“I hate computers!”
“If it weren’t for computers, you’d probably be working for a service taking half of your money.”
“Don’t be an asshole. You know what I mean.”
“Actually, I don’t, Athena. Honestly, it seems like kind of a stupid thing for you to say, considering how well you’ve marketed yourself using them. You could never have gotten this kind of exposure without the internet, and that exposure is the main reason you’re so fucking successful. If you don’t want all those clients, you can give some of ’em to me.”
“You’re not exactly hurting yourself, Heather.”
“I didn’t say I was, but I’m not the one about to buy a new Lexus without financing it.”
“I’m not going to be buying it either, unless these stupid computers stop fucking with me!”
“What computers?”
“The ones at the New York state vital records office. They keep saying my birth certificate doesn’t exist. See this? ‘Record not found.’ That’s what it says every time I try to get a copy.”
“Why do you want one?”
“Because I need it to get a driver’s license so I can buy the goddamned Lexus!”
“OK, calm down. Don’t you have an old copy somewhere?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Doesn’t your mom have a copy?”
“I’ve never met my mom. CPS took me away from her when I was a baby and I was raised in foster homes until I finally ran away and started living on my own eight years ago, when I was 16.”
“Hey, you told me your mother was a teacher.”
“That’s part of the backstory I tell clients. I also tell them I’m studying to be a psychologist, when in fact I don’t even have a GED.”
“So much for my suggestion you call your old high school. Damn, honey, don’t you know any of your relatives?”
“Not a one. And I’m beginning to think that what I thought was my real name isn’t my real name at all, but one somebody gave me somewhere along the way. Which is why it isn’t showing up in the computer.”
“Well, that’s hardly the computer’s fault.”
“Are you fucking kidding me? What fucking difference does that make? Holy shit, Heather, I’m trying to vent here and you’re giving me this Pollyanna bullshit about assigning blame!”
“OK, I’m sorry, you’re right; my dad is a scientist and my mom says I sound just like him sometimes. But there’s gotta be a way to crack this; I mean, you were in the foster system, so there must be a record of you there. Have you tried them?”
“Of course; just because I’m a dropout doesn’t mean I’m stupid. But they won’t give me any information without a social security number.”
“Wait, you don’t know your social?”
“Would we be having this fucking conversation if I did?”
“But Athena, how the hell have you even managed to survive until now without a social security number?”
“Cash. Prepaid Visa. Renting places from little old ladies who don’t do credit checks. And I don’t know about you, but none of my clients have ever required it as a condition of seeing me”.
“Point taken. So what made you decide to go on the grid? You’ve been doing a great job living outside of it, and…shit, you’ve never paid taxes either, have you?”
“Nope.”
“Girl, are you crazy? Why the hell do you want to ruin a sweet deal like this? So you can’t get a car; who needs it? Just call a freaking Uber when you need a ride, just like you always have.”
“Because now I’m scared!”
“Of the IRS?”
“No, not the fucking IRS! I’m afraid because as far as I can determine, I don’t have any past at all prior to eight years ago!”
“Well, you have your memories…no, you don’t, do you?”
“Not before I started working. My earliest memories are of living on the street, trading sex for food and a place to stay; I just started talking about foster care because the other street girls I knew talked about it. And somewhere along the line I guess I started to believe it, but all this has forced me to confront the truth that I don’t actually know who I am or where I came from. Everything I say about my life prior to moving out here and taking out my first Backpage ad five years ago is a lie, and even my memories of street work are pretty vague; the more I think about it, the more contradictions I find. It’s as though I didn’t really exist before that.”
“But you sure do exist on the internet. I mean, you are all over the place; I’ve never seen anybody use social media as well as you do. You use it like…”
“Go on, like what?”
“Like your life depended on it.”
“As you said yourself, my income does.”
“Of course. Hey, sweetie, this conversation has gotten way too heavy; what say we go get a drink?”
“Sure, sure, that’s a great idea. I’m sorry I got so upset at you.”
“Don’t apologize; you’ve got a lot on your mind.”
“Thanks. It’s just really hard not knowing who I am.”
“I know exactly who you are; you’re Athena Logan, the most popular escort in the whole freaking country.”
“You’re full of shit, and I love you for it. I guess one advantage of not knowing my real name is that I don’t have to answer to some stupid, boring name I didn’t choose.”
“Do you remember why you chose Athena?”
“Nah, I’ve always used it since my very first ad; don’t you think it suits me?”
“Oh, definitely, babe; I can’t imagine your being called anything else.”
