She looked me up and down. "Does it come in my size?"

"Did she just call me a prostitute?" I asked my mom who had her hand over her mouth, stifling her laughter.

"Yes, but the way I interpreted it was that you look like a prostitute who has high standards, not one of those hood rat prostitutes, you know? One that buys Chanel and drives a Mercedes."

"Oh my god." I turned and moved for the front door. "Can we go?"