“With the prices you’re charging, you should be.”
“Excuse me, we have a very rigorous process here to vet—”
“You’re not going to make her take off her clothes, are you?” Gran demanded. “Now I really need to be back there.”
“There’s a questionnaire.” Cecily sniffs.
“Her tits are real, she gets regularly waxed, and she can fake laugh at men’s stupid jokes like a champ. What more do you need to know?” Gran ticks off boxes. “Book her tonight.”
Kathy looks a little nauseous.
“Maybe we should have cut our teeth on the sugar daddy thing,” Carolina whispers. “You know, work up to the big leagues.”
“It takes some time to reel one of those in,” I argue. “Kathy could be an escort tonight.”
“Ah, no, she cannot. There are classes.” Cecily holds up a finger. “I make sure that our girls represent both themselves and Oasis with dignity and elegance.”
“No one needs class to get their ass eaten.” Gran makes a rude noise.
“We are not running a prostitution ring.” Cecily is shrill. She stands up. “I don’t believe we have space for you here at Oasis.”
“No, just give us another chance,” I beg. “Gran, go outside.”
“Why, so the Wicked Witch of the West Coast can do a hymen check? No thanks.”
“I told you I have a questionnaire.”
“You can shove your questionnaire up my snatch,” Gran hollers as we’re shuffled toward the front door. “You’re going to regret it!”
There are two freaked-out-looking middle-aged men hovering on the sidewalk when we are unceremoniously shoved out of Oasis.
“Don’t waste your money there,” Gran tells them, jerking a thumb. “Pussy’s plentiful. Lower your standards. Maybe hang out by a women’s prison.”
“Gran!”
The balding guy flips out.
“I can’t bring someone with a prison record to the business dinner. Oh god, what are we going to do? The dinner is tonight!”
“Guess that rules me out then.” Gran fists her hands on her hips.
“Isn’t hiring escorts illegal anyway? Maybe you two should try online dating,” I tell them.
“Yeah, because that worked so well for you.” Carolina snorts.
“All the pro-athlete guys do it,” says the balding guy, blotting his sweaty forehead.
“No wedding ring. That’s a fifteen thousand dollar watch, nice linen shirt. He looks like he’s got second-house money,” Carolina whispers, poking me in the ribs. “Do you have any pets?” She raises her voice.
“What?” The guy wearing the skinny jeans is confused.
“We’re trying to figure out if you like to microwave cats in your spare time,” I inform him.
He looks like he’s about to retch.
“See, this is why you don’t have a man. You don’t know how to talk to them,” Gran hisses. “Now, look here, you two. Seems like both of us have a dilemma on our hands. You need a date. We need a date-ee. So how about you take Kathy to your business dinner?”
“Really?” He perks up. “I can pay you. Five hundred dollars, okay?”
