This was ready yesterday, but my internet kind of hates me.

We were waved right in. I'm not sure if Jess set things up beforehand or if the mob guys made Randy Senior – henceforth referred to as 'Whitehead' to clarify things and save time – feel secure enough to just go with the flow, but we hadn't even gotten inside the building when one of them – the mob guys, I mean, these two big guys wearing suits and talking with Chicago accents – intercepted us and said, in response to Jess's asking if the guy was in, "Both Mr. Whiteheads will see you."

I was keeping it under control. I was. I didn't even make a snotty comment about Randy being big and brave with his mafia or anything – that's how reserved I was. No, I just silently followed Jess, who in turn silently followed the mob guys, right through the lobby.

I also don't know what Whitehead the elder told his secretary (I'm inclined to guess that he didn't mention the mob or the illegal porn but hey, you never know), but she sure was eager to give us whatever we wanted. She jumped up the second she saw us, and went all anxiously, "Mr. Whitehead will see you right away. Can I get you anything? Coffee? Water? Soda?" She was acting like her job depended on it – which might have been what her boss told her, come to think of it.

"I'm fine," Jess said with a little smile.

For my part, I chose to smile a bit less and, well, growl instead. Hey, at least I was true to my feelings, even if the secretary briefly looked like I'd just killed her puppy. "I'm good."

She recovered fast enough though, and smiled diplomatically at Jess. "Well then," she said. "Follow me."

To be honest, I didn't really take note of our surroundings much. I mean, I registered the whole switch from lobby to office and everything, but I didn't take in much of the scenery except a desk and four chairs – can't say I minded, either. I didn't like the buildings they built; I doubt I'd be so very impressed by the place where it all happened. Anyway, I was too busy focusing immediately on the… creature that I really really wanted to do some damage to. And, after he started talking, on the person who had spawned this pervert and somehow failed to realize his mistake, instead actually raising him. Oh, and some teenage girl, just sitting there looking vaguely confused.

"Well, well," The big lug (and I mean big. The guy was about as wide as Jess is tall – in a stocky way though, not fat exactly. This was different from his son, who was kind of skinny and who I could definitely take, easy, if Jess hadn't made me agree not to) behind the desk said smarmily. "Are you telling me this little bitty thing here is the one who's been causin' all this ruckus?"

I have no idea who he was talking to, but Randy was the only one who really acknowledged the comment. Eying me, he muttered – but still loud enough that everyone could easily hear his words – "Her friend's not so little."

I, I am proud (-ish) to report, did not even flinch. Not that such a comment would have bugged me normally, but under the circumstances I think it's impressive that I refrained from even glancing in his direction. Instead, I made a conscious effort to focus all my attention on Jess and Whitehead. That was where the real action was happening.

"Hello, Mr. Whitehead," Jess said with a tight little smile, walking over to shake hands with the big guy. "I'm Jessica Mastriani. It's very nice to meet you."

I don't really know where all these manners were coming from. Jess had never been one to hide how she really felt, at least not in my experience, and I knew that these people disgusted her. Still, she was being all civil and polite. I guess I approve of that, seeing as if this were any other situation I'd want her to do things carefully like this, but today at least I couldn't really bring myself to care. And I definitely couldn't do the same thing. In fact, the less I talked was probably the better, given how I'd sounded talking to the completely uninvolved secretary.

"And you, and you," Whitehead practically shouted, shaking Jess's hand energetically. He then looked at me expectantly, as if I should be next in line; but I didn't move. Just stood there with an expression I believe could be described as 'thunderous'. After a few seconds of this, Whitehead cracked: "Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend?"

"Sure," Jess said amiably, and then made the introductions. "Mr. Whitehead, this is Rob Wilkins. Your son, Randy, is acquainted with Rob's younger sister, Hannah."

I'd been trying not to look at Randy. But when he sat down abruptly I couldn't help but glance over. He was staring at me with a sickened expression, going a sort of off-white color.

"Oh God," he moaned, and – I have to admit it – I felt a twinge of pleasure. Damn right, he'd better pray.

The teenage girl, who I'd hardly noticed before, chose now to grab everyone's attention, turning towards Randy and asking all anxiously, "Who's Hannah? What's going on, Randy? Who's Hannah?"

Poor kid. I felt a brief moment of comradery with her – yes, even as she was practically clutching to Randy's arm and batting her eyes at him. After all, she was probably the only person in this room who knew less than me.

Randy didn't even look at his – I'm making a (pretty safe, I think) assumption here, since no one bothered to introduce her when that was happening – girlfriend, too busy blinking, horrified, in my direction. "I'll tell you later," he muttered.

Jess turned her polite smile full force on the girl, who looked a little put off. Whether this expression was from her boyfriend's blatant dismissal of her or from Jess's (kind of scary, at least in my opinion) polite face, I don't know.

"You must be Kristin," Jess said, going over to the girl – Kristin, I guess – and holding out a hand. "Jessica Mastriani."

Poor Kristin. She looked completely lost. "Oh," she said, shaking Jess's hand. "You're a friend of Randy's? He's told you about me?"

"Not exactly," Jess demurred. "I've seen your video."

My glare sharpened a tad. Randy's face became a shade lighter. Whitehead's plastic smile slipped a notch. Only Jess and Kristin's expressions didn't change – Jess still with that politely bland expression, Kristin still looking completely lost.

Oh, and the mob guys, I guess. They had taken up position flanking the door and were currently practicing very hard for their interviews at the wax museum next Tuesday. Not a twitch from them.

"Video?" Kristin asked, oblivious to the ratcheting tension in the room. "What video?"

"Oh," Jess said innocently, and I winced on behalf of Kristin, "you don't know about the video Randy made of you and he having sex? 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, which I have to admit was unexpected. In fact, I would have been completely shocked were it not for the brittle edge to said laughter. "Randy and I never made a video," she said. "What's she talking about, Randy?"

Now, I'm aware that this is going to make me sound like an eighty-year-old woman who lives alone with a ridiculous amount of cats, but honestly, the next thought to pop into my head regarding Kristin was: poor dear.

Hey. Don't laugh at me. I don't even like cats. Or tea.

"All righty then," Whitehead bellowed, rising out of his chair. "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 at the mob guys who, I was impressed to note, didn't even appear to be breathing. That interview was going to go well. "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 at me. I looked back.

"My underage sister," I pointed out icily.

Whitehead took a deep, slow breath, sitting back down. His reaction was not exactly what I'd hoped: "I see," he said slowly. "That is unfortunate."

Then he actually went back to the fake-polite thing! It was bad enough with Jess doing it, but this was getting ridiculous. "Where are my manners?" he asked Jess and I. "Sit down, you two, please."

I was perfectly content where I was, thank you, but Jess sat down and then kind of tugged pointedly at my shirt for a while until I finally stiffly sunk into one of the leather chairs. Now they were all full, in some ridiculous parody of a relaxed meeting.

Kristin successfully broke any impending awkward silence, piping away in that worried tone of hers with even more awkward (for Randy) questions: "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?"

Either the girl was a bit slow, or she was in denial. Hopefully, unlike Hannah, her denial wouldn't last too long. Then maybe she and 'that man there' could be angry together, seeing as Jess wasn't willing to oblige me.

Everyone ignored Kristin (and yes, I thought it again, but I am a distinctly not frail young man who always preferred dogs anyway, remember that).

"Miss Mastriani," Whitehead said pleasantly, "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 Lighting Girl – the one the 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?"

Several points. First, no feather could knock that man over. I doubt even one from the roc, a mythological bird rumored to have carried off baby elephants for its meals, could have done the trick. He was solid. Secondly, I have seen every single episode of that TV show, and let me tell you, it's not really that great. Comes nowhere near close to the real thing. And I'm not even in it, which is frankly insulting! I have played a very important part in all of Jess's adventures, and have the scars to prove it! …Mental scars, that is, since the only real injury I ever sustained was a concussion. But still.

Anyway.

Randy had been studying the floor for a little while now. He glanced up at his father very briefly at this, but his eyes seemed to get caught on me, and he looked back down quickly. "Yeah. Right."

Whitehead continued his toadying undaunted. "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?" Whitehead didn't give his son enough time to answer, which was good, since Randy looked like the next thing out of his mouth might be the contents of his stomach rather than any coherent words. Good. "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?"

No one answered, but Whitehead didn't seem put off, laughing heartily. The mob guys at the door joined in, sadly, but then I suppose abruptly switching out of character and startling museum-goers is part of the job too. I don't know about the suck-up laughter, but it could be practice, I guess.

Jess kept up the polite charade, smiling in that way that says 'you are so very not funny, but I'm going to be nice and let you pretend you were'. Randy, Kristin, and I just stuck with what we knew – looking sick, confused, and murderous, respectively.

Eventually Whitehead took the hint, and went back to talking. "And I'd like to add 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?"

Knowing better than to attempt to talk – which was probably good for Whitehead's gleaming floor, but mildly disappointed me – Randy just nodded. Jess, finally done with nodding nicely along at all of Whitehead's (completely unrelated to this whole issue) compliments, got to the point. "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 behaviour has upset my friend here very much. I mean, his sister is a very young, inexperienced girl. And your son not only violated her –"

Here Randy made the stupidest decision in a long line of stupid decisions and very nearly brought about his own demise: "I did not," he protested abruptly. "She wasn't even a virgin when I met her!"

I leapt up, eager to dish out retribution (and I so did not need to know that, God!) but sadly, Randy's life was saved by his father. Whitehead roared, "Shut up, Randall!"

"But, Dad," Randy protested, apparently unaware of his close brush with the white tunnel. "I didn't –"

"You shut up," Whitehead hollered, looking very much like a square sort of tomato, "until I tell you different. I think you've caused enough trouble for one day, don't you?"

Randy cowered back in silent assent, looking worriedly between his father and I, who was still standing, clenching my fists.

I had agreed. I had done that. Couldn't touch him.

He made it very hard to remember that.

Whitehead turned to Jess. "I apologize for my son's outburst there, Miss Mastriani, and Mr. – I'm sorry, young man, I didn't catch your name."

He had been informed of it already, but I the tension was high. I opened my mouth to refresh his memory, but I only got as far as "Wil–" before Jess interrupted me.

Second thing I had said, this entire time, and I was interrupted. Me, not the statutory rapist dealing out illegal porn, not the father who had dubious wax-museum – sorry, mob – connections, made very ugly buildings, and actually supported his idiot son. Me.

Typical.

"His name doesn't matter," Jess said. I sat down again and attempted to refrain from feeling put-out, doing a passable job. "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 inserted here, in a blatant lie since Hannah had had no idea. Actually, she probably thought it was a love note or something. I'd lost almost all faith in her superior discernment where this dingbat was concerned. "I got her signature on a release form and everything!"

"But that's not a binding contract," Jess informed Whitehead, ignoring the younger in favor of continuing to explain the legal ramifications. "Since Hannah is only fifteen years old – "

Here Jess was interrupted again (wow, talk about turnaround) by Randy, who this time chose to frantically let loose with, "She told me she was eighteen!"

Of course she did. Isn't that on the script? You know, that every teenage runaway-to-live-with-older-boyfriend is issued. It goes something like this…

Inappropriate Older Idiot: We are soulmates, so age doesn't matter. I love you. Sign here.

Foolish Lovestruck Runaway: You're right. You're always right. That's why I'll sign this contract without a second thought. Oh, by the way, I'm eighteen, not the fifteen I look like.

Inappropriate Older Boyfriend: That's great! Then we can show our love by having sex whenever it's convenient for me to come and see you, instead of talking or anything silly like that. Wait just a second for me to set up the video camera. And I love you, by the way.

Foolish Lovestruck Runaway: I love you too! Oh, how could anyone say this is wrong?

…You know, something like that. It's part of the standard package.

Anyway, Whitehead didn't seem all that pleased with his little boy now, lifting one hammy fist to smash this crystal golf-ball paperweight angrily down on his blotter. All his body language foretold violence, and had I not been furious with him too, I might have smiled. "God damn it, Randy!" he howled. "I told you to shut up!"

Randy fell silent once again, mouth quivering a little. He looked a bit like a trapped rodent, except for the way his chin wobbled ever so slightly. I wondered when the sobs would hit.

Of course, Kristin looked like she was about to start weeping as well, which was kind of a shame, but she'd get over it a lot faster than her boyfriend. At least, if I any say in it, which I had to keep reminding myself I didn't (for reference, 'I' in this sentence refers to my fist).

"I'm sorry, Miss Mastriani," Whitehead said again, trying to snatch back control of the situation. "And that apology extends to you, too, young man. I can perfectly understand your outrage." I held back a scoff. "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."

Hm, can you reverse time – no, not to undo the affair with Hannah, to undo your son's birth? No? Then sorry, not satisfied.

Jess seemed a bit more willing to cooperate than I. Well, in a way. Since the next thing she said was, "Well, 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 now."

Ooh.

Anonymous reviews:

Aussiegal: Don't worry, I don't think it's mean! I should watch out for that, you're right. I'm glad you liked the original conversations in it, though, they were always something I wondered about in the book. And Bob is just lovely.

nikki: I'm glad you liked it! Thanks.

Mel: Hey, I didn't take it as creepy at all. Thank you. :)

Kristin: Like Randy's girlfriend Kristin? LOL. I love that part too - it's always so clear in my head.

buttercup: Wow, that was long and comprehensive. ;) But sure.

Gratia Astra: Wow, take a chill pill! :) But thanks a lot.