by Tara Oakes
“Blackmail. Plain and simple.” I flatten my palm onto the top photo and fan them out like a blackjack dealer in Vegas.
The dozens of high-resolution black and white images litter the work area.
I can feel Chris shift in his seat next to me. “Are those what I think they are?”
I nod, not at all happy to acknowledge the truth. It’s kind of like a Band-aid, though. Just rip it off and wince through the pain.
“Yup. Yours truly, in nothing but a G-string bikini, on a stripper pole.”
It’s hard to describe what I feel as I say those words aloud. Shame. Anger, Embarrassment.
Dad nearly had a heart attack when he saw the pictures for the first time. There I was, his baby girl, his pride and joy, looking like a raging whore. I immediately began to explain myself, to offer justification for what he was seeing at the time, but it was a hard sell.
It still sounds utterly ridiculous when I say it out loud.
I’m not too worried about disappointing Roger. He’s compensated handsomely to remain discreet regarding situations like this. Not to mention … he’s been in politics long enough to have seen far worse.
Cooper was pretty harsh when I had first told him. We had only been dating about a month or so. He was aware of my history with Chris, and wanted to know every detail about how we first met. It was probably his own insecurities playing out, needing to know all about his imaginary competition.
Chris and I had only broken up shortly before Cooper first asked me out. I was in a rough spot at the time, having thrown myself into my work to distract myself from the heartache left behind by Chris’s absence after going our separate ways. I had been spending day and night staring at computer screens and getting ready to get daddy’s re-election campaign up and running.
It wasn’t long before I realized I was lonely.
I already spent more time with Cooper than almost anybody else, as our work responsibilities closely tie into each other’s. He’s funny, he’s smart, and he’s cute in his own little way. Most importantly, though, dad thinks the world of him.
Sitting here now, across from Cooper, I don’t feel as self-conscious as I had when I first told him. He claimed he understood, he swore he didn’t judge me for it, and I believe him.
Chris, on the other hand ... I’m not worried in the least at how he feels about seeing the pictures. He knows the whole truth. Although these pictures show a hell of a lot, they don’t show one important piece of the puzzle.
They don’t show Chris, sitting in the front row.
“What are their demands?” Chris is all business, even though his hands are full of half-naked pictures of his ex-girlfriend.
I swallow hard, hating how my poor decisions have affected my dad and his campaign the way they have.
“Fifty thousand dollars, wired into a secure account.” I explain to him as I hand over the email listing those exact requests.
Chris inhales deeply, steepling his fingertips as he examines the text on the printed document. I can see his jaw moving slightly, as if he were grinding and clenching his teeth.
“It’s chump change,” Cooper is quick to add. “We should just pay it and be done with it.”
Chris’s attention shifts to the man sitting opposite him. Chris knows nothing about my relationship with Copper, but you’d never be able to tell by the look of contempt in his hardened eyes.
“Fifty-thousand dollars is a lot more than chump change to most people in this country.” It’s very clear these two men come from very different backgrounds. “Which is exactly why you shouldn’t pay it.”
“Exactly!” I agree. “They’ll only ask for more, later.”
Cooper shoots me a quick look, clearly unhappy that I’m disagreeing with him so adamantly.
Chris is loosing patience with my dad’s right-hand man, and chooses to ignore him and address the man in charge, instead.
“Excuse my bluntness, Senator, but I’m pretty sure you’re worth somewhere in the neighborhood of … ten million? Maybe more?” Dad’s attention is now piqued. There’s a silent unspoken rule among people of my father’s stature. You don’t talk about money — not your own, anyway. “I’m guessing the person who sent this knows that. They also know that if something like this were to be leaked, at just the right time during the campaign, it could garner a nasty little reaction from some of your constituents.”
Dad nods. Most of the people who vote regularly for him are very conservative. Sure, most of them probably go to the type of strip clubs depicted in these pictures every Saturday night and stuff their stiff dollar bills down into the crotch of the women dancing on the poles, but they’re also the ones who go to church the very next day and pretend it never happened.
“So why wouldn’t they ask for more?” Chris’s question is obviously rhetorical, but Cooper decides to answer.
“They’re probably not asking for more money because they think we’ll just chock it up as a good investment and not bother to flush them out. Blackmail is a crime, Agent Gibson.” There is a sharpness to Cooper’s words.
Dad isn’t sure who to side with. He shifts his eyes back and forth between the two men.
Chris shakes his head. “Nah … there’s only one place they could’ve gotten these photos. One man controls this type of information, and believe me, he’s not worried about a silly little thing like getting jammed up for blackmail.”
He’s talking about Nick Faccione, a.k.a. Nicky The Fish, the man who owns the strip club where these pictures were taken, the man who Chris himself helped to throw in jail for close to ten years.
Cooper’s eyes narrow on Chris, with the two of them locking stares in a very uncomfortable way.
“You can be sure there’s a very real reason why you’re only being asked for chump change. I have an idea what it could be, but there’s one way to know for sure.”
Each pair of eyes around the table widens, including my own, curious as to what it could be.
“I’ll take a trip to Barnsworth Penitentiary and see what I can find.” Chris finally offers.
I find my breath catching. Unless something has changed, Barnsworth Federal Penitentiary is where Nicky The Fish is housed.
“I’m going, too.” I quickly gather the mess of papers, fully prepared for the barrage of objections.
It doesn’t matter, though. Each of these men knows, first-hand, just how stubborn I can be; and, deep down, they must know that their opposition won’t do anything but waste time.
Continue reading Jess and Chris’s story
HERE
About the Author
Tara Oakes is an author from Long Island, N.Y, where she lives with her husband and their little pet family. She is an avid reader, a DIY'er and writer of all things romance, with over thirteen published works for you to enjoy.
When not writing or reading, Tara enjoys gardening (without much success) and all things Real Housewives related. Please feel free to contact her as all feedback and fan interaction is much welcomed and highly appreciated.
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