LITMIR.BIZ

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it was bad.

      I looked up at him.

      “What in God’s name possessed you to go into that girl’s room?”

      “I don’t know,” he said. “I’m screwed, aren’t I?”

      “You’ve got a big problem, that’s for sure. So let’s start with the basics: any idea how old that girl is?”

      “She’s eighteen. I’m sure of that.”

      “How do you know?”

      “She just had a birthday—my daughter went to her party.”

      “You’re sure? Because if she’s underage, then I have to report it to police and this conversation’s over.”

      “I swear. I wouldn’t—I wouldn’t cross that line.”

      “Big of you.”

      “I know I made a mistake. That’s why I’m here. I just want to know if there’s anything you can do to fix this.”

      “It depends.”

      “On what?”

      “On what you want me to do.”

      “I want you to help me.”

      “First way I can help is play the middleman and handle the money.”

      “You mean I should pay them?”

      “That’s right.”

      “That’s not what I had in mind.”

      “Probably smart. Second way I can help is tell them, on your behalf, to fuck off.”

      “Run the risk of them posting it? No way.”

      “Why not? What’s the worst that could happen?”

      “Everything. Marriage. Ruin me at work.”

      “What do you do?”

      “Government relations. Work for grocery stores and liquor outlets. Lobbyist, basically.”

      “Ever had this kind of problem before?”

      “Never,” he said. “That’s why this is so bad.”

      “First time for everything.”

      He grimaced. “Anything else you can do?”

      “Option three is I have a friendly conversation with this girl. Persuade her it’s not in her best interest, and whoever else is involved, to move forward.”

      “You could do that? Get them to call it off? Get the video?”

      I shook my head. “Not in this day and age. A copy of that video is sitting on a server someplace and somebody’s laptop and probably a flash drive, and that’s just for starters. It’s always going to be out there. You’re going to have to live with that. Best I can do is keep them from posting it.” “Jesus Christ,” Hamilton said. “What’s the good of any of this, then?”

      “Good question. I can make a strong argument on your behalf, and we’ll cross our fingers. That’s about all we’ve got right now.”

      “There’s no way you could fix this permanently?”

      “If by permanently you mean wind the tape back, return to a moment when it hadn’t happened, then no. You’re going to have to accept the possibility that someday the video will surface.”

      He went silent. I dipped my muffin in my coffee, took a bite. Looked out the coffee shop window and saw two women jog past. A man walking his dog the other direction turned to check them out. Another jogger, a man, passed the dog walker and checked him out. Sunday in German Village.

      I heard Hamilton say, “When could you start?”

      “You still want to hire me?”

      “Sure,” he said. Then he added: “What other choice do I have?”

      “What we already talked about. Go home and tell your wife. Even if you decide we go after them, try to stare them down, it’s better that she knows now. I mean, if your marriage is something you think worth’s saving.”

      “I can only imagine her reaction.”

      “Don’t, then.”

      “Don’t tell her?”

      “Don’t imagine. Just do it and hope to be surprised.”

      He thought about this for several seconds. Then he said, “If you don’t mind me asking, you know who Art Schlichter is, right?”

      I sighed. I got this question a lot. “Former Ohio State and NFL quarterback who lost everything to his gambling addiction. Yes, I know who Schlichter is. What does that have to do with anything?”

      “Nothing, I guess.”

      “But you asked.”

      “There are some similarities. You know.”

      “Here’s the difference,” I said. “We both went to prison, but I’m the one sitting in a coffee shop on my day off trying to save your ass.”

      4

      Hamilton chose Door Number 3, though without telling his wife yet, while I’d attempt to make the problem go away as much as it was possible in the digital age. It wasn’t the option I’d have picked, but I was now up by a $500 deposit plus $100 a day in expenses. I lingered after Hamilton left, gulped a bit more coffee and took another bite of my muffin. I had one task to do before I got to work, and I wasn’t looking forward to it. I dialed the number from memory.

      “Hello?” I could tell right away I had awakened her.

      “It’s Andy,” I said. “Sorry to call this early.”

      “Damn right it’s early,” she said, and I didn’t respond, despite the fact it was nearing ten.

      Instead I said, “Something’s come up. A job. Guy called me while I was having coffee this morning.”

      “You can’t make it.” A statement, not a question.

      “I could lie and say there’s still a chance. Or I might be there, but just a little late. But, you’re right, I can’t make it. I don’t know how it’s going to unfold. So I’ll tell the truth.”

      “And you know how I feel about the truth.”

      “Absolutely.”

      “And you also know how I feel about broken promises.”

      “I’m sorry.”

      “And how I feel about that expression.”

      I didn’t say anything.

      “On that note,” she said, “Goodbye.”

      The hardest thing was not knowing whether she was disappointed I couldn’t make it. I knew I was.

      At least, I think I was.

      Back in the house I rent on Mohawk Street, I started by searching Facebook for Jennifer Rawlings. I found the same pretty-looking blonde from the video, her page locked to outsiders. I thought about sending her a Facebook message, but that could cut either way: it might provoke a return call, or it might scare her off.

      Not sure what else to do, I called the number for the only Rawlings I could find listed in Upper Arlington.

      “Hello?” A woman’s voice. Too old to be Jennifer.

      “This is Mr. Weatherbee?” I said. “From the high school? For Jennifer?”

      “She’s not here right now. Something I can help with?”

      “Wouldn’t you know, our website’s gone down and I’ve been getting calls and e-mails about the assignment—lot of kids say they

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