Meg Cabot - Missing You

“I’ll tell you later,” Randy Junior muttered.

“You must be Kristin,” I said to the dark-haired girl and held out my hand. “Jessica Mastriani.”

“Oh,” she said, bewilderedly putting out her own hand. “You’re a friend of Randy’s? He’s told you about me?”

“Not exactly,” I said. “I’ve seen your video.”

“Video?” Kristin looked puzzled. “What video?”

I glanced at Randy Senior and noticed that his smile lost some of its strength.

“Oh, you don’t know about the video Randy made of you and he having sex?” I asked. “The one he’s distributing all over southern Indiana, and—if I’m not mistaken, across state lines…which is a felony, I think.”

Kristin laughed, a tinkling sound in the quiet office, the walls of which were decorated with framed aerial photos of famous golf courses. “Randy and I never made a video,” she said. “What’s she talking about, Randy?”

“All righty, then,” Randy Senior interrupted in that same booming voice. “I understand from my son here, Miss Mastriani, that you stole some property of his. And apparently you confirmed this fact to my two associates here—” He nodded towards Just For Men and his companion, who’d taken up positions flanking the office door, as if they suspected Rob and I might make a run for it. “I’ll admit I wasn’t completely aware of the extent of Randy’s little enterprise until last night when he explained it to me. I take it this all has something to do with this young man’s sister?”

He looked questioningly at Rob.

“Myunderage sister,” Rob pointed out in a voice so cold, I was surprised it didn’t freeze Randy Senior to the spot.

Instead of freezing, the older Mr. Whitehead took a deep breath, then slowly lowered himself back into his chair.

“I see,” he said thoughtfully. “Thatis unfortunate.” Then, noticing that Rob and I were still standing, Randy Senior said, “Where are my manners? Sit down, you two, please.”

Rob stayed where he was, but I sat down, then reached up and tugged on the back of Rob’s shirt until he lowered himself into the chair next to mine.

Kristin, meanwhile, kept saying, “Randy? What’s going on? Who’s this Hannah person? Why is that man there so angry? What are these videos they keep talking about?”

“Miss Mastriani,” Randy Senior said in the same affable tone as before, “before we go any further, I have to tell you how truly honored I am to meet you. When Randy here told me he’d met Lightning Girl—the one that television show is based on—well, you could have knocked me over with a feather. For one thing, that show is one of my wife’s favorites—right, Randy?”

Randy Junior, who still looked as if he might throw up on his own shoes at any second, said, “Yeah. Right.”

“And for another, well, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate everything you did for this country during your tour in Afghanistan. That’s the kind of sacrifice only a true patriot would make, and Randy’s mother and I—well, if there’s one thing we admire, that’s patriotism. Love for this great country of ours is something we tried to instill in our son—didn’t we, Randy? I mean, where else but in America could the son of a dirt-poor farmer like myself end up owning more property than anyone in this great state with the exception of the Catholic Church?”

Randy Senior laughed heartily at his own joke, and Just For Men and his friend joined in. I smiled politely. Rob continued to glower. Randy kept on looking sick, and Kristin just looked confused.

“And I’d like to add,” Randy Senior said, when he’d recovered from his laughing fit, “that the wife and I are big fans of your father’s restaurants. Why, we eat at least one meal a week at Mastriani’s. And I’m addicted to the burgers at Joe’s. Aren’t I, Randy?”

Randy nodded, still looking as if he didn’t feel well. I said, “Well, that’s all just great, Mr. Whitehead. But that doesn’t get us any closer to resolving the situation we have here. Your son’s behavior has upset my friend here very much. I mean, his sister is a very young, inexperienced girl. And your son not only violated her—”

“I did not,” Randy Junior cried. “She wasn’t even a virgin when I met her!”

Rob started up from his chair, but before he could lay his hands on Randy Junior, Randy Senior thundered, “Shut up, Randall!”

“But, Dad,” Randy Junior cried. “I didn’t—”

“You shut up,” Randy Senior bellowed, looking very red in the face, “until I tell you different. I think you’ve caused enough trouble for one day, don’t you?”

Randy Junior cowered in his seat, alternating nervous glances between his father and Rob.

Mr. Whitehead looked at me and said, “I apologize for my son’s outburst there, Miss Mastriani, and Mr.—I’m sorry, young man, I didn’t catch your name.”

“Wil—” Rob began, but I cut him off.

“His name doesn’t matter,” I said quickly. “As I was saying, the fact is, your son violated his sister’s right to privacy by filming, without her knowledge, private acts on video, that he then went on to copy and distribute—”

“I had her permission!” Randy Junior cried. “I got her signature on a release form and everything!”

“But that’s not a binding contract,” I said to his father. “Since Hannah is only fifteen years old—”

“She told me she was eighteen!” Randy Junior burst out, causing his father to lift a crystal golf-ball–shaped paperweight from the top of his desk and then lower it, with a crash, against his blotter.

“God damn it, Randy!” he roared. “I told you to shut up!”

Randy Junior closed his mouth. Beside him, Kristin looked ready to burst into tears. She wasn’t the only one, either. Randy Junior looked close to letting loose with a few sobs as well.

“I’m sorry, Miss Mastriani,” Randy Senior, recovering himself, said. “And that apology extends to you, too, young man. I can perfectly understand your outrage. I myself am outraged. I had no idea that my son was engaging in the—ahem—film business. I am as disgusted by it as I’m sure you are. So please tell me, what can I do to make this up to you—to both of you? Because I surely do want to set things right.”

“Well,” I said, “in that case, you can ask your son to turn himself in to the officers who should be waiting in your reception area right about”—I glanced at my watch and saw that it was ten o’clock—“now.”

Fifteen

Both Randys were busy gaping at me when the intercom on Mr. Whitehead’s desk suddenly buzzed.

Randy Senior snatched at it and barked, “God damn it, Thelma, I said no interruptions during this meeting!”

“I’m sorry, Randy,” the receptionist’s voice crackled. “But there are about a half dozen police officers out here who say they need to see you right away.”

All of the color drained from Mr. Whitehead’s face. He looked at me with more venom than a rattler.

“You conniving little bitch,” he said.

I smiled at him pleasantly.

Just For Men and his companion had both whipped out cell phones and were whispering urgently into them. Randy Junior had sunk so low into his chair, he looked as if he were boneless. Randy Senior had taken a bottle of Mylanta from a desk drawer and was measuring out a capful of the chalky white liquid. Only Kristin was glancing around confusedly, going, “I don’t understand. Why are the police here? Who is this Hannah person? And why does everyone keep talking about videotapes?”

I looked at her and said, “Your boyfriend has been secretly filming the two of you having sex, then selling the tapes over the Internet on amateur porn sites.”