Chapter 27: Europe, Friends, Blackmail

The envelope had a wax seal across the flap embossed with the script letters ‘NR’. On the front, written in bold letters, were the words, “To be opened only by Jim Mellon.” An usher brought it to me at intermission time. I thanked him and went to tip him, but he said, “Oh, no, the young lady handsomely tipped me to deliver this to you personally.” I figured it was some not-so-subtle fan mail.

The green room door opened and a stage hand yelled into the room to Crystal and me, “On stage in sixty seconds.”

We were at Wembley Stadium outside London singing for a record crowd of 90,000 fans. This was the first stop on our European Tour that Terry Ross, our agent had put together. It was May, and the English weather was unseasonably warm. In the coming weeks, Crystal and I were to do concerts in a dozen major European cities, and while in each city we were also to do local premieres of our two movies: Pressure Limit, and The Naked Truth. All told we’d be in Europe six weeks; this would also allow Crystal and me some time to sightsee if we could disguise ourselves sufficiently to avoid the cut-throat European paparazzi.

After a second encore, Crystal and I ran back through the aisle secuity guards had provided for us to exit the raised stage in the middle of the arena. We’d worked the crowd into a country frenzie of joy and happiness. They’d leave feeling good and feeling the love of the universe. Crystal spoke articulately about our relationship while I stood there and blushed; all I could do when my turn to speak came was to suggest to the huge audience that they spread the love that Crystal felt and that all of us had in us. The crowd cheered and applauded wildly.

We ran back through some doors on the side of the soccer pitch, down a couple of corridors, and back into the safety of the green room. Several security guards hovered outside the door to be sure we weren’t disturbed by the uninvited.

The sounds of the crowd were finally muffled by the walls and ceiling. I turned to Crystal and pulled her into my arms, “You were specctacular tonight. How can you have so much love inside you? Everyone here tonight felt it.”

She pecked at my lips, “Because you’re in my life, that’s why.” I got a big hug and kiss.

Terry burst in the door. “Wonderful. Fabulous. There aren’t enough great adjectives to describe your performance tonight. I’m going to take you out of the country more often. This was a peak for the two of you. I’m glad we video taped it. Sony might make something of this one – you know, something like an album entitled ’Live from London.’”

Billy and a couple of the band members appeared soon, and we stood around congratulating each other and listening to Terry’s raves. Cindy and the Hobo Palace band members joined us; I’d never heard them perform better than they did that night. We were all at a peak.

I’d heard people talk about vortices of goodness and spirituality around the world – places where the spiritual energy peaked within each of us. I recalled that Sedona, Arizona was supposed to have four of them. The vortices there are so strong the trees near each vortex grow in a twisted way, unlike those a few hundred yards away. There were others. Maybe Wembley Stadium had turned into a vortex of goodness and spirituality and love that night.

We packed up our gear, changed our clothes to more mundane and less sparkley outfits, and started for the limousines that would take us back to our downtown hotels. Just before we left, I saw the envelope that had been delivered during our break. I tossed it into my duffle bag, and we left.

Most of our entourage stayed at the Intercontinental Hotel on Park Lane in London, right on the edge of Mayfair – an exclusive neighborhood and shopping area. We’d checked in earlier, so we just rolled into the hotel and went up to our suite.

I tossed the duffle bag on the bed. Crystal said to me, “I’m not sleepy yet. Can we just hang out and talk for a bit. I’m still keyed up from the concert; I put out a lot of energy tonight.”

I nodded and unzipped my bag. There on top was the mysterious envelope. I picked it up and turned back to Crystal. “This came during intermission.”

I tore into the envelope. There was one printed page inside – a photograph and some text.

The photograph showed a group of mostly naked people in some kind of orgy, bodies side by side with a lot of fucking going on. In the middle lay a very pretty young woman in whose pussy I had my cock buried. The photo must have been taken during my stopover in Oklahoma. I’d gone to a debutantes ball, been the guest of honor, and afterwards had attended the party-after-the-party, an event that turned out to be an orgy of all orgies. I hadn’t been aware of anyone taking photos; however, many there had cell phones with that capability.

I read the text beneath the photo.

“Wouldn’t the press like to know that you had sex with an under age girl? Think of the scandal and the damage to your reputation. Would Crystal break up with you? For the small sum of $5,000,000 this memory and photo can go away forever. Think about it. A Swiss bank account awaits your payment to AB Swissbanc, Account 007762-31-8319. Don’t wait more that fourteen days to complete your deposit. I’ve been nice and given you extra time because I know international money transfers for this amount take a while. Don’t waste it. Don’t involve the police or you know what will happen.”

My brow must have furrowed as I read the page. Crystal saw my look and said in a concerned voice, “What’s that?”

I tossed the paper to her and mumbled something about Oklahoma She scanned the photo and read the brief message. She firmly spoke, “Babe, you are being blackmailed. I think in most countries that’s a felony.”

“You’re not concerned that I might have had sex with an underage girl?”

Crystal stood and came to me, embracing me in a hug; “I know you. You wouldn’t do that intentionally, plus you told me all about Oklahoma. It sounded like fun, and the kind of party you know I’d like to go to once in a while. I can imagine how some underage babe slipped into the mix as you jumped from pussy to pussy.”

I vaguely remembered the woman that had taken me to the debutante’s party, Heather, telling me that you had to be eighteen to be a debutante.

In the morning, I caucased with Crystal, Terry – our agent, and Dan – our publicist. I showed them the letter. They both shook their head in dismay.

Dan said, “This is not good news, but if it does break it would die out after a few weeks at the rate scandals of celebrities go. After a few months it would be all but forgotten.”

Terry said, “But it’s illegal in about every state in the union. He could be arrested, tried, and jailed for years. It’s considered statutory rape.”

Crystal said, “You have no idea who sent this to you?”

I shook my head, “I barely remember the event let alone the names of the various girls that were there. They were all debutantes, so their names would have been in the paper.”

Dan said, “You need more information – like knowing who sent this and why? Money may not be the primary motive. Maybe they’re just out for your blood, or to break up you and Crystal.”

“I know someone that could get some of this information – a detective friend I met on my road trip who lives in Kansas City.”

“Call him.”

“It’s a her, and I will in another three hours when she’d be up and about. It’s six in the morning where she is. Her name is Mils.”

After our caucas, Crystal and I went for a run – three times around Hyde Park, down past Buckingham Palace, out to Picadilly Square, up Regent Street to Oxford Street, and then back to the hotel. We then spent an hour in the hotel gym, followed by showers. Life didn’t look any better after the exercise than it did beforehand.

Just after lunch, I called Mils Cartright, private detective. I’d met Mils in the black hills of South Dakota. She fallen, broken her leg, and might have died of exposure if I hadn’t found her marooned on a high ledge. We hit it off, and I hung around with her, and later her best friend Connie. The sex with Mils and Connie was amazing.

I had taken a photograph of the letter with my cell phone and emailed it to Mils along with my knowledge of the event in the photo. When I got her on the phone, I asked her to open up the email attachment. After a minute, she said, “Wow! That’s too bad. Did you know she was underage?”

“No, of course, not. I guess she got slipped into the mix.”

“Looks like fun from the photo. Wish I’d been there. Heck, I wish I were with you now; I’d fuck your brains out.” After a pause, she went on, “Oh, well. I suppose you want me to find out the who, what, why, where, when, and how about this – and real fast based of the time scale this person gave you. Do you think this came from the underage girl or someone else?”

“Good question. I have no idea. The envelope had a wax seal with the initials ‘NR’ on it, but I bet that’s on purpose to mislead me.” I’d also immediately assumed it had come from my ‘victim’; however, it could have come from any of about fifty people.”

“Well that narrows things down considerably to only most of the state of Oklahoma,” Mils said sarcastically. “Give me some more information, like how it arrived into your hands.”

I described for Mils the concert setting, the purpose of our trip, our itinerary, and so forth. I could hear the click of computer keys as she made notes from our call. She even asked me to describe the courier, as well as how I connected with all the debutantes in Oklahome two years or so earlier. I gave her Heather’s name and phone number. In the end, I felt questioned about every aspect of the orgy, as well all the circumstances either of us could think of around the letter.

Mils said, “I’ll be in touch. I might have one of my associates in London get in touch with you, too.” We rang off, as the British say.

The premiere of Pressure Limit in England took place at the Odeon Theater on Leicester Squsre in downtown London. The star studded event drew royalty – Prince William and Kate, the first people of nobility I think I’d ever met. Apparently, the movie had been touted as the most exciting action movie of the decade, so no one wanted to miss getting an early viewing. The man who recently played James Bond, Daniel Craig, also came up and greeted me warmly.

Crystal looked like the star she was as she allowed me to escort her to the crowded showing and the gala party at the Savoy after the screening. We danced and danced into the night.

Every time I scanned the crowd, either attending the surrounding events or the sidewalk spectators watching us arrive or leave, I searched for a familiar face – a face that might be intent on blackmail; a face that wanted to either embarrass me or get five million dollars of my wealth.

I wouldn’t miss five million dollars. In the two years since I’d met Crystal the money had rolled in, and now between the movie and the five Grammys, I knew that this year my earnings would top any others in my life. I’d also picked up some advertising endorsements, some pro bono for non-profits, and some paid for products I deemed socially acceptable and that didn’t hurt the environment. I guess once you start making money, the universe keeps the ball rolling. I learned this was the Law of Attraction.

Instead of a call from Mils, I had a visitor just after lunch the following day. Margaret St. James presented her business card to me with great aplomb as she stood at the door to our suite. She wore a masculine yet highly tailor three-piece suit that I guessed came from Saville Row, and spoke meticulous English with a beautiful British accent. She asked me to call her Margo.

Margo sat and explained her presence; “Miss Mils Cartwright and I are of the same profession. I have worked with the lovely lady before on both sides of the pond” – a British term for the Atlantic Ocean. “She asked me to be your contact in Europe since so many of the leads we’re following are in Europe.”