“What?” She was visibly shaken. Shocked at her failure to charm me,
she was beginning to see the reality of the situation.

“There must be some place where you can go when you want to party – a
boathouse or a cabin or something…”

“No, I…”

“Don’t lie to me, Annie. That would be a truly major mistake.”

She was quiet for a moment, and a tear leaked out of her left eye and
ran down her face. “Uh, well… our carriage hou… our garage… is
separate from the house and has a… a furnished attic.”

“Where the chauffeur lives?”

“We’re not that rich. It’s for that, though, I guess. There’s a
kitchen and a little living room…” She paused for a moment, then
looked at her shoes again. “And a bed… room.”

“Perfect. You have a key?”

“No, but I know where it is. My dad used to use the rooms as a den,
kind of, but my mom thought he was taking girls there and she put the
key away in her jewelry box.”

“Good. Get it tonight and make two copies tomorrow at lunch. Meet me
here after school and give me one of them. I’ll give you further
instructions then.”

She looked devastated. “You want a _key_of_your_own_!? How long is this
supposed to go on?” Her voice was choked.

I smiled and looked her straight in the eye. “As long as I say, Annie.
Now be a good girl and do what I said. Or else.”

She muttered a very childlike, pouty “OK” then got up and practically
ran away, her arms crossed over her chest as she ran…

I sat there for minutes afterward, basking in glorious delight and hard
as a post in anticipation.

I smiled. “Photography is my life, ‘Annie.’ Of course, I don’t usually
take those kinds of pictures…”

“Sure!” she spat. “I’ll bet you creep all night long spying on people
like that, you pervert!”

“I’m a pervert? Maybe you better look at those snapshots again.”

“Oh, fuck off!” Her voice was a high, nervous squeak.

“Take care, now, Annie. You don’t want to get on my bad side, now DO
YOU?” I pointed my finger at her and stared her down.

She looked at me with a stunned horror. Our voices were low, but I
imagine no one (except maybe Bill Arnold) had ever talked to her in
such a tone, especially no one from the great unwashed masses, like me.
She was beginning to realize that I had her and I knew it.

She looked down at her expensive leather shoes. “Um, no. I guess I
don’t. OK, OK, I’m sorry.” She was silent for a moment. “What is this
all about?”

“That’s better. Now, I have the negatives to those photos and I can
make all the prints I want. What can you offer me to make it worth my
while not to do that? I mean, imagine how fun it would be to see a
fucking little princess like you get dragged through the shit.” She
looked up at this, her eyes sad and shocked, but her face as lovely as
always. “If I’m going to deny myself that pleasure, I have to have
something to replace it.”