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Mum is the one who clears her throat and begins the conversation.
“Your dad and I have some questions. We gather you don’t work in a seedy brothel somewhere, and you don’t have a druggie pimp pushing you into it, but we want to know more.”
“Who is this agency you work for?” Dad asks. “How does it work, and what do they pay you and all that?” He waves a hand. “Not the… details details, just the setup.”
I’m very glad my parents don’t want to know the details details. I wouldn’t fancy talking about stinging nettles, or being bathed by Daddy.
I tell them about how Ebony first introduced me to The Agency, and how I approached her because not only was I skint and living on pasta, but because I was genuinely missing sex. Dad flinches at that, but Mum is ok, nodding her head.
“I knew they paid well, and I knew it was super safe and very well managed, and I knew I wanted to do it. I just, um, didn’t know how much I’d love doing it, and how the pay would go off the scale.”
I carry on, telling them how I have full control over which proposals I accept. About how strict the agency is when vetting both clients and entertainers, and how professional the code of conduct is with everything from sexual health reports to confidentiality.
“They’ve taken really good care of me,” I say. “They made my store job look like an absolute joke in comparison. My boss there was a bitch who criticised me for everything she could. This job is the total opposite. They appreciate everything I do.” I chance a smile. “Hence my bank balance.”
Dad listens without butting in or disputing anything, which is unusual for him. He asks questions along with Mum, and I can see both of their brains whirring, trying to digest things, but there isn’t the panic or the outrage that there was yesterday.
“I’m proud of what I do,” I tell them. “I know it may not be the dream career you had in mind for your daughter, but I am your daughter, and this is me. I’m confident. Happy. Successful.” I pause. “In love with a man who loves me back. Who is successful himself, and not just dragging me around to gigs as a hang on, and relying on me for pasta every night.”
“This Josh guy,” Dad says. “He’s a, what’s it? Entertainer as well, isn’t he?”
“Yeah, he is, and he loves it, too.”
“Isn’t that a bit fucked up?”
I shrug. “No. It’s our job.”
“Some job,” he says, “I’m sorry, but no matter how you sugarcoat it with fancy names and bulging bank accounts, you fuck people for money, and so does this Josh bloke.”
I flinch at that but stay calm. “You’re right,” I say, “technically we are prostitutes, whores, whatever you want to call it. But I’m not standing on street corners, flashing my thighs and looking for tricks. This is high-end, no risk, extremely well-managed, and both me and Josh are bloody good at it.”
“And how does your boyfriend feel, being with you after you screwed a dirty old man?”
“Ted!” Mum says, “there’s no need for that.”
“Yes, there is, Mum,” I say, “You’re right, Dad. Apart from the dirty old man bit. My boyfriend is fine with it, and so am I. Having sex on the job when entertaining is very different from having sex with someone you love.”
He goes red at that, and I can see him searching for more words.
“You taught me something, Dad,” I say, “as I was growing up.”
“And what was that?” Dad looks me in the eye and I can see the turmoil.
I think back to the time I remember clearly. It makes me smile. “I think I was only around seven or eight, and that awful neighbour, Robson I think he was called.”
Dad huffs. “Robson Black, let his dogs shit in every garden but his own.”
“That’s the one. Despite him being a boxer and twice your size, you asked him nicely to put a stop to it. And when it kept happening you asked him again. When it still happened the next day, and you saw him just standing there, letting his dogs crap on our lawn, you were seething.”
“That’s right,” Mum says, “you went and bagged that mess up, knocked on his door and gave him the bag, despite him being built like a brick outhouse, you stood up to him, told him there’d be trouble if it didn’t stop. I was so proud of you.”
Dad huffs again, but at least there’s the hint of a smile. “And what did that teach you?” he asks me.
“I remember when you came back in the house, how Mum hugged you and yes, I remember her saying she was proud. And you said something. You said that we should always have the courage of our convictions, no matter who we have to stand up to. That you were simply standing up for what was right. You repeated that a few times as I was growing up. And you passed that thinking on to me.”
“How so?” Dad says.
“My very strong convictions are my job, and my boyfriend, and how I will stand proud and defend my job – my life – until the cows come home, as Mum would say. I believe that what I’m doing, the path I’m on, is most definitely the right one.”
