She saw the hesistation in my face, and tried to press the advantage.

"There's no reason we can't be friends, is there? I mean, do a girl one little favor… uh…. um…."

Her smile faded a bit, and I realized that she was trying to remember my name. We'd been in school together since the second grade, had even been lab partners, and she had never taken even enough interest to remember my name. The spell broke.

"Forget it, Annie," my voice was strong and I could see that she knew I was not going to play. "No, this is going to be business." Her espression fell into one of complete despair.

I recognized the look – it was very much like the one she had given Bill Arnold when he threatened to rape her if she did not come across with a blowjob – but there was a difference. Though she was defeated, she was not disgusted, or at least not as disgusted as she had been then.

I spread my hands out on the table and sat back in my seat. "Now," began, businesslike and firm, "you're a rich kid. Your parents probably own a summerhouse or some rental properties or something, right?"

"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 seperate 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."