Call Me! Page 13

  “Like I say, the law’s fuzzy on this issue.”

  “Who says?”

  “Cheryl Goodman.”

  “Cheryl works in sex crimes?”

  “Believe it or not, we have an Internet Crimes against Children unit. Cheryl says they’re trying to establish laws against pornographic anime depicting minors. But as you can see, some of these perverts are highly-skilled artists, and they’re demanding First Amendment rights.”

  “Does Sean even have a sister?”

  “We don’t know yet, but Cheryl doubts it. Her best guess is Sean’s a middle-aged woman, and her internet rap about being a teen with an underage sister’s a marketing ploy.”

  “Sean’s a woman? That’s quite a leap Cheryl’s made.”

  “A woman who happens to be a highly-skilled artist. Look at the picture again.”

  I do.

  “What about it?”

  “According to our police sketch artist, the cutie-pie style suggests a female hand.”

  “That sounds sexist.”

  “Our sketch artist is a woman.”

  “Oh.”

  Pat gives me a quiet moment to think about it. Then I say, “But what about the degenerates who buy these pictures?”

  “What about them?”

  “Aren’t they furious when they receive cartoons instead of photographs?”

  “Apparently, they know what they’re getting, because they’ve dealt with Sean in the past. The whole thing about helping him obtain the date rape drug, telling Sean what to do to his sister, is audience participation. They’re helping Sean decide what types of pictures to draw.”

  “This is insane.”

  “It is. But the internet proves there’s a market for every perversion. And men who are afraid to possess photos of actual children are willing to settle for cute cartoon drawings of children in sexual situations. In the end, whether guys are rubbing one out over porn stars or cartoons, it’s all fantasy, right?”

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  He laughs.

  “It’s still pornography, Pat.”

  “I agree. But I’ll ask you what Cheryl asked me an hour ago.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Have you ever seen paintings of naked babies in museums?”

  “Of course.”

  “Should you be arrested for that?” He pauses, then says, “So where do you draw the line?”

  “Sex acts?”

  He chuckles. “You’re a smart one, Dani. Don’t let anyone tell you different.”

  “I already don’t.”

  He chuckles again. Then says, “According to Cheryl, the government wants to make it a crime to draw, view, or possess drawings that depict underage children in sexual situations. Even cute cartoon figures.”

  “So this shower picture would be legal.”

  “For now. Technically. Probably. Like I say, it’s fuzzy. This isn’t the type of picture to build a case around.”

  “But Shawn’s next series? Cartoon drawings that depict him doing sexual things to his drugged, naked, underage sister?”

  “That’s the type they could take to court.”

  “So I’ve helped?”

  “You’ve helped.”

  “What happens next?”

  “For us? Nothing. It’s not our jurisdiction.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Sean lives in Sacramento.”

  “But if Cheryl buys the next set and Sean mails them to her—”

  “Sean doesn’t mail. The photos are downloaded.”

  “But still—the purchase is made here in town. The pictures are received here in town.”

  “Doesn’t matter. The crime, if there is one, took place where he offered the pictures for sale. We think.”

  “What you’re saying, the police don’t really know what to think.”

  “Not yet. This internet’s a whole new ballgame. The laws haven’t caught up yet. The good is really good, but the bad is still evolving. At any rate, Cheryl’s going to pass along the info about Sean to the Sacramento PD. Maybe they’ll look into it, maybe they won’t.”

  Pat says I’ve helped, but I feel thoroughly defeated. And annoyed with myself for allowing this whole Sean thing to get me sidetracked. My mission is finding ManChild, not saving Sean’s sister. I’d do well to remember that.

  “Thanks, Pat.”

  “No sweat, kid. And remember, the offer’s still on the table.”

  “The one about how if Ben and I have children you want to babysit?”

  He laughs a good, hearty laugh. When it dies down he says, “Try again.”

  “The one about if Ben and I break up, you want to be my boyfriend?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “I GIVE UP, Sofe. I’m done with it.”

  “No. You’re just beaten down. Step away for a couple of days. Or weeks.”

  “When I think of the hundreds of hours I’ve wasted…”

  “You haven’t wasted those hours. You’ll catch the bastard someday.”

  I’m at my office, on the phone. I told Sophie about SeanInPain, and how frustrated I am that the whole internet thing is yielding no results. I’m feeling defeated.

  “I don’t know,” I say. “What if all these chat rooms turn out to be marketing people selling cartoon pornography?”

  “You’re doing this for Jaqui Moreland.”

  I sigh. “Good point.”

  “Look, you just need some TLC. You’re still planning to come on Sunday?”

  “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  “Good. I know you’re feeling down right now, but we’re going to have a great time, I promise.”

  “I believe you.”

  “I’m so excited, Dani! I’ve got you for three full days!”

  “Maybe you’ll get bored with me.”

  Sophie pauses. “What else happened?”

  I say nothing.

  “Spill, girl. This isn’t about SeanInPain. I’ve never heard you sound so down. Seriously, what’s happened?”

  I start crying.

  Then I tell her about Roy’s visit yesterday, and how he threatened to expose my identity.

  “He would never do that,” she says.

  “You don’t know him. He’s pond scum. He’d do it for the worst reason in the world.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Because he can.”

  “Is that your office phone ringing in the background?” she says.

  “Yup. But I don’t care.”

  “You need to answer it, Dani. Might be a real PI job!”

  “I’d rather talk to you.”

  “Answer the phone, then call me back.”

  “Okay.”

  I pick up the phone on the fifth ring.

  “Hello?”

  It’s Ben, and he’s not in a good mood. At all. He says, “I just got an interesting call.”

  My heart sinks. Roy came through. The media has found me. Our lives are over.

  “Do you want to hear about my call?” he asks.

  “Where are you?”

  “Home.”

  “Are you feeling any better?”

  “No.”

  “Do you want me to come home? I can stop by the drugstore on my way.”

  “Stop being nice to me. Can’t you tell I’m furious?

  “Did you lose your job?”

  “No Dani, it’s Thursday. I have two morning classes and two afternoon classes on Thursdays. You’d know this if you paid the slightest bit of attention to me. But since you don’t, I should probably point out that when I’m between classes on Thursdays, I often come home for a couple of hours. Which is why I was here when the interesting call came in.”

  I say nothing, so Ben jumps right in with, “Do you know a Meg Worthington from yoga class?”

  “Oh shit!”

  “Meg informed me you tried to recruit her to have an affair with me this morning. She also said you’re planning to divorce me.”

&n
bsp; “That’s not true.”

  “Which part?”

  I sigh. “Let’s not do this now, over the phone.”

  “Why? Is there someone in your office?”

  “No. It’s just—”

  “There’s another guy, isn’t there?”

  “No. I promise there’s not.”

  “Then what the hell’s going on? Does the whole town know you’re trying to fix me up?”

  “No.”

  “Well, have you asked anyone else?”

  “Um…”

  “I don’t believe this. What’s going on, Dani? Seriously, what is it you want?”

  I take a deep breath. “I think maybe it’s time we should start dating other women.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I mean, you! I think it’s time you should start dating other women. We’re not happy together, Ben. I want you to find someone who makes you happy.”

  He pauses before saying, “You make me happy, Dani. Only you.”

  “Well, maybe I’m not all that happy.”

  He pauses again. “I gave you the two days a week to do whatever it is you’re doing. I sleep alone. We have sex twice a year.”

  “Like I said, you’re not happy.”

  He hangs up.

  I hang up.

  Then the phone rings again.

  “Ben,” I say, “Seriously, let’s—”

  The voice on the other end cuts me off. It isn’t Ben. It’s a reporter from one of the local TV stations. She asks if it’s true.

  “Is what true?”

  “Are you really Mindy Renee Whittaker?”

  I SLAM THE phone down, grab my handbag and my laptop, and race out the door. With keys in hand, I run to my car, looking side to side for the media mob.

  So far so good!

  If I can get out of here before the throng of traffic blocks my exit, I might be able to escape.

  You probably think I’m awfully full of myself, or that I’m being overly dramatic. Or maybe you think I have an overinflated ego regarding my newsworthiness.

  But this isn’t my first rodeo.

  You’ve seen people on the news, walking with their attorneys to or from a courthouse, surrounded by dozens of reporters, yelling, barking out questions. Looks like a busy crowd, doesn’t it? But the footage you’ve seen on TV was probably shot at close range. If the cameras were to pan a wider area, you’d see people and cars moving along in the background, completely oblivious to the activity being filmed.

  That wasn’t the case when I walked out of the police station after my encounter with Collin Tyler Hicks. On that occasion the downtown streets of Portland had been blocked off, and thousands of reporters, photographers, and well-wishers were so tightly packed, you couldn’t have wedged a sheet of paper between them. Thousands upon thousands of people were pushing and shouting at the same time, all wanting a piece of me. It was…

  It was overwhelming.

  And this story will be just as big:

  Here she is, folks, the little girl who got away. The one you didn’t see on a TV movie of the week, because she and her mother never authorized the story. And now she’s all grown up. Sadly, her mother died four years ago, during an operation, so she’s an orphan this time around! But she’s also a wife, living quietly among us! What’s her story? Where does she live? Does she have kids? A job? What does she eat?

  I gun the gas pedal and roar out of the parking lot, into the street. Each red light is agony, but eventually I’m on the expressway, where I remind myself to relax. I take a deep breath, safe for now.

  I use the hands-free phone feature in my car to call Sophie.

  “Who called you at the office?” she says.

  “Two people. First Ben, then a TV reporter.”

  “Oh shit.”

  “That’s what I said when Ben told me Meg Worthington called him.”

  “What? Who’s that?”

  “The latest and last of the Date My Husband contestants.”

  “Did you say the last?”

  “Yup. I’ve come to my senses. Ben will have to find his own dates from now on.”

  She laughs. Then says, “What did the reporter want?”

  “She wanted to know if I’m Mindy Renee Whittaker.”

  “That fucking Roy!” Sophie says. “I could kill him!”

  “What are you going to do, call Uncle Sal from the deli?”

  “Say the word and I will.”

  I laugh. “Roy’s a douche. If it wasn’t him, it’d be someone else. It had to happen sooner or later. It was just a matter of time.”

  “Uh, Dani?”

  “Yeah?”

  “How come you sound so calm?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Last few times we spoke you were either crying or about to cry. Right now, when you should be sobbing, you’re cool as a cucumber.”

  I think about it. “You’re right. I’m energized. My life is over and I’m sort of…happy about it.”

  “Maybe the lemon is finally ready to come out of the bottle.”

  “Orange.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Maybe you’re right,” I say.

  “Where are you now?”

  “In my car.”

  “Are you headed home? You can’t go home, it’ll be a circus.”

  “According to the last sign, I’m on my way to Nashville.”

  “You’re kidding!”

  “Don’t worry, I won’t lead the media to you.”

  “Nonsense. You’ll come straight here and park in my garage. This is a perfect place to hide.”

  “They’ll find me, eventually.”

  “Yes. But in the meantime we can strategize.”

  “I’m still four hours away. You’ve got plenty of time to change your mind.”

  “Why would I change my mind? I want you here.”

  “If the media finds out, you could lose your career.”

  “What’s there to find out, Dani?”

  “You know.”

  “That we’re friends?”

  “They might think it’s more than that.”

  “I’d be honored if they do.”

  “You might want to re-think that.”

  “Why?”

  “You’re a country singer/songwriter. Your fans are conservative. They have no idea you consider yourself gay, and of course, I live with you two nights a week. Not to mention I’m married! Stop me if any of these revelations sound like career boosters!”

  “Dani, listen to yourself.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You sound fantastic! I think you’re secretly very excited.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  “See you in four, sugar pants.”

  “What? Excuse me? What did you just call me?”

  Sophie laughs and hangs up.

  I laugh too, then wonder why. When I think about it, I realize Sophie’s right about my mood. I can’t deny I’m feeling a certain adrenalin rush. I feel alive, and oddly enough, a strange sense of freedom. It suddenly dawns on me that instead of ruining my life, this announcement might simply change it.

  OVER THE NEXT four hours Ben calls me fifteen times, trying to track me down. His voice messages have grown increasingly frantic. Here’s the most recent one:

  Dani, please pick up! It’s a circus here! Reporters are camped all over the yard and down the street. I’m a prisoner in my own home! And I don’t feel well. Like I’m coming down with the flu, or something. Where are you?I’d answer his calls, but what he really wants to know is where I am. And that’s something I don’t care to explain right now.

  Sophie calls.

  “Dani, oh my God, you’re all over the news!”