“Just give me some time to think about it,” I said, my heart fluttering. He was right that the gossip was going to get out. It was only a matter of time before my contacts figured out which hard drives were at the office, and that would narrow down the list of girls to just Vanessa Klein. But it was just stupid gossip until they found the proof, and the only proof that I was aware of was that single take, where her skirt floats up and her panties get nudged to the side. So the first thing I did when I got into work that morning was delete that clip. I knew the drive we had was just a copy of the main drive that they kept back at the studio, but at least the studio’s drive was in a secure room with twenty-four-hour surveillance.
My heart wouldn’t stop pounding. Had I already ruined Vanessa’s life? Was it pointless to withhold the footage at this point? Or was I being paranoid? Maybe they wouldn’t even bother investigating her, assuming she couldn’t possibly be Hollywood’s secret transgender. I found myself looking at pictures of her. It was even hard for me to believe. She was gorgeous. Her face was perfect and her body was drool inducing. There were entire fan websites filled with men who did nothing but jerk off to pictures of her. I even had to pull up that cock-slip video to remind myself that I didn’t just have a strange dream. But the cock was real—6K video footage doesn’t lie.
I didn’t want to ruin her life, but I also didn’t want to lose the amazing payout that was being offered to me. I could probably run that number up to half a million before the end of the day, if I was so inclined.
I found myself looking through that hard drive again, trying to find more evidence, still unsure of my own evidence, which would have been good enough for the rest of the world. While I was digging through folders, I came upon a file labelled ‘Contact list’. I clicked into it and found the whole cast and crew, with e-mail addresses and phone numbers. And there was Vanessa’s personal e-mail and her personal phone number.
Maybe I could get the money from her and avoid having to go through the press. Then the world didn’t need to know her secret and I still got a pretty payout.
CHAPTER V
It was a long night, making sure I was treading with careful anonymity. I created a fake e-mail account, and then I realized it could probably be traced back to me by a good team of computer scientists. So I dug an old computer out of storage, installed a series of firewalls and IP blockers and I even bought an expensive VPN, and then I created a new e-mail address. But even with this one I was nervous, knowing the e-mail address wasn’t just at risk of being traced, but it was also at risk of being hacked. So I spent some time trying to mislead any potential hackers, signing up for newsletters and whatnot in the city where my VPN was based.
It was three hours before I felt ready to send an e-mail to Vanessa Klein. I started by attaching a still image from the video clip: her cock hanging out from the side of her tight red panties. And then I wrote a simple message as my heart pounded into my ribcage like a tribal war drum. “Ms. Klein. You don’t know me and you’ve never seen me,” I wrote. “But I’ve come across some information about you that I feel you wouldn’t want getting to the press.” I read back what I’d written and my heart jumped. It already sounded like a ransom letter—and it technically was a ransom letter, but I really didn’t want to scare her. I just wanted to make this a simple transaction.
So I tried to spin the rest of the message in a more positive light. “The reason I’m e-mailing you is, there are some people who want to pay me a lot of money for this video clip—and don’t worry, they don’t know who you are—I would never tell them that. Unless you aren’t willing to pay me what they’re paying—not that I’m blackmailing you. I hope you don’t think that I’m blackmailing you. They’re only offering me about $350,000 for the clip, so all I’m really asking is that you match that. I mean—to you, that’s not really a lot of money. I think I read somewhere that you made almost ten times that on your last movie, and you do at least three movies a year. So it really isn’t a lot to you.” I found myself staring blankly at my screen, realizing I was in fact blackmailing her, no matter how polite I tried to sound.
But as I read my message back, I realized I wasn’t even sounding polite. I was just sounding flustered and idiotic. If I was going to get money from her, I needed to be firm and I needed to accept the fact that I was blackmailing her. So I ended my message by saying, “Either pay me $350,000 in cash, or I’ll be forced to give the clip to one of my contacts.”
I closed my eyes and pressed send, before my sensibilities could catch up with me. I knew that if I thought too much about it, I would never send a message. I could spend all night tinkering with the words, but in the end, all she was going to read was: ‘Pay me money or be revealed to the whole world.’
I didn’t go to sleep that night. I couldn’t pull myself away from my computer. I expected it to ding with a new message at any moment. Once 6:00 AM rolled around and my inbox was still empty, I started to worry that the e-mail I used wasn’t her actual e-mail, and I’d just messaged a photo of Vanessa Klein’s cock to some random person somewhere else in the world. Beads of cold sweat dribbled down the back of my neck. My hands were trembling. When my phone alarm went off, I jumped and nearly shrieked, worried someone had broken into my house to kill me so that clip would never see the light of day.
I had to get ready for work. I brought that old computer into the bathroom while I showered and shaved and brushed my teeth. I left the shower curtain open just enough that I could see my e-mail inbox, which was still unchanged. I nicked myself while shaving because my focus was on that computer screen and not the mirror. I went to work with mismatched socks because I wasn’t paying close enough attention while I was getting dressed.
The first thing Alex said to me was, “You look sick. I hope you’re not sick because I really don’t want to get sick.”
“I’m not sick,” I said, forcing a smile. “I just didn’t get a lot of sleep.”
“Why? Because you were sick? Don’t bring that shit into the office, man.” He kept his distance from me. And it was probably for the best. His fear of catching a cold would keep him out from the editing suite while I closely watched my inbox, waiting for that reply.
And it came around noon, dinging into my inbox. That ding reverberated in my heart and buzzed down my arms and legs. I pulled that laptop close to me and then I quickly opened the message. But before I read it, I swung my head around to make sure the door was closed and no one was suddenly behind me. I was alone, so I went ahead and read the message.
“I would like to meet in person to discuss this matter. Please tell me a public place that works best for you.” That was the entire message. My heart fluttered down into my stomach.
I pressed reply and quickly hammered out a message. “Unfortunately I can’t meet you in person, as it’s very important for my job that my identity remains a secret.” I pressed send and then I nervously awaited her reply—and that reply didn’t come for another six hours.
“I’d much rather meet in person. Why don’t you meet me at the Bluebird Café on 10th street? Be there at 8:30 PM tonight. There’s a table in the back left corner.”
My heart fluttered and I hammered out another quick message. “I really can’t meet in person,” I wrote. But I didn’t get a reply. It was already 7:45 and her chosen café was thirty minutes away. If I was going to make it, I needed to leave.
I didn’t plan on actually meeting her. I just wanted to go down and see if she was there, or if there was a posse of goons waiting to nab whoever sat down at the table in the back left corner.
CHAPTER VI
I sat down in the middle of the café, with a steaming hot mug of coffee. I had another laptop with me—not the one I sent those messages on, but one that I bought back when I thought I wanted to be a screenwriter. Once I was seated, I immediately pulled up an old unfinished screenplay file and I pretended to be working on it. I made sure I was sitting at an angle where I could see that back corner table.
&
nbsp; When my clock read 8:30 PM, I sunk down into my seat. I was wearing a ball cap and a pair of cheap reading glasses that my father had left at my house years before. It wasn’t much of a disguise, but I didn’t really need a disguise at all—it’s not like Vanessa knew who she was coming to meet with.
When 8:40 PM rolled around and she wasn’t there, I assumed she’d gotten my last message, telling her I couldn’t meet in person. I slipped out my phone, opened up a private browser, and then I navigated over to my new e-mail address, to check for new messages. But there were none. Suddenly, I felt stupid for opening the e-mail browser up. Now the account could be linked to my phone by the right team of hackers—and Vanessa could certainly afford the right team of hackers.
A woman brushed by me while I was reading through her last message, making sure I was in the right café on the right street. I looked up and realized the woman was headed straight for that table in the back corner. Her curly hair bounced as she walked. She was wearing big sunglasses, but those didn’t help to hide her glowing skin—that glow that only the most famous celebrities seem to have. It was Vanessa Klein.
I quickly stuffed my phone back into my pocket and swung my gaze to my unfinished screenplay. My heart sprung into action and my gut turned. What if she saw my phone screen as she walked by? What if she had undercover men in that café who had been watching me this whole time? I took a deep breath. I could feel my face turning red as familiar beads of cold sweat formed on the back of my neck.
I peeked over my laptop screen at her. She was sitting patiently with a mug of steaming coffee in her hands. She had a slight grin on her face, as if she wasn’t at all worried about her truth being revealed. Her hands weren’t trembling and her shoulders were tensed up to her ears the way mine were. She was totally cool—unnaturally calm.
I looked around slowly at the rest of the café. It was a big space, and surprisingly busy for 8:30 PM on a weekday night. I figured if I sent her a message, she would never know it was from me. I still had her personal phone number written down, which I’d gotten from that same cast and crew contact sheet. So I used my anonymous e-mail account to send a text message to her phone. “I told you that I can’t meet in person,” I wrote. And then I did my best to watch her through my peripheral vision as she reached into her pocket to read the message on her phone.
I took a series of slow, controlled breaths. I figured there were people watching me and everyone else in that café, trying to narrow down the possible suspects. I’m sure I was on the list.
I took my phone out two minutes later and saw that there was a new e-mail, from Vanessa. “So you’re here. Why don’t you come and sit with me? I just want to talk. Don’t worry, I’m here alone.”
I casually wrote back, keeping my phone hidden under the table. I kept an eye on Vanessa, making sure she wasn’t looking my way—though it was hard to tell because of those big, dark sunglasses.
“I can’t reveal my identity,” I wrote back. “If you don’t want me to go to the press with the video I have, we need to agree on a spot where you can drop off the cash—$350,000.”
“I’m not going to give you any money until we meet in person,” she replied.
I took a deep breath. This wasn’t worth the frustration. She wasn’t taking this matter as seriously as I thought she would be, so maybe she just didn’t care that much if her secret got out. I decided to try one last time. “If you don’t care, then I’ll just sell the clip to one of my contacts,” I wrote.
“I do care. I’ll pay you. But first I want to meet you.”
I shook my head and sighed. “Not happening. Last chance—agree to drop the money off somewhere or I go to my contact in the morning.” I didn’t actually plan on going to any of my contacts for another few months, once the hard drive was long gone from our office, and into the hands of many, many more people. I could wait—I was in no rush. And with her Oscar buzz, the price tag would only get bigger.
“If you won’t meet me here in public, then meet me in private—10:00 PM tonight. Set the clip up to go live online tomorrow morning at 6:00 AM. That way you can be sure I don’t do anything to you.” She added her address at the end of the message. And it was an interesting plan: set up a safety just in case she has some hired goon try to kill me. She would be on her best behaviour knowing that I was the only one who could stop the clip from going live.
But with this plan, my identity was still at risk of being revealed.
Before I could send a message back, Vanessa was finished her coffee and on her way out the door. I tried sending another message. “I really don’t want to meet in person,” I wrote.
“Get over it,” she wrote back. And then I found myself back in my car, headed towards her address, as it was only twenty minutes away from 10:00 PM.
CHAPTER VII
Her house wasn’t too far away from mine—just a single gated community over. I pulled my car up to the gate and then I found myself staring at the little machine that would connect me with Vanessa, so I could get the gate open.
I didn’t have the clip set to publish in eight hours, but I didn’t plan on telling Vanessa that. I still wasn’t sure that I wasn’t being set up. I could have been driving into a trap. But a part of me was sure that Vanessa wouldn’t dare risk it. Her entire career could be ruined if the world learned that she was a transgender. She would lose a lot more than just $350,000. So maybe she wasn’t lying. Maybe she was alone, and maybe she just wanted to talk in person so that she could properly convince me not to go to the press with that clip. Because it would be easy enough for me to take her money and then go straight to the press to double up. Thinking about that possibility now, it was hard to resist entertaining the idea: $700,000 in a matter of days…
I hesitantly punched Vanessa’s address into the terminal at the gate. And then a robotic voice said, “Please wait while we connect you.” I stared at the speaker box and the little microphone above it. Then I looked up and noticed the camera pointed directly at my face. I was still wearing my ball cap and reading glasses, but that camera already had more than enough information for a team of investigators to figure out my identity.
That speaker box never crackled with Vanessa’s voice. Instead, there was a loud beep and then the gates opened up, allowing me into the very expensive neighbourhood where every second house belonged to a celebrity, and the others belonged to the mega rich who wanted to live close to celebrities.
I found myself driving down those quiet streets, between massive mansions, towards the home of the woman who would either ruin my whole career and reputation, or make me very, very rich.
Her driveway was long and impressive, with a glowing fountain at its centre. I drove past a Lamborghini and a Ferrari and then I found myself a spot by her front door. I made sure that I parked in a way that I could make a clean and easy escape if necessary. I was slow getting out of my car, tipping my hat down in front of my face, knowing there were cameras recording my every move. I stepped up her front steps and then I looked up and saw that she was standing in her doorway with a smile on her face. My heart skipped a beat and my legs trembled, but I did my best not to show any fear.
“I had a feeling it was you,” she said.
And then I felt the colour drain from my face. I opened my mouth to reply, but I was too afraid to speak, too afraid to reveal my voice as if my identity hadn’t already been compromised.
“Of all the people in that café, you looked the most suspicious,” she said. “Come on in and have a drink with me. Let’s talk about your little clip.” She went inside and left her front door open, letting the warm light from inside bleed out onto her impressive cobblestone driveway.
The inside of her house was just as impressive, and about what you would expect from an A-list Hollywood superstar. There were statues and vases and very large original paintings by famous artists, and rugs that were worth more than my car—which wasn’t a cheap car, by the way.
Vanessa was standing across the large
room, at a bar that was fully stocked as if she was expecting a party of five hundred thirsty friends. The shelves of liquor went up far higher than she could reach, and I couldn’t see a ladder anywhere in sight so I could only assume the top few shelves were just there for decoration. “What do you drink?” she asked.
“Maybe just whiskey. And I’m not here to blackmail you, by the way. I’m not a blackmailer.”
“Then what are you here to do then?”
“Well, it’s really very complicated and quite a long story. But I don’t want to sell that clip to the press. I really don’t. But they’re offering me a lot of money. So I’m kind of stuck between a rock and a hard place, you know? They’re making this my problem, just because I was the one who found that clip. I really hope you don’t think I’m blackmailing you.” I kept my distance and I made sure to scan the room constantly, making sure goons weren’t about to jump me or shoot me.
“So they’re making you blackmail me? Is that what you’re saying?”
I was silent, trying to get control over my pounding heart. “I just need to make a living. And I can’t just do nothing with what I’ve got.”
“Got it. So you are blackmailing me,” she said as she walked a whiskey over to me. I took it and took a quick sip before considering the possibility that she’d put something in the drink: something to knock me out or even kill me.
“I guess if you want to call it that. But I’m not doing it because I hate you. I just figured you wouldn’t mind paying what the other people are offering. It’s probably nothing to you. I mean—look at this place. You could sell one of those cars out there and that would more than cover what I’m asking.”
Big Hard Girls Page 12