Back at the nightclub. Different people, same old shit. I order a round of drinks for Jenna, Serena, and Taylor, and then for the heck of it, decide to buy an entire round of drinks for the Australians as well. What the hell, I think, I did pocket an extra $1,000. A few drinks wouldn't be that big of a deal. Generosity feels good sometimes. And it is awfully fun.

Everyone clinks glasses and cheers one another. One Australian, Matt, with oak-colored hair and especially broad shoulders, straddles me in jest, giving me a faux lap dance. "For the drink," he winks.

I playfully slap him on the back. "I'm off limits," I say with a laugh.

Matt jumps up, hands up in the air like he's offended, and he heads off.

I'm glad he isn't insistent. I don't exactly want to explain myself and I'm not quite sure why those are the words that I say. But part of me feels like that's true. That's foolish, right?

I order myself another cosmopolitan and vow not to think about it. Another moment that I think about David is another moment that I make myself even crazier!

Drinks and fun, and just enjoying life feels like such a relief. I haven't had fun for fun's sake in so long, I begin to wonder if, until right now on the dance floor, I completely forgot how to have fun.

It’s kind of hard to have fun when your husband is cheating on you. Then he dies, leaving your finances in limbo.

As the night turns into morning, everyone picks up to leave and I ask the bartender to close my tab.

When he returns with my bill, I see it. $254. That is the bill without a tip.

Money is disappearing quicker than I anticipated, and I realize that I've got to figure out something...and I do have a possibility of doubling what I have left.

Otherwise, how long will the remaining $746 last, I wonder. My shoulders tense and I think about how it felt to tell Jenna I wanted to drive because I couldn't afford any other way to get to Vegas. I want to never feel as horrible as being broke feels. Yes, I could have not bought all those drinks. I don't have to have new yoga clothes all the time. But the truth of the matter is that I need to be able to support myself to at least some level because I still have a house and bills that go with a lifestyle I used to have.

The husband is gone, the money is gone...and I have to do something.

Convention or not, the Copley Hotel is not paying me anywhere near what being a girl for rent does...so maybe it won't be so bad if I go ahead and really consider that drunk guy's offer. $750 an hour is already enough to make my shoulders fall down and not be so tense. I have the means to fix the problems in front of me, and the experience isn't terrible.

I think maybe I can give it another go. I just have that weird feeling that I don't know what I'm doing.

I scan around the bar, and I see that everyone else is leaving.

The bartender pops back up and I hand him the cash with a hearty tip. He hands me another cosmopolitan. "You need this...on the house," he says with a nod.

Am I being paranoid, or does he know why I need it?

Oh, that's probably crazy. I smile. "Thank you, I think I really do need it."

"Least I can do, ma'am," The bartender says. He laughs when I down the whole drink. Really classy, I know, but I need to numb the sensations that are pressing into my skull right now.

I hand the glass back to him.

"Guess you definitely needed that. Stay safe," he says.

I shiver at his words, nice as he intended them.

"I will," I say, rubbing my upper arms and wondering if I really will stay safe. I want to. Am I doing something totally crazy?

I mean, I'm considering actually fucking another guy for money.

We’re a long way from being a housewife in SoCal, that’s for damn sure.