Time to Make the Calls

    July 2012 will live forever in my mind as the time my life was held hostage for $4000.  

    That’s my price: four grand, or approximately half of a semester’s tuition.  Un-fucking-believable.  

    It’s sort of pathetic.  For some reason, I thought I’d be worth more. 

    I barely slept at all last night.  I’ve got to wait a few more hours because of the time zone change, and then I’m going to call my mother for help.  

     If she can’t do it, my next call is going to be to my ex, the Surgeon.  THAT SHOULD BE FUN.  

     Four thousand bucks is probably what the Surgeon has in spare change underneath the floor mats of his shiny car.  There’s no doubt in my mind that he’ll give it to me, but he’s not going to just drop it off at my apartment in an envelope with a repayment plan attached.  

      I wouldn’t mind so much if all he would want in return is access to my sexuality.  I’ve been thinking about it a lot this week, and I think that I could handle that, psychologically speaking.  I’ve been with the man a million times, I know what he likes, how to keep him happy.  I know how to manage him.  

      Nope, it’s not going to be just sex.  He is going to want access to my life. 

      Now, perhaps you are thinking–as one person suggested to me the other day–Miss Margo, you don’t have to give him that.  Just take the money, and don’t let him in. 

       Unfortunately, I can’t do that.  Doing that would be insane.  There is no way on God’s green earth that I would be stupid enough to take the man’s money and not give him what he wants.  I would sooner renege on Joe Pesci’s character in the movie Casino.  I have seen him rain down a shitstorm of consequences on people for far, far less.  I wouldn’t do a shitty job of delivering the man’s morning newspaper.  In his professional life, he enjoys tremendous notoriety.  He is feared and hated.  I have heard people talk about him.  The stories I could tell you–Jesus!  

 I couldn’t find the infamous pen scene, but this one is pretty good. Picture this guy, only better looking and with a hundred additional IQ points.  “Miss Margo, you know, the least you could do is return my phone calls!”  I only wish I was joking.  

     My Kim works at a strip joint a few nights a week.  She wants me to go with her this Saturday.  I earned enough money yesterday to buy the shoes.  

     I honestly feel like I’m going to throw up.  

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