Game Plan

I still see Frank two or three times a month. I asked him how old he was today. He made me guess. I tried to low-ball it, and guessed 72. I was exactly right. Eeks, he looks a lot older. He had his hip replaced late June, and that went smoothly. He’s back in the saddle, so to speak. You always see in movies, where the girl is fucking the old guy, and for whatever reason she’s not supposed to be there, and he has a heart attack and dies. I was thinking today, what would happen if I were in that situation. I decided today that if I were with Frank and he died, I would do everything I could to make it look like he was just having a nap and then I would leave. But does he nap in pajama’s? Would I have to dress him? Cause that would be impossible! But I don’t think I would call the cops. I guess primarily, because no crime was committed, but also because I wouldn’t want to ruin his memory. It’s nobodies business what he and I do. And it would only bring harm, if his family found out. I am glad I have decided on this. It’s best to have a game plan for just in case.

I have also decided to write my mother an “If you are reading this, I am dead” letter. It may sound over dramatic, but lets be honest. I work in a high risk industry. If anything happened to me, she would find out. You can’t predict these things. Right now, I have business cards in my desk drawer, scraps of paper with men’s phone numbers and address’ strewn about my apartment, my escort licence in my purse full of condoms, and my contract with the city in my filing drawer. Not to mention my computer history. I have picked a friend to be my in case of emergency for work, and the game plan is to tell my mother first, then immediately come clear out my place. But like I say, if it is a work related incident, there’s no stopping her from finding out. That would be a crushing blow to her. Thinking about it almost makes me want to quit. The letter would be to try to explain it. I haven’t written it yet. The idea intimidates me. Where do you start. It’s like writing your own obituary, only worse.

I also think it’s way more likely that I’m going to die in a car accident than on the job. And I’m ok with this. It’s not often you hear “She died instantly” in deaths in my industry. (That was a really inappropriate joke)