After several days with my mother, constantly dodging her not-so-subtle attempts to psychoanalyze me, my not-boyfriend, and my not-relationship I was definitely NOT in the mood for any more familial meddling. So maybe it was good that Charlie never did make it up to see us, although she’d managed a ten minute obligatory phone call before her shit-bag boyfriend, Mason, had pulled her away. Our dining guests consisted of a few cousins and friends, my mother’s boyfriend, Jeffrey, and his son and daughter-in-law. Unfortunately we also had the dubious pleasure of hosting my Great Aunt Pearl, her own family having decided to fly out of town for the holiday. I suspect they only did so to escape her.
Aunt Pearl, eighty-six, is a crackling bundle of dry twigs collected from the floor of a haunted forest. Charlie and I had called her Black Pearl growing up, as she had a knack for drawing dark clouds of doom wherever she went. This Thanksgiving was no exception. Aunt Pearl had managed to judge my family, my mother, my profession, and my future in one magnificently engineered remark that she squawked across the dining table at me in a steady voice that belied her tiny frame.
“What did she say?” Sasha asked me when I relayed the tale to her the next day on my drive back to Maryville.
“Something to the effect of if my mother had raised me better, I’d have married Brian and now would have a husband and a home and I wouldn’t have to sully the family name with my whore-job.”
“Whore-job? You have a whore-job? As your employer, what does that make me?”
“I don’t know. A flesh peddler? A pimp? Head whore in charge?”
“I like that last one.” Sasha laughed. “So Auntie Pearl is a charmer, then.”
“Oh she is, and it got better,” I said. “After she called me a whore, she went on a rant about babies. She droned on and on about how many babies I’d have by now if I had only stayed with poor Brian Forrestor.”
“My God, Jane,” Sasha said with a gasp. “That’s evil. How could she say that? Does she not know…what happened?”
“Oh, she knows alright. The whole damn town knows. Hell, that’s why I left, just to get away from all of it, all of the memories and the pain and the pity.”
“Well there’s certainly no pity coming from Auntie.”
“No, she’s just a nasty piece of work,” I agreed. “But in her defense, I suspect she stays alive by feeding on the pain of others.”
“I’m astonished you can joke about it,” Sasha said.
“It’s how I cope, Sash,” I said. “I joke so I don’t cry. I can’t live in the past. I’m graduating. I’ve got to move forward with my life. I’ve got to figure out where to go from here, what to do next.”
“Yes, I’ve got some ideas for you.”
“I know.” I laughed. “You keep hinting about that. When are you going to just spill it?”
“Soon, I’m still working out the details. But listen, the reason I called… I need you to work tonight.”
“Really? I thought we were closed?”
“I received an unexpected call from an old friend. He’s got a group of business associates in town for some sort of convention and he needs to entertain them this weekend.”
“Who has a convention Thanksgiving weekend?”
“Canadians.”
“Oh right. Yeah, sure. I’ll be in, then.”
“And double—no—triple up on that grocery list I gave you on your way back if you would. These gentlemen have expensive tastes. I’ll reimburse you when you arrive.”
“Got it, boss.”
“Jane?” she said.
“Yes?”
“You’re fabulous, you know. I adore you.”
“I love you too, boss.”
“And you’re very good at your whore-job.”
“Hanging up now,” I said, laughing.
* * *
I texted the Professor when I got home. He didn’t respond. I texted him again after my shower, and let him know I’d been called into the club. I figured it was too much to hope he’d stop by, but at least if he did text me back, he’d know I was at work.
“Holy crap, Sasha, are they having the entire convention here?” I asked when I saw her in the dressing rooms. The club was packed with men in suits, clinking glasses and loosening their ties, trading business cards and scooping handfuls of nuts into their mouths.
“Looks that way, doesn’t it?”
“I dropped off the cooler with Malcolm,” I told her. “He said to tell you he’ll have everything out in a flash. You’re serving all that food to these guys?”
“Yes, tonight’s event is in honor of our fancy Canadian friends. We are calling it a VIP Tasting Party.”
“Tasting party?” I rolled my eyes. “No double entendre meant, of course?”
“Certainly not.” Her eyes widened in mock horror.
“What are you charging for this tasting party?”
“Sixty-five dollars a head, darling. And that’s a bargain. I dove into my own wine cellar to accommodate these well-dressed meat-heads and I expect to make back twice its value in up-sells tonight.”
“Wow.”
“Which brings me to some bad news. We’ve got just four girls tonight. You’re all going to have to work more than your fair share. All the other girls are out of town.”
“Crap.”
“Yes, so no private room dances except those negotiated by me for well past our usual rate. I need everyone on the floor all the time. Try to keep all up-sells to the floor, so everyone can enjoy the show.”
“While one poor schmuck pays for it.”
“Absolutely.” She smiled.