" So how fast you want it back?" Fast as possible," I told him."Cause three thousand quid's a lot of hours this girl's got to clock up. And I don't know if I've got enough togs on my books to earn her that much. Not unless she does a big variety of styles, anyroad. Thirty quid an hour is standard here for UK mag style, forty for American mag and only fifty for toys. I can't scare the punters off, can I? Half my lot are doing this off their pensions. I mean if she did all that and she did a bit of proper fetishy stuff on the side we might get a bit more, but I can't charge for her more'n I charge for the other girls, can I?"I don't think the girl had much of a clue what any of them phrases meant, cause she wasn't somebody who'd ever though of doing this before, she wasn't a natural wannabe model.But anyway he put her on his books. He didn't photograph her himself for some reason, like he normally does with the other girls. Cause it's part of his agreement with them, he takes a few free. This is the story about my mother and me. It begins with the familiar return from college and a difficult re-insertion into the home life that I had left four years earlier and had not been part of except for Christmas holidays and the summer after my first year. Each summer after that I had worked a dream job as part of the crew for a company chartering sailboats in the Caribbean. I did that for the first two months after graduation but, due to the sagging economy, the company was forced to let me go. So there I was, on my parents' doorstep, degree in hand and a few hundred bucks in my pocket, and no job prospects whatsoever. So much for my degree.I guess Mom and I were both a little surprised by each other. I hadn't been back to the west coast since the past summer so it had been more than a year since we'd seen each other. The deep tan caught Mom by surprise, probably because each time she'd seen me at Christmas it had had four months to wear off from the previous summer. Also, I.
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