The voices on the recording were a bit scratchy, but perfectly audible. She listened all the way through the conversation, furiously making notes the entire time. She then rewound it and listened to it again, adding even more notes. She then called her editor in Los Angeles. He had been sleeping, as it was well past midnight in both LA and Salt Lake City, but when he heard the reason for the phone call, he became excited.
“When’s the earliest you can have the basics to me?” he wanted to know.
“I’ll write the main body tonight before I go to bed,” she promised. “I’ll email it to you and sleep on my flight home. Once I’m there, I’ll start making my phone calls to Oldfellow’s and Mindy Snow’s agents for their response.”
“Very good,” he said. “We need to move fast on this before anyone else breaks it.”
“It’ll be done, Chief,” she promised.
Julie Brigg arrived back in Los Angeles a little past noon the next day (just as Celia’s plane was landing in Boise). She went immediately to the office in downtown Los Angeles and checked in with her editor. All day long, staffers had been working to verify what information they could. This was not much since most of the details were provided by a single conversation and were not verifiable. They did, however, manage to run the timeline and come to the conclusion that the dates all matched up. Now, it was time to start making phone calls.
Julie may not have been a particularly convincing teacher from Ogden, and she did work for one of the sleaziest publications in the United States that could still make a claim that they were a legitimate member of the press, but that did not mean she was not a shrewd and effective investigative journalist. She was. And, for that reason, she called Greg Oldfellow’s agent first and followed that phone call with one to Celia Valdez’s manager, Pauline Kingsley. Though she was shrewd and effective, she still did not stop to wonder why the first two people she spoke with were so willing to talk to her at all, let alone verify certain details of her allegations.
“Yes,” Johnny, Greg’s agent, told her with an audible sigh of resignation, “Greg does admit to a one-time sexual encounter with Mindy Snow in Chicago when they were there for the premier. And, yes, Mindy has contacted Greg recently and is alleging that she is pregnant from the encounter. Greg would like it known that he believes it unlikely that he is the father of Mindy’s child as he did use protection during the encounter and Mindy did inform him she was taking birth control pills, but, if a DNA test reveals that he is, in fact, the father, he will assume his legally required financial responsibility for the child.”
“Yes,” said Pauline, when she was on the line, “Celia and Greg’s divorce has been in the works for some time, as we confirmed earlier. And, yes, Celia was made aware that Mindy Snow is now alleging that Greg has impregnated her, although it is believed this is actually quite unlikely. Nevertheless, under the circumstances, Greg and Celia mutually decided that it would be best for all concerned if they simply went their separate ways officially at this point and that is why Celia flew back to Los Angeles to make her official divorce filing.”
This is almost too easy, Julie thought gleefully as she transcribed her latest quotes and notes, still not the least bit suspicious that she was being used. And, in truth, she likely would not have cared even if she had been suspicious. This was too good of a story, had too many points of verification and sources not to shout out to the world.
Her next phone call was to Georgette Minden, Mindy’s agent. And here, life as Julie knew it seemed to return. Georgette refused to take Julie’s call. At least she did until Julie provided a few tantalizing details to the secretary answering the phone.
“Tell her that I have information, verified by several sources, that Mindy is claiming to be pregnant with Greg Oldfellow’s child from a sexual encounter in Chicago.”
There was a long pause, long enough that Julie had to ask if the secretary was still there.
“Yesssss, I’m still here,” she said slowly. “Let me put you on hold for a minute.”
“No problem at all,” Julie said sweetly.
Less than thirty seconds later, a female voice came on the light. “This is Georgette,” she said warily. “Who are you now?”
“Julie Brigg, National Watcher,” she said. “How about we have a little chat?”
“I’m listening,” Georgette said.
Julie told her tale. She cited her anonymous source as the provider of the information and then she cited her named sources—Pauline and Johnny—as her confirming sources. She read from quotes that Jake and Laura had given them, outlining the allegations. She then asked Georgette if she had a response.
“No comment,” Georgette said, her voice audibly shaken. “No comment to anything.”
“Very well,” Julie said. “I’ll note that for the record. Be advised that the story is going to run in tomorrow’s edition of the Watcher.”
“The Watcher doesn’t normally publish until Friday,” Georgette said.
“For a story like this, we’ll publish a special edition. Are you sure you don’t want to comment?”
“I am sure,” she said.
A moment later, there was a click and the hum of an empty connection.
Mindy was in her house on the edge of the Angeles National Forest in the mountains above Los Angeles. She was naked on her bed, on her hands and knees, while Stan Colder, the handsome twenty-four-year-old who drove the truck that delivered propane to the property, stood on the floor at the foot of the bed and thrust his swollen penis in and out of her from behind. She had been particularly horny since her second trimester started and when she saw Stan making his delivery today, she decided that there was another delivery he could make as well.
“Faster, faster, goddammit!” she barked at him.
“Okay, faster,” he panted, still unable to believe that he was actually fucking Mindy Snow. It was like he had stepped into a porno movie or something.
“And spank my ass some more,” she told him. “Leave some fuckin’ marks!”
“Okay,” he panted, sweat dripping down his face, desperately trying to hold onto control. This was, by far, the most beautiful, nastiest woman he had ever touched, let alone fucked.
“And don’t come until I have at least twice,” she ordered. “If you do, I’ll rip your fuckin’ balls off!”
“Right,” he agreed, knowing that doing as she asked was going to take a Herculean effort.
He made it, just barely, blasting a huge load into the condom that Mindy had handed him shortly after leading him to her bedroom. His thrusts had barely died down when Mindy rolled over and pushed him toward the bathroom.
“Throw that rubber in the garbage, not the toilet,” she ordered. “And then get out.”
“Right,” he said, still panting, his heart still kicking along at a hundred and fifty beats a minute.
He went to the bathroom and pulled the condom off. He tossed it into the garbage can. He then pulled up his pants and buckled them tightly. When he walked back out into the bedroom, Mindy was sitting on the edge of the bed. She had put her shirt back on but was still naked from the waist down. She had the slinky red panties she had been wearing in her hand.
“Here,” she said, handing him the panties. “You can keep these for a souvenir if you want.”
“Uh ... sure, thank you, Ms. Snow,” he said.
“You weren’t bad,” she said. “I’d had much better, of course, but I’ve had much worse too.”
“Uh ... thank you.”
“Tell no one about this,” she ordered. “They wouldn’t believe you anyway, but tell no one.”
“I won’t, Ms. Snow.”
“And knock on the door the next time you’re here,” she said. “I might want to fuck you again.” She shrugged. “It depends on my mood.”