The New Economy by Mojavejoe420

Lesbian story: The New Economy by Mojavejoe420. “I’m afraid that’s right ma’am,” the mechanic was saying on my phone. “Seven hundred and forty eight dollars. And 57 cents.”

Lesbian story: The New Economy – Chapter 1: The Cash

by Mojavejoe420

Well, shit! That was about 700 more dollars than I had in my checking account. And, I’m a ‘Miss’ goddammit, not a ‘Ma’am’!

“Please!” I begged. “Are you sure? Isn’t there something else that can be done, some cheaper part?”

After begging for a few more minutes, he knocked the price down to an even $700. That was nice, but it really didn’t help me much at all. My asshole landlord just jacked up my rent this month. My two credit cards were nearly maxed out; I think I had about 250 left on those, combined.

I don’t want to cry, I thought. Not here at work! Just don’t cry. Maintain, deep breath.

But it didn’t do any good. I was tired, my car was dead, and I was out of money. I cried. Right there in my cubicle. I mean, not big loud girlie cries. But my shoulders jumped as I tried to keep it in, tears rolled down my face and onto my blouse before I could grab a Kleenex. To make matters worse, I just knew my face was getting all blotchy, of course.

At least it was late in the day and Joanne and Tracy had gone home. I tried to think of alternatives. Mom, no. I was already into her for $1,500 and she denied my last borrowing attempt. My sister Kate, no. I wouldn’t borrow money from that bitch except to buy a gun to shoot her with.

Jesus, I thought, what can I do? I know those 1-800-Cash things are a huge rip-off, but I didn’t seem to have much of a choice.

Just then, Mark came in. “Patience, I know it’s last minute but can you make a few changes to these orders? Barney didn’t like the way they were set up… oh, hey, are you crying? Did I… was it me? Is it these changes?”

“Sorry Mark,” I began explaining. “It’s not you. (Sniff) I just got some bad news on my car.”

“The Beemer? I told you not to buy that junker from Evans! Oh, sorry, not what you want to hear right now. Can I, um, do anything?”

“I know, I know, you told me not to buy that hunk of junk,” I whined in between sobs. “You’re right. I should have listened to you. (Sniff) You’re always so nice to me! Why are you already married?”

Oh shit I couldn’t believe I just said that! Like he would really be interested in me? I mean, nobody else been has for the last two years, why would he? And he’s married! What the fuck am I even thinking about!

Mark sighed and looked at me. “Are you short? How much?”

“The bill is about $700. I’m short like, I don’t know, 500 or so.” I was so ashamed. “But, Mark, I’m not asking you for the money! This isn’t your problem–”

“Aww just hush up, kiddo.” Mark always called me Kiddo. He was like, maybe 20 years older than me, I guess he had the right. “I’m gonna go talk to that shmuck Evans for a few minutes. Hey, you probably need a ride to the dealer?” I nodded. “Okay, get these changes done for me, I’ll be back in 15 and we’ll go get your car. Don’t worry about a thing.”

I sniffled and snuffled my way through the order changes, trying not to think about anything else but that was impossible. But I didn’t want to mess up Mark’s orders, either. I got ’em done, correctly.

But I just didn’t know what the hell I was going to do. As much as I needed the money, I didn’t want to borrow it because it would be so hard to pay it back. $500 would take me five months of starving myself! And I already had credit cards, auto loan, Mom loan, rent, christ. But then, I thought that starving myself might not be a bad idea. Ever since the divorce, I’d been steadily gaining weight. I just cracked the 180 barrier last week.

I started crying again. 180 pounds, what the fuck is wrong with me? FML!

Mark texted me to meet him down at the front of the office, he was ready to go. I dried my face, looked at my mirror and said fuck it, and went on down.

“So I shook down Evans for being such an asshole and selling you that lemon. I got $500 from him–”

“Oh my god!” I shrieked. “Look, I’ll pay him back–”

“No no no!” exclaimed Mark. “Call it a ‘rebate’, if you will. It’s yours.”

“Well I don’t know how you did it, but thank you!” I was so surprised. I didn’t know what to say. We chatted a little more till we got to the dealer, where, much to my amazement, Mark not only paid the $500 from Bill Evans, but he threw the rest on his own credit card.

I just stood there, overwhelmed by his generosity. At the same time, I wondered if he expected something in return. I mean, I would have done anything he wanted, I guess, but he didn’t seem like the type to do that. I was afraid to speak for fear of breaking down into tears again.

They brought my car around, it was running fine. Mark then surprised me again.

“You know the Applebee’s, over on Bristol?”

I nodded my head.

“Let’s go there. I’m buying you dinner. And we’re going to talk.”

– – –

Mark ordered some darkish craft beer and got me a margarita. Cadillac, of course.

“So Patience,” he said as we waited for the bevvies. “How did you get here? And by that, I mean, how did you get to the point of not being able to afford a car repair? You’re what, 26?”

“You’re sweet. I’m 29, almost 30. And thank you so much for getting the money from Evans ‘the shitbird’ and for paying the rest of it off.”

“Don’t thank me yet, sweetie. That was a loan. Keep going.”

The drinks came and we ‘Salud’-ed our glasses.

“Well, I was getting tired of my fucking husband cheating on me. Then he was stealing from me. And I was getting real tired of him hitting me… Anyways… Caught him with my sister and that was the last straw. The divorce was finalized two years ago, I got screwed over because he can’t keep a job, and I’ve just been struggling ever since.”

“Holy shit,” replied Mark. “I had no idea. What a fucking dirtbag. And, pardon me for being forward, but any boyfriends now?”

“Nope. Can’t get more than one date. Those dating websites, Jesus Christ! They are just full of one-night wonders! Bang and run, that’s all they want. I mean, okay, so I need a bang once in awhile, but Jesus! I’d like a second date sometime. But I’m sure my weight has something to do with it. I used to be 140. But that was years ago. Look at me now.”

“Don’t worry about it. You’re, what do they call it? Height/Weight Proportionate?”

“You mean, my big boobs balance out my huge ass?”

He chuckled, a little embarrassed. How cute!

We talked more about options for me, ways to cut back. He had some great ideas, I mean he’s some computer whiz-bang old man for sure. So he should be smart. But even with selling the Beemer and getting a Civic or a little Hyundai, I would just barely break even.

“You need to be loading up your 401-k, and utilizing the stock purchase plan! Christ I made 30 grand last year just with the stock plan. It’s based on your salary, but you could’ve made probably 6 or 7 thousand if you participated.”

I shrugged my shoulders. I was in retail before this job. I didn’t go to college. Frankly, the stock market scared me. I can’t get ahead in this world.

I was about to order a second drink but Mark stopped me. After the waitress left, he explained why.

“First of all, the last thing you need is a Drunk Driving arrest. Second, I know you want to lose weight, and drinking won’t help that. And third, well hell. I don’t know how to say it. But you need a clear head to think about… well, I’ve got an idea but you probably won’t like it.”

“What do you mean, Mark? What idea? Tell me!” I was desperate.

“There’s ways to make some money in your spare time. But… no. It’s, too stupid. You wouldn’t like it.”

“Mark, please. As long as it isn’t any of that multi-leveling-marketing bullshit. And I don’t want to work at a hardware store on the weekends. I need something, I’ll do anything!”

“There’s this funny thing about human nature,” Mark said. “When someone says ‘I will do anything’, they almost never mean it.”

I thought about that for a few moments. “Okay then. I will *consider* anything! How about that! But you’re right, I won’t sell drugs or whatever.”

“No. It’s not drugs. It’s, holy shit it’s hard to explain. And embarrassing. Okay, you have to swear complete confidentiality with me. On your honor. If you repeat what I tell you, you could get me fired, and probably divorced also.”

“Oh, well, Mark,” I began, suddenly worried. “Like, I’m not going to embezzle anything either, or rob a bank–”

“Whoa baby, it’s nothing like that. It has to do with… sex.”

I picked up my glass and drained the margarita remnants. Great, I thought. He wants me to be a prostitute.

“Thanks, Mark. I’ll return the money as soon as I can.” I began to collect my phone and purse.

“Patience. Sit. You need to hear me out. You owe me that much.”

Fucker. I do owe him, I thought. I slumped back down.

“Ok Mark. Go ahead. Tell me your sex plan that isn’t prostitution.”

Mark finished his beer and signalled for another one. I guess he still has me on a diet, though. Whatever. We waited in silence for the beer, I pretended to read my e-mails.

Finally, it arrived and he chugged half of it. Burped quietly, and wiped his mouth.

“Ok. Here it is. But you can’t hit me with any of that sexual harassment shit, okay? Here goes: Married men, say, someone such as myself, sometimes we get, oh shit this is harder to admit than I thought.”

I knew what he was trying to say. “You get horny and you want to fuck someone other than your wife. I get it. That happened to me, remember?”

“Yeah, well sort of. Sometimes, though, we just need a little spice. We don’t want to necessarily ‘cheat’, but there are alternatives. Some guys go to strip clubs, but that gets very expensive and there’s no payoff. So then other guys may go to massage parlors.”

He wants me to work in a massage parlor? I guess I should mention at this point I’m not asian. Not being racist, but 99% of them are Asian massage parlors.

“Now hang on, Patience. There’s another thing. See, some women run ‘massages’ out of their homes or hotels. It’s *not* prostitution. You give the guy a nice back rub. Soft music, candles, hot oils…”