Blood on the Bentley: My Mother’s Price for Freedom

Summary

It was 107°F in the scorching summer heat, and I was standing on the street handing out flyers.

My mother’s Bentley was parked right by the curb.

She was blowing the AC inside, supervising me as I earned my "cleaning fee."

It wasn't until I shoved the very last flyer into the window of a Ferrari that had just pulled up.

Two minutes later, I pulled open the car door and got in.

My mother finally panicked.

Speeding down the road, she called my phone:

"Who is the man driving that car?"

"What is your relationship?"

"Have you slept with him?!"

I just smiled.