Then again, my Vincent's ensemble consisted of a black mini skirt, sleeveless tight white top and black stockings with knee high fuck me boots. It was another little dig at my secret profession that the other waitresses claimed how risqué the outfit was while I felt over dressed.

That outfit earned me good tips, damn good tips and perhaps if I chose between the mortgage or Paul's tuition, it-along with Paul's part time job-could get us by, but I wouldn't make that choice. If I did, the house would obviously be the thing to go, but then again wherever we went we'd have to pay rent, which would be cheaper,...