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 himsel f? 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 with 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
"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 himsel f? 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 with 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
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