When The Wrong One Loves You Right

When The Shark Bites

My mother and brother gaped at me from across the table in the restaurant where we had gone for dinner the following night. I picked up my wine glass and took a small sip to calm my nerves for the coming storm.

"Marvin Goff?" Mom asked in disbelief as if I had just told her I was marrying a serial killer.

I set down my wine glass and defensively replied, "Yes. Marvin Goff."

My mother moaned as if in pain. "Oh, Cammy," she whimpered, a hand to her mouth. "No, not Goff, please, not Goff. Cammy, baby, politics is not all it's cracked up to be. Being married to him will be a first class headache from hell! He's a slime ball! Oy vey iz mir!" She looked to my brother. "Aaron, you're the man of the family! Talk to her! Tell her she can't do this! She can't marry some goya politician...they'll drag her name through the mud, she'll be splashed all over every rag from here to Silver Springs..."

I rolled my eyes. "Mom, it's a mayoral race, not a presidential run!"

"Don't talk back to your mother!" she snapped. "And with all the skeletons in that man's closet, it might as well be national news!"

Aaron who had stayed silent until now suddenly leaned forward, his forearms on the table, trying to keep the conversation private as people had turned to look.

"You know, Cam, maybe you should give this some thought. A longer engagement would be better. Why December? Seems so soon."

"It's four months off," I stated.

"Still, that's pretty soon. What's the rush?" Aaron looked at me archly and I knew exactly what he was thinking.

"No, Aaron," I sighed. "I'm not pregnant." You have to actually fuck in order to get pregnant, I thought, turning my face away. Not tonight, Cameron. Don't think about it tonight. It will work out.

I could see relief written all over my mother's face and I knew that this had been at the back of her mind. She still looked suspicious though.

"I just don't understand why you would choose him!" she said shuddering. "Just please tell me the rumors about him supplying whores for his guests are untrue."

My face burned with heat. "Of course they're untrue, Mom," I stated honestly enough. After all, that was my job. "But, even if he did," I went on, matter of factly, "he would use a very classy escort service." Which we did. "And they're called sex workers, Mom, not whores." They were always insistent on that.

Aaron and Mom stared at me.

"I...mean, that's what some casinos and hotels do." I took a sip of wine and shrugged. "I always think as long as it's between consenting adults, what's the big deal?"

Mom sat back and gave Aaron a look that spoke volumes. It said, You see? She's already corrupted. We've lost her.

I struggled to back pedal. "Let's change the subject, shall we?" I said with a bright smile. 

And tried not to think about the fat envelope full of cash that always came my way when a client was particularly pleased with his "escort". Sometimes it never even involved sex. Most people were just looking for a good time, a way to unwind. Escape their reality. 

"Sound idea," my mother said, as she picked up her wine glass. "What did you and Phillip talk about on your drive the other day?"

I set my glass down a little hard. Aaron swung his gaze towards me, eyebrows raised in mock inquiry while Mom folded her hands and stared at me expectantly. Was it any wonder a hot blush spread up my neck and into my cheeks?