I sigh. "Even if we stole his phone, he could still access his email from anywhere else with an internet connection. And he could have saved copies already. I don't think there's any way of obliterating the thing now."
"You're right." Morgan resumes pacing. "What we need to do is try to buy the video back, or at least bribe him not to splash it across every social media site in the world." She stops, her mouth forming a silent O. I wonder, vaguely, if she made that face in the video or if Biff is all hat and no cattle. "Oh, crap. I only have four-hundred-seventy-four dollars left. And I can't get a cash advance without my credit cards, which Richard has." She looks at me. "Hey, could you-".
"Loan you money?" I say with a snort. "Even if I did, we'd still have less than a thousand. You think a guy like Biff would give back a video like that for four figures? I bet he'd hold out for at least five."
"But what else can I do?" Morgan wails.
I start rummaging through my suitcase for my workout clothes. "You come running with me. We drop by Biff's room and see if he's even awake. If he looks like I do, he probably didn't wake up until we banged on his door, which means he probably hasn't seen the text. In that case, you distract him and I'll try to delete the vid from his phone."
"And if he's already awake, or not there?"
I sigh. "We'll just have to think of something else we can use as leverage besides cash. Creative thinking, Morgan. We learned about it in one of my marketing classes - how to get people to buy stuff when you have no advertising budget."
"So, how do you do it?" Morgan asks.
I turn my back to her, yank off my shirt and struggle into my sports bra. I intentionally buy them small so they'll be super-tight, the only way I know that I can run without giving myself two black eyes. If my sports bra is so tight I can just barely breathe, it's perfect. "Well, we'll figure that out as we run. My brain works better when I'm exercising." I grunt as I pull an exercise top, also purchased intentionally too small, over the bra. "Now go get dressed. We can't afford to waste time. Biff could wake up any minute."
Chapter Seven
Guessing a person's income bracket is not just a trick for waiters. It's something you spend years studying in any college marketing program; forget what you think of when you think about who buys a Mercedes, how much money does the average Mercedes owner really make? (It's lower than you think.)
There is no Mercedes parked outside Biff's hotel room. What he does have is an oversized, ridiculously tricked-out pickup truck. And I don't mean tricked out in an I'm-proud-of-my-truck-and-I-want-to-spend-a-few-bucks-on-it kind of way. This thing is so high off the ground, I could easily park my convertible underneath it and still have room to put the top up. It has, for some random reason, these big metal muffler-type things sticking up on either side of the cab. Then there's the pair of longhorns mounted to the grille. If I wanted to segment the market for such a product, I'd call this group "I bought this truck because I'm hung like a hamster".
"You're sure that's his vehicle?" I ask Morgan.
She nods. "I remember almost walking into the damn thing when I left this morning."
She really knows how to pick them.
We walk up to his door and knock. There's no answer, so after waiting twenty seconds or so, I knock again. Harder. "Hellooooooo?" I yell. "The ad on the bathroom stall door indicated that you were hiring for-"
The door swings open and a very bleary-eyed Biff is standing there, a towel wrapped around his waist. I'll admit, he's not a bad-looking guy, but the real reason I want him to drop the towel is because I'd like to see if I was right about the reason he bought his truck.
"Whoa...what's going on?" he asks, looking from me to Morgan, then repeating the process. "Hey, did you bring her back for a threesome or something?"
"Definitely not," Morgan says, clenching her fists. "I just came by because I forgot my...sweater last night."
"Oh...well, come on in, I guess." Biff lets the door swing open as he stumbles backward, still awkwardly clutching the towel.
Morgan moves around the room, pretending to look for her sweater. "I'm sure it's here somewhere. As soon as I find it, we'll be out of your way."
I poke around, pretending to "help" Morgan "look for her sweater". The fact that his phone is not immediately in plain sight concerns me. A lot.
Biff scrunches up his face as if he's rubbing both brain cells together and hoping to form a spark. "I don't remember you even wearing a sweater last night, darlin'."
"I was when I walked in, I'm sure of it," Morgan says tightly, pulling the pillows off the bed and frowning at the rumpled sheets.
"No, I don't remember takin' a sweater offa ya," Biff says, in that grating pseudo-English some fans of county music adore. I find it annoying. "Just that low-cut top of yours." He narrows his eyes at both of us. "Now what are you two really here for?"
All Morgan has to do at this point is insist she remembers wearing the sweater. Biff was, after all, probably just as drunk as she was; he can't expect both their memories to be perfect.
But Morgan is panicking. She doesn't do this often, but when she does, she really goes all out. Before I can think of a way to head her off, she blurts out, "Why did you send yourself that video of us having sex?"
Biff raises an eyebrow. "What's that?"
"You know what I'm talking about!" Morgan yells. "On my phone, I have a sent text to you containing a video of us having sex. I know I didn't send it."
Biff raises his hands in the air and I wonder if his towel will hit the ground. No luck. "Well, neither did I!"
"There was no one else in the room, and it wasn't me. It had to be you," Morgan yells. "Now I need your copy of that video deleted! Where the hell is it?"
Biff shrugs. "I still don't know what you're talkin' bout, darlin', but if you want to make another sex tape I'd be happy to help."
"You asshole! You think you can do this to me?" Morgan snarls, fingers curling around the back of a hotel chair. "What are you planning to do? Blackmail me? Or release the tape so you and your buddies can get a good laugh?"
"Morgan, maybe we could discuss this calmly," I suggest, since I know she can't, at present, threaten the guy with her usual arsenal, like having her rich daddy get him kicked out of school (he's friends with several board members from our university, and probably some from most of the schools in Texas).
Biff is laughing and shaking his head now. Still no luck with the towel. "I still have no idea what you're talkin' bout there, sugar. But if I did, what would you do about it?"
This is the situation I was trying to avoid. I watch Morgan stare daggers at the guy, trying to think of something to threaten or bargain with. She can't offer him money, because she temporarily doesn't have any, and blackmailers always wind up asking for more money later, trust me.
"I'd...expose you as a blackmailer if you ever released the tape," Morgan says finally, glancing at me. "We're recording this right now." This is, actually, true. The phone in my purse is tucked in a side pocket so just the top with the camera sticks out.
"But I haven't tried to blackmail you," Biff protests. "All I did was tell you I don't have any sex tape of us."
"Okay, Biff, what's your end game?" I ask.
"My what?" He's really keeping up the innocent act.
I shrug. "Hypothetically, if someone in your position did have a sex tape, what would that person want in exchange for keeping it off the net?"
"Hypothetically? Like, if it was a friend of mine, who, unlike me, actually had a sex tape with some girl?"
"Hypothetically, just like that," I say.
Biff folds his arms across his chest and looks back and forth between me and Morgan. "Hypothetically, I'd say the guy just made that tape to protect himself."
"Protect himself? From what?" Morgan yells.
He shrugs. "The same things that always happen with girls like you: Pointless paternity suits, claims of date rape, extortion."
"Girls like me?" Morgan is literally shaking w
ith rage right now. I wouldn't be surprised if she registered on a Richter scale somewhere.
Biff looks away. "You know...girls at the lower end of middle class. I can't tell you how many of my buddies have had a night with one of you, only to find she was trying to use him to make a buck. Last year, my roommate had to pay for five paternity tests – he wasn't the father of any of those kids. He believes in condoms, you know? And he doesn't even remember sleeping with two of those girls.."
"Perhaps he should make an effort to stay sober during his one-night stands," I suggest.
"So what, you've just decided to make sex tapes to protect yourself from lawsuits?" Morgan asks, disgusted.
Biff raises his eyebrows. "I didn't say that. I said that I didn't make a sex tape of us, and if you have one, I don't know where it came from."
"If you ever release that tape, I promise you'll be sorry," Morgan growls at him. She stands there for a minute, hands clenched, as if she has something else to say or do, then she finally storms out the door.
I shoot Biff a glare. "She means that," I say, hoping I sound as threatening as a bad horror-movie killer.
Biff actually snorts as I walk out the door. "I'm really afraid."
Chapter Eight
"So what are you going to do now?" I ask Morgan. We're sitting around the table at The Tiki Hut, a restaurant as small and cheap as its name suggests. I am recording this conversation; at first, Tiffany was against it, but we all wanted to eat lunch early (breakfast got kind of lost in the shuffle of things) so we needed to record any spending we did. We could choose not to release this video – if we don't stream it live, it gets stored on our channel and we can release it later or delete it. But since Morgan wanted to ask Tiffany's advice, I pointed out that everyone would probably have heard at least a rumor of the sex tape anyway. Tiffany spreads gossip the way a star quarterback spreads an STD.
"What do poor people do when they get into this situation?" Morgan asks. “I mean, since we're on a tight budget here.”
"Well, if you can't afford to pay off blackmailers you have a few options," Richard says. "One, you could try to avoid situations where someone might be able to blackmail you with something-"
"Bo-oring," Tiffany intones.
“Reusing and recycling might not help with this particular situation,” I admit.
"There are bigger problems," Matt says. "Sometimes you can't see those situations coming. Not that I'm speaking from experience or anything. But, you know, I might have a friend who spent years paying someone off to keep a sex tape off the internet."
"Or someone could frame you or leave you holding the bag for something you had nothing to do with," I say. "Not that I've ever done that. "
"Of course." Richard rolls the salt shaker between his hands. "You're all innocent of everything here."
"Really, even if you have the money, paying off a blackmailer isn't a good idea." I ignore his sarcasm. "They're just going to keep coming back for more, like what happened to Matt...'s friend."
"So what do you do?" Morgan asks.
"What most poor people do is let the tape get released and sue someone, either the person who made it or the site that released it or both," Tiffany says, and for once she's actually making sense. Hey, they say even a stopped clock is right twice a day - although I've never known what they mean by that, since stopped clocks usually just go dark and don't show any time at all.
"You think I should just let him get away with this?" Morgan hisses at her.
"No, no, not at all," Tiffany says, staring down at her lap. I get the impression she's adding up the cost of what she wants to order on her fingers. I told you this place was cheap. "He doesn't get away with anything when you sue him for...what do you call it?"
"Video voyeurism?" I suggest. "I don't remember what the law is exactly, but I'm pretty sure recording someone without their knowledge or consent is at least a tort."
"A what?" Charlie looks up from his menu.
"A tort means something you can get sued for," I say. "A crime is something you can get hauled off to jail for, like the guy with the Ponzi schemes. That's about all I remember from media law." I have the memory of an elephant, by the way; I just didn't study much for that class because it bored the crap out of me.
"So you sue Biff's ass off, and you make a bunch of money," Tiffany says, waving for the waiter. "We're all ready to order, right?"
"But that won't help me," Morgan says, frowning at Tiffany. "That would help someone who was permanently poor and needed money, maybe. But I would still be humiliated. My parents might find out. What if I can't get into medical school because of that stupid video?"
The waitress, whose nametag says Claire, arrives then. She's tall and blonde and wouldn't be bad looking with $500 worth of clothes and makeup. "What can I get you?" She brandishes a paper notebook and one of those cheap pens - you know, the kind that never write when you pick them up. Or at least that's how they used to be back when I still did any writing with a pen. You know, back in the third grade.
Charlie, who's closest to the waitress, orders first. "I'll have the $3 special. Can I get extra fries?"
Claire scribbles in her notebook, not looking up. "Sure. That'll be fifty cents extra."
"I gotta pay extra?"
"If you want extra fries, yes, they make us charge extra." Claire finally looks up from the notebook. "You want 'em or not?"
"It's just fifty cents," Matt says.
"Oh, okay," Charlie grumbles. "But how about if you just put a couple extra on my plate? I mean, exactly how many fries come with the number three, anyway?"
I have the sudden urge to hide under the table.
"One scoop," Claire says, turning her gaze to Matt. "And for you?"
"So two or three fries wouldn't make any difference," Charlie continued. "I mean, if you just use a scoop and don't count them, some people probably get a couple more fries than others anyway. How do I know I'm even getting all the fries I'm paying for in the first place?"
"Dude, let it go," Richard grumbles. I'm shocked - Richard is usually the one nickel-and-diming and bitching and moaning about cost.
Claire sighs. "Okay, I will make sure you get a full scoop. And I'll throw five extra fries in for free. I won't charge you extra unless you want two scoops. Will that work?"
"I guess so," Charlie concedes, finally surrendering his menu to Claire. "But I will be counting my fries, and all my friends' fries."
"Dude. You are not counting my fries," Matt says, looking at Charlie as if he just announced he was taking a vow of celibacy. "I am starting to eat them the second they get here. I'll have the number three also," he adds to Claire.
"You're definitely not fondling my fries. That's just gross." Tiffany wrinkles her nose. "How do we even know your hands are clean?"
Richard is snickering so much he can barely speak to order his food. The guy is enjoying this shit way too much. "I'll have the number two," he finally manages. "And I'll have extra fries. No, make that extra everything."
He has a lot to learn about being rich if his biggest splurge is extra fries.
Tiffany and Morgan both order salads, like me. "Can I get mine without onions?" I ask. There's only one vegetable in the world that I absolutely can't stand, and it's onion.
"Sure," Claire says, looking happy to be almost done with out orders.
"So do I get a discount?" I ask as she turns to go.
"For what?" She stares at me blankly.
"Well, you're saving money on the onions. Why shouldn't I get a discount?" I ask. "I mean, your rationale for charging extra for extra fries is that the extra fries cost you more, right? So if I get less or none of something that normally comes with an item, I should get charged less."
"I don't make the prices," Claire says, shoving her pen over one year and clenching the notebook so tightly the spine starts to bend.
"Oh, I understand," I say. "Could I speak with the manager?"
Claire nods happily and leaves.
/> "You are not seriously going to demand a discount," Richard says, his dimples lost to a slack jaw.
"Why not?" I ask.
"Because it's ridiculous," Richard says.
"Can we get back to my problem?" Morgan asks. "What if I can't get into medical school because of Biff's stupid sex tape?"
"You'll be rich from the lawsuit. Why would you need to go to medical school?" Tiffany asks.
"Because she's one of those self-righteous rich people who wants to help people." Richard rolls his eyes.
"What is your problem?" Morgan snaps, with an edge of hysteria to her voice that suggests the combo of very little sleep/hangover/sex tape crisis is pushing her to the point of a nuclear meltdown. "You don't want rich people to spend money on themselves, but you make fun of us for wanting to help other people. What do you want us to do, put our money in a pile and burn it?"
Just then the manager arrives. He's a fiftyish guy with a balding pate, glasses and a dumb-but-helpful grin that reminds me of a labrador. I quickly rehash the situation with Charlie's fries and explain why I feel I should get a discount for not getting onion on my salad if someone who gets extra fries is charged more.
Labrador mops his forehead with a wilted-looking handkerchief. "We put very little onion on the salad, and we buy all our ingredients in bulk, so I'm sure it isn't worth fifty cents."
"If you save money buying in bulk, then you must save a lot of money on potatoes and oil." Charlie jumps in. "So I bet an extra scoop of fries isn't worth fifty cents either."
"All I can tell you is that the rules are made by our corporate office," Labrador says, scratching the bald part of his head. What could possibly be itching him up there? He's not even wearing a toupee. "But I can give you each a fifty cent discount today since you feel that it's unfair. In the future, however, I would suggest you write a letter to corporate if you have a question about pricing."
"So I can get an extra scoop of fries free?" Charlie asks.
"Yes, and your friend will get a discount on her salad. I'll go adjust your tickets." Labrador turns and basically runs for the kitchen. He looks like a bad actor in a war movie, pretending to dodge bullets on the battlefield.
Sorority Girls With Guns Page 5
