“I, uh…I think I’ll go check my mail,” Pam said.
Abigail looked at her and said nothing. Paulina said,
“That’s not a bad idea. If you wouldn’t mind giving us a few minutes.”
“She doesn’t have to do anything she doesn’t want to,”
Abigail said, her eyes burning a hole through her mother.
“No, she doesn’t. That’s why I’m asking. And,” Paulina said, digging into her pocketbook and producing a twenty-dollar bill, “I’ll pay for her next beer run.”
“Classy, mom,” Abigail said. She sighed, looked at
Pam. “This won’t take more than fifteen minutes.”
“Half an hour,” Paulina said. Abigail looked at her mother as though no greater torture had ever been imposed upon man or beast. Paulina stared right back.
“Fine. Half an hour. And take the money.”
“I really shouldn’t…” Pam said.
Abigail continued, “Trust me. It doesn’t begin to cover what she owes me.”
Pam reluctantly took the money and left the room, leaving Paulina and Abigail alone.
“Can we talk inside?” Paulina said. She peeked into the dorm room. It was a flat-out mess. The floor was covered in strewn paper, dirty clothes and burnt incense sticks. Their furniture was comprised of two beanbag chairs, a twin bed with a frame that looked as stable as
Paulina’s ex-husband, and a ratty couch that some homeless person had probably sold to them for less than the twenty she just gave to Pam. Whatever, Paulina thought.
She didn’t have to live in this mess. If her daughter chose to, so be it.
“Fifteen minutes,” Abigail said, checking her watch.
“Then I want you out of here.”
“I don’t like being here any more than you like me being here,” Paulina said. “Trust me, I’ll make it as quick as I can.”
They nodded, and Paulina entered the room. She took a look at the beanbag chairs, then pulled out the tiny desk chair. She eased herself onto it, and watched as her daughter launched herself into a blue beanbag chair. Abigail pulled out a cigarette and lit it, opening the window slightly to let the smoke drift out.
“When did you start smoking?” Paulina asked.
“When did you start caring?” Abigail answered.
“You’re not going to make this easy, are you?”
“Is that what you want? You want me to make this easy? Sure, why not? I mean, we have all these great memories to fall back on, all these great mother-anddaughter moments we both cherish.” She said the last words with biting sarcasm. “Why are you here, Mom?”
Paulina leaned forward, put her face in her hands, took a breath. “I need to ask you a few questions.”
“Is this for, like, one of your newspaper articles?”
“No, it’s nothing like that. Just promise me you’ll answer me, and be honest. I don’t care about the answers and I won’t judge you. I just need to know it for safety reasons.”
“Safety reasons? What the hell are you talking about?”
“There’s a photo, of you. It was taken at the beach. I need to know how someone could have seen it?”
“I go to Jones Beach every weekend during the summer,” Abigail said. “You’ll have to be more specific.”
“You’re wearing a pink bikini. Yellow sunflowers on it. You look like you dug some sort of big hole, and…you look happy. And you were still a blonde.”
Abigail thought for a moment. Then she smiled, too.
“Like two months ago,” she said. “I went to Jones Beach with some friends, and buried this guy named Ryan in the sand. He’s dating our friend Marcia. Good times.”
“How could somebody else have gotten a hold of that photo?” Paulina asked.
Abigail’s scornful look disappeared, and suddenly she became concerned. “Why are you asking that?
What happened?”
Paulina leaned back in the chair, the wood stiff and playing hell with her neck. “There’s some guy…he’s trying to get to me, to threaten me, and he said…well, and he found that photo of you somehow. I need to know where he could have gotten it.”
Abigail’s fright took center stage now. She cupped her hands together, started breathing into them. Paulina was unsure of what to do at first, but the sight of her only daughter terrified was too much to bear. She stood up and went over to her daughter, placing her hands on
Abigail’s shoulders.
“Listen, Abby, I would never let anything in the world happen to you. You might hate me, and you might have reason to hate me. But I’d sooner let my body be ripped limb from limb than let anything happen to you.”
Abigail choked back a laugh. “Can’t we just avoid both?”
Paulina laughed. “Hopefully.”
“I posted a set of those photos to Facebook,” she said.
“Maybe a month ago. I’m not sure.”
“So who could see the photos?”
“Anyone I’m friends with online.”
“How many friends do you have on Facebook?”
“Hold on, I’ll check.”
Abigail went over to the desk and sat in the stiff chair.
She turned on the laptop, waited for it to boot, tapping her dark, polished fingernails on the desk. When the computer started, Abigail opened Internet Explorer and logged on to her Facebook account. Paulina saw that Abigail’s profile photo was a close-up of her face, specifically her left eye and cheek. It was so close you could see every individual pore. It looked faux artsy, the kind of thing you took with a webcam and thought it to be poignant.
“A hundred and ninety-six,” she said.
“Jesus,” Paulina said. “A hundred and ninety-six people have access to photos of you in a bikini.”
“You want to judge me, Mom? I’ve heard some stories about you.”
“This isn’t about me. Somebody used one of these photos. Is there any way to see who’s accessed the set?
Or who’s printed them out?”
Abigail shook her head. “Nope. Privacy issues.”
“Privacy my ass. Listen, Abby, I need you to print out a list of all your friends on this thing, anyone who has access to those photos.”
“No way, Mom. Other people have privacy, too.”
“Trust me, these other people would prefer this than the alternative.”
Abigail looked her mother in the eye, huffed and said,
“Okay. Fine. But nobody else sees them besides you.”
“You have my word. And if these ‘friends’ have e-mail addresses, that would be helpful. I’m not looking to pry,
I just want to be sure. I promise once I’m done it’ll all be shredded.”
“You gave your word,” Abby said.
“One more question, then I’m done,” Paulina said.
“Have you recently seen a man around campus-tall, blond hair, about ear length? Late thirties or early forties and well built?”
“Doesn’t ring a bell. Sure he’s not one of ‘your’ friends?” she said pointedly.
“No. He’s not.”
“I haven’t seen anyone like that. Trust me, he’d stand out on this campus.”
“All right then.”
Paulina stood up. Abigail did not. Paulina waited to see if her daughter would, to see if there was any chance at a last embrace before she left. Abigail was already opening her page and scrolling through photos. Paulina leaned in closer. Abby was staring at one of her and Pam, standing in front of a gushing fountain, holding hands and smiling.
When she noticed her mother was looking, Abigail covered the screen with her hand.
“I’ll scan it and e-mail it to you,” Abigail said. “You’ll have it by tomorrow morning.”
“Thank you,” Paulina said. “You know, Abby, I don’t even have your cell phone number.”
Paulina laughed at this. Abby did not. It took a moment, but Paulina understood why that wasn’t quite so funny.
“That’s not a surprise,” Abigail said, “considering I hear from you once a year. I figured either you didn’t have my number or you just couldn’t find more than five minutes every twelve months.”
“I know I could have done a better job, could have been a better friend. Consider this my attempt to make it up to you.”
Abigail considered this for a moment, then said, “Fine.”
Paulina took out her cell phone, plugging in the numbers as her daughter spoke them.
“That’s it?” Paulina said.
“That’s it.”
“Thanks, hon, I promise I’ll call soon.”
“Mom?” Abigail said.
“Yes, Abby?”
Abigail’s face looked far more pale than it did when
Paulina first entered. Eyes wider, more fearful. A pang of guilt ripped through Paulina, knowing her daughter wouldn’t have to deal with any of this if that blond bastard hadn’t needed her to promote his sick agenda. She knew many more lives were at stake than Abby’s…but this was her daughter.
“That photos set I mentioned,” Abby said. “The picture you mentioned was in that set. It was Pam’s favorite picture. She told me she loved it, and she said she wanted to keep one just for us.”
“Wait,” Paulina said. “What are you saying?”
“I never posted that photo online. That guy you’re talking about…somebody else must have given it to him.”