“No.”
“They’re with the Rossi family. That little guy who was chatting you up? His name is Vincent Rossi. Google him if you don’t believe me. And then think about what you just said.” My dad shakes his head and returns to fixing the door.
I pull out my phone and google the name Vincent Rossi.
Immediately images and headlines pop up by the dozen. The pictures confirm that the short man with the receding hairline and cold eyes is Vincent “Vinnie Boy” Rossi, a ruthless soldier in the Rossi crime family who was recently promoted to Captain. There are articles just on page one of my search that makes my insides shudder and my heart nearly stop beating.
Vincent is reputed to have murdered potential witnesses in a court case, and did nearly five years in jail for a brutal assault when he was just eighteen that left a man paralyzed.
He’s known, apparently, even among the vicious thugs in the mob underworld, as being particularly heartless and brutal in his dealings on the street. He inspires fear even among the most hardened criminals.
“I can’t believe you’re involved with these people,” I say, finally finding my voice after perusing the horrifying results of my search.
Dad chuckles. “You think I intended to be involved? That’s not how it works, kiddo.”
“Don’t call me kiddo. Especially not after this.”
He continues, ignoring my complaint, as he uses a screwdriver to tighten the screws in one of the door hinges. “I owed money to a bookie. I didn’t have a clue the bookie was connected to the Rossi Family. If I’d known…”
I don’t bother to mention that he wouldn’t have done a damn thing differently if he’d known who his bookie worked for. When my father wants to gamble, he does it, regardless of the consequences.
“Dad, how could you gamble so much?” I say, when he finishes with the door and closes his toolbox.
He can’t meet my gaze. “I’m fucked up, honey.”
“You lied to me.”
“I know,” he says, softly. “I know.” And then two tears roll down his cheeks, silently, and that’s somehow worse than everything else.
I hug him and tell him it’s going to be okay, but we both know it isn’t.
A little while later, I’m alone in my room on my phone, trying to look for ways to make a lot of money in such a short time. I’ve looked into loans. There’s no way. I have too much debt already, and even my credit cards are close to maxed out.
Eventually I google “Best Ways For A Woman To Make Money Quickly.”
The first results are typical and mostly useless.
Sell your photos, rent out your room, babysit, become a secret shopper…
None of them will get me anywhere near the kind of windfall I need to save my father’s—and maybe my own—life.
But then further down the page, I see this:
“Thousands of Women are Being Internet Girlfriends for Money.”
I read further, my eyes widening as I see what women are up to. Not just amateur porn and webcam stuff, but actual prostitution. And the ones who make the most money are those who give a so-called “girlfriend experience.” The article says that some women charge as much as three hundred dollars an hour for such services.
I do the math in my mind. How much of this kind of “work” would I need to do to make enough money to make the first payment to the men my father owes money to?
It would take me a month of full-time hours, at one of the top-end rates to make enough to cover half of what my dad owes.
The futility of it all hits me, and I find myself sobbing, knowing that this can only end one way for me and my father. Horribly, with one of us or both of us getting hurt.
I’m by turns enraged and then sad and scared for my father. My stupid, selfish, sweet, idiotic father who has never done the right thing except when it came to standing by me in the early days when Mom left.
And those days count for a lot.
Do they count for a hundred thousand dollars’ worth of blood, sweat and tears? Does his loyalty mean I should give up my life, my virginity, my sanity?
Because, to make matters even worse, I’m still a virgin.
As my tears dry, I go to a few of the websites mentioned on the article I read about women doing escorting for high-end clients.
After looking through a few different options, all of them fairly disgusting, I happen upon one with a goofy name, GirlFundMe.
The name makes me smile.
And better yet, when I go on the site, it mentions setting your own price. You basically start a campaign and the people who belong to the site as members have the option to fund your campaign. If you ask for too much, you may get no takers.
But at least I can try.
I take a deep breath and start inputting the information. I don’t have to use my real name on the main campaign page which is public, only on the membership side of it. In fact, to become a member for women is free—only the men have to pay.
Good, because I can’t afford to pay a single dime for anything right now.
My hands are shaking, my heart racing as I fill out the intricate forms about my background and history. Some of this stuff is to make sure that I am not misrepresenting myself to their clients. Other parts of the questionnaire are so that whoever funds my campaign has the ability to look over my dossier and make sure he is content with finalizing the contract and handing over the money.
When it asks my sexual history, I hesitate. It wants details, such as how many lifetime partners, how many partners in the last six months, any STDs, etc.
I don’t want to admit the truth. If I say I’m a virgin, I worry that it might scare some men away. And I know that there are women who auction off their virginity, but the idea of doing that somehow skeeves me out even worse.
The kind of man looking specifically to take my virginity seems even more repulsive to me than the kind of guy simply paying for sex.
But to be fair, both kinds of guy are disturbing. The mere thought of handing myself over to some chubby older man with lots of money, a guy who I wouldn’t normally even look at…How will I get through this? I’m not a snob when it comes to men, but I have a hard time imagining myself kissing, let alone having sex with, a man who is physically unattractive to me.
Still, that’s what I might have to do to save my father and myself.
Can I really do this? I wonder as I finish compiling my background information, as well as uploading pictures for my profile, a picture of my driver’s license as proof of identity, writing a short essay and providing a one minute long video of myself explaining what I am looking for in a man, and then finally electronically signing off on the campaign.
I hesitate for a long while before hitting the submit button.
The chances of anyone being interested in this campaign are miniscule. I am asking for one hundred thousand dollars for a month of companionship. Based on my perusal of the other campaigns on the site, I am the third most expensive person in the entire catalog.
Of the two more expensive options, one is a porn star and the other is a YouTube influencer with over five hundred thousand followers. Obviously, they each have a reason for believing they’re worth these extravagant prices.
What’s my claim to fame?
Nothing but my own hubris and the need for quick cash…