Disclaimer: This Story is a Work of Fiction, Except for the Parts that Aren’t.

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EXT: Daytime — A busy street in Bangkok, Thailand.

A short man with dark hair and a designer messenger bag strapped to his chest hops on a scooter and takes off across town. The scenery changes from local Thai apartments covered in hanging gardens to luxury high-rise condos surrounded by luxury malls to a suburban-style gated community full of large, spacious villas that require staff for upkeep. The guard checks the man’s ID and waves him through the gate. He eventually arrives at his intended destination and parks the scooter outside of an especially lovely-looking villa. As he makes his way towards the front door, a hurried-looking old man in a suit, clearly the BUTLER, comes rushing out the front door.

BUTLER: What are you doing here, Billy? Mr. Antony specifically commanded you not to come here. You know he doesn’t approve of riff raff like you anywhere near his family’s home.

BILLY: [nonchalantly pulls a flash drive out of his bag] Ah, yes, about that. I have some information he wants. It was far too important to be delayin’ now.

BUTLER: What is this regarding?

BILLY: The documents he requested regarding the Lady Elizabeth Catherine from the House of Horton.

BUTLER: Who?

BILLY: Better known by her pen name… Ms. Betsey Horton, Writer Extraordinaire?

BUTLER: And you’re certain this is important enough to visit the house for?

BILLY: Oh, yes. He’s going to want to hear this story. Trust me.

BUTLER: Very well, Billy. I’ll let Mr. Antony know you’re here. Please, wait outside.

BILLY stands outside on the front steps waiting as the gardening crew take turns giving him disapproving looks. He puts his hands in his pockets and starts whistling an old Irish hymn. A few minutes later, the front doors burst open. A handsome gentleman in his 40’s with dark hair and eyes like a storm at sea sticks his head out and glares at BILLY.

ANTONY: I told you to use the back door so no one would see you! Eejit!

BILLY: Well, top o’ the morning to you too.

ANTONY: Get the hell in this house right now before anyone else sees you! You’re lucky my wife isn’t home today!

ANTONY grabs BILLY by the arm and pulls him inside the house. He looks both ways outside before slamming the doors shut. He gives BILLY an annoyed look before leading him to the study, or as we say in the post-pandemic era, the home office. He is just about to slam the door before the BUTLER puts his hand out to stop it.

ANTONY: What is it, Jeeves? What do you want?!

BUTLER: Sorry, sir, just wanting to know if you’ll be needing any tea?

ANTONY: For god’s sake, man, this is no time for tea!

BILLY: You’re right. Better make it a whiskey. You’re going to need it after hearing this.

ANTONY: Very well. Make it a whiskey.

BILLY: Oh, and get us the good stuff, Jeeves. From the family’s private stock!

ANTONY gives BILLY a loathsome look and mutters something under his breath. He exchanges a look with the BUTLER but nods anyway. The BUTLER leaves and returns with the fancy whiskey. They wait until he is gone from the room before speaking to each other again.

ANTONY: Go on now, speak your peace. What did you discover about our Posh Irish-American Lady Friend running around with all that riff raff down by the docks?

BILLY: Generally harmless, as you suspected. She’s just another rich girl out here blowing her inheritance on some kind of Eat, Pray, Love journey. Travels a lot. LA, New York, London, Paris, Dubai, Doha, India, Hong Kong, Bali, Kuala Lumpur. She has a big thing for New Orleans in particular.

ANTONY: New Orleans?

BILLY: That’s right. New Orleans. There’s a large Irish population there.

ANTONY: Interesting. Who does she work for?

BILLY: She doesn’t work, for anyone, or at all in general, as far as I can tell. Her Daddy was taking care of her until he died. She just writes in her little blog and thinks it will make her a real author some day.

ANTONY: Yes, yes, we knew all of that. Tell me what else you found.

BILLY: Now, that’s the interesting part. She herself is not that interesting, but her collection of ex-lovers are.

ANTONY: Go on.

BILLY takes out the flash drive again and hands it over to ANTONY. ANTONY looks at it as if it is a piece of kryptonite glowing in his hand. He downs his glass of whiskey and immediately pours another one before plugging the flash drive into his desktop computer. He sits down in his chair as BILLY stands behind him and begins navigating the file with the mouse. He pulls up a video showing a montage of the writer in question making out with four different men in the same elevator over a period of four months. The first man featured is none other than ANTONY himself.

BILLY: Look, there you are!

ANTONY grabs the mouse and fast-forwards through his section of the montage. He pauses it when the next man comes up to look at his face.

BILLY: That’s the Englishman she was crying over the night you met her. You can see here he visited her there at least twice. I also got footage of them in the bar together from back in August. You can see they didn’t talk for very long before leaving together.

ANTONY: Who is he?

BILLY: No one, really. Just some freelance web developer guy who got roped into taking care of a local water buffalo farm.

ANTONY: [scoffs and shakes his head as he continues moving the cursor through the video] And who is this one?

BILLY: Ah, Panama Guy. I also have footage of her in the condo building down the street the same night, and at the bar all week. He’s some American military contractor type on vacation. Not in town long.

ANTONY: And this one?

BILLY: That’s her Mexican Guy. It was easy to track him down. He’s just some cruise ship sound tech guy. Also on vacation.

ANTONY: Also a no one. You came all this way to waste my time for THIS?!

BILLY: Now, now, calm yourself down there, buddy boy. There’s more.

BILLY clicks out of the montage and pulls up a new file. It’s a whole folder with the designated name, “Indian Guy.” BILLY opens it to reveal a series of photos of a young, handsome Indian man shaking hands with some of the biggest BJP Party leaders in India today. A video clip shows him riding in a brand-new Jeep with party flags being waved through a highway checkpoint somewhere outside of New Delhi. There is also a series of photographs of his mother, a former politician for the BJP Party, engaged in various political activities, surrounded by the same prominent collection of leaders. ANTONY stares at the computer screen in horror as his jaw drops open.

BILLY: According to her blog, this was the man she was engaged to marry.

ANTONY: Did she know about this when she entered into the agreement?

BILLY: I don’t think she did, no. It’s hard to say. It’s hard to tell what she knows, what she’s pretending to know, and what she doesn’t know. She’s a very good bullshitter. Americans are like that, ya know.

ANTONY: She told me she met him at a yoga retreat.

BILLY: She did. I believe she fell for Ye Olde Indian Marriage Scamme.

ANTONY: That’s… actually pretty sad.

BILLY: It really is.

ANTONY: She must be very lonely.

BILLY: She is.

ANTONY: How do you know that?

BILLY: I’ve been watching her Instagram stories the last few days.

ANTONY: I see. And just how many more of these gentlemen are there?

BILLY: See, now that’s where the story gets interesting. Everything I just showed you? That’s just from this year. The Personal Data Package I paid for got me the password to her blog archives. I could see everything she has hidden on there. Her website is ten years old! There’s thousands of stories on there.

ANTONY: Thousands?

BILLY: That’s right. Thousands.

ANTONY: And what about this other bar? This Bloody Mary’s place? What did you find out about this Andrew character?

BILLY moves the mouse and clicks on the file labeled “Bloody Mary’s.” A photo of a dingy old dive bar with a distinctly Irish name flashes up on the screen. It is followed by photos of the town of Vermillion and the University of South Dakota. A montage of photos shows Betsey Horton sitting in the bar with a frail old man wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses, laughing as the handsome bartender looks on from afar with a saddened look. The next photo shows her and the bartender looking directly at each other from across the room, holding their gaze on each other a little too long to be considered proper or appropriate.

ANTONY: Is that her Andrew?

BILLY: Yes, sir. That’s her Andrew.

ANTONY: What did you get on him?

BILLY: His real name is [redacted]. He’s Big Money. Wife is a Doctor. He just sold the bar last year. Moved to a different state with his family. Here they are now.

The image on the screen changes to a wholesome family photo taken in front of a beautiful restored farm house out in a random field somewhere. ANTONY looks it over and makes a face.

ANTONY: She said they weren’t together. What did you find out?

BILLY: Again, it’s hard to say. What I can tell you is that she was writing stories about him and the bar every day for about two years before it became a ‘problem’ and he banned her for life from the bar.

ANTONY: Because of the stories, not because they had a relationship?

BILLY looks ANTONY up and down and clicks his tongue.

BILLY: I don’t know about that one, Boss. Like I said, it’s very hard to say. But I can show this video, which was taken about two years after she was banned.

BILLY pulls up another montage. This one shows Betsey sitting at a proper Irish Pub down the street, playing bar games with a bunch of local townie riff raff and taking way too many shots. By the end of the montage, she is clearly not herself anymore. She disappears from the bar and reappears in the next scene on police bodycam footage, standing behind Bloody Mary’s, clearly drunk out of her right mind and sporting purple hair.

OFFICER: Ma’am, we received a report that you were out her vandalizing the bar.

BETSEY: I’m just writing in my notebook.

OFFICER: Can we check the contents of your bag, ma’am?

Betsey sits down on the ground and promptly starts removing a pile of notebooks, folders, pens, and devices from her large suitcase-like bag. Even in her clearly blackout state, she still takes the time to explain the contents of each folder. The officers can be heard on the police-cam footage exchanging the following words:

OFFICER 1: I don’t see any spray paint in there. No chalk, no nothing. There’s no graffiti on the fence or the sidewalk or anywhere. I don’t see anything like the call we received.

OFFICER 2: No, the call clearly stated she was out her writing graffiti. I don’t see anything like that. It must be someone making a false report.

OFFICER 1: She is very drunk though.

OFFICER 2: Yeah.

OFFICER 1: Okay, ma’am, ma’am, it’s time for you to go home now. Can we take you home?

BETSEY: No, it’s fine, I’ll just get back there myself. Thank you!

The bodycam footage shuts off. The two sit together in silence for a moment.

ANTONY: Is there more?

BILLY: Oh, there’s more.

Right at the moment, the BUTLER knocks on the door and sticks his head into the study.

BUTLER: Sir, your appointment is here.

ANTONY looks at the computer, looks at the BUTLER, looks at BILLY, looks back at the computer, and then looks back at the BUTLER.

ANTONY: Cancel my meeting, Jeeves. It turns out this is an emergency after all.

BUTLER: But sir-

ANTONY: Don’t argue with me, Jeeves. Just go and get us another bottle of whiskey. The good kind this time, please.

BILLY: Ah, I knew ya had it in ya!

ANTONY: Shut up, Billy. Jeeves, the whiskey!

BUTLER: As you say, sir.

The BUTLER leaves again and returns with a second, better-quality bottle of whiskey. ANTONY practically grabs it out of his hands and pours himself a stiff glass before the next video plays.

BILLY: So this one was taken about two years after that one.

ANTONY watches as Betsey walks up outside the bar and sets up a bright pink fold-up chair in the middle of the street outside. The street has been blocked off to make outdoor seating for the pandemic. She sits downs in the chair, takes out her notebook and starts scribbling away with a smile on her face. In the background, he can see a crowd gathering inside the bar by the window, making a big commotion about her presence. In the next clip they watch as two police officers dressed in full military riot gear run up the sidewalk and grab her. They watch her fighting back with every ounce of her being as they drag her inside the police vehicle. Andrew steps outside the bar and starts ranting at the police officer about how she has been trespassed from the property. Inside the vehicle, they can see Betsey screaming as she tries to pull her wrists out of the handcuffs.

BETSEY: LET ME GO! LET ME FUCKING GO! THIS IS A VIOLATION OF MY FIRST AMENDMENT RIGHTS TO FREEDOM OF SPEECH, FREEDOM OF PRESS, AND FREEDOM OF ASSEMBLY TO AIR MY GRIEVANCES AGAINST THIS FUCKED UP BULLSHIT! YOU CAN’T DO THIS! YOU DIDN’T READ ME MY MIRANDA RIGHTS OR TELL ME WHY I AM BEING DETAINED. I WANT TO TALK TO MY LAWYER! GET ME MY LAWYER! GET ME MY FUCKING LAWYER RIGHT NOW! AHHHHHHHHH!!!! I WANT MY LAWYER!

BILLY watches as ANTONY’s jaw drops to the floor in total and complete shock. He pauses the video right at the perfect moment to capture Betsey’s face looking like a wild, wild cat howling at the moon.

ANTONY: Woah.

BILLY: [cheerfully] See, I told ya she was Irish!

ANTONY: [downs another glass of whiskey and pours them both another] Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. She’s Irish, alright.

BILLY: I respect her. She’s got that Irish fire inside. That lass wasn’t about to go down without a proper fight. I respect the fuck outta her for that.

ANTONY: And what became of this mess?

BILLY: According to the court documents, her daddy bailed her out. Again.

ANTONY: And how many times has he done that?

BILLY: Well, that’s the thing. She’s a good girl otherwise. Generally well-behaved. A right proper Lady, I would say, as she was raised to be. The only other thing I could find in the police files was this.

BILLY pulls up a series of PDF’s detailing the arrest of a man for assaulting Betsey. His identification page shows him to be the spoiled, arrogant son of a local businessman and politician. The police report describes an encounter where Betsey’s “sometimes boyfriend” threw her across the room into a wall during an argument they had while lying in bed naked together. The file includes a medical report taken from the hospital that morning, a protection order, and a court report detailing the case being dropped due to Rich White Male Privilege.

ANTONY: Wow. She really knows how to pick ’em, huh?

BILLY: So it would seem.

ANTONY: And what else is there?

BILLY pulls up the last file, labeled “Mental Health Report.”

BILLY: Some of this was harder to find, but I managed. It’s all from before she turned 21. She was hospitalized for multiple suicide attempts as a teenager and drugged up on pharmaceuticals for several years before and after. It seemed to stop when she became an adult, because there’s no records of her receiving any kind of significant treatment for any mental health conditions after she turned 22. Apparently she’s a yoga teacher now.

ANTONY: I see. And you’re telling me this is everything you were able to find out about this woman? There’s nothing more?

BILLY: Eh, a couple more boyfriends here and there. Most recently, a rich married guy who she helped get a divorce, a New York Times bestselling author who owns a restaurant she used to work at, and a secret one I couldn’t find any information about. Less recently, an older guy who took advantage of her when she was young, one of her teachers, some asshole who cheated on her a bunch of times and left her unable to love anyone the same way ever again.

ANTONY: I see. Sad.

BILLY: And what say you about this information, sir?

ANTONY: I’m not sure what to say right now, Billy. Thank you for bringing me this information. I’ll forgive your unwelcome intrusion into the family household. For now. Don’t think you’re welcome back here again.

BILLY: And what is it you intend to do, sir?

ANTONY: I have no idea. Just… mind after her for now.

BILLY: Pardon me for saying so, sir, but you know I have my own sick water buffalo to tend to at home. I can’t just be minding after your girlfriends for free.

ANTONY scoffs and rolls his eyes. He gets up from the desk, walks over to the bookshelf and pulls out the book that opens the secret door to the safe. He grabs a duffle bag full of cash and throws it at BILLY.

ANTONY: That should be enough to cover the cost of the data file your purchased, the information you brought me today, and whatever future work you do.

BILLY: As you say, sir. Thank you, sir. I won’t be disappointing you now, sir.

ANTONY: Just get out, Billy. You’ve given me enough information for today.

BILLY: Just one last thing, sir. The Lady herself requested I ask you one thing.

ANTONY: Oh? And what is that?

BILLY: [pulls out a post-it note from his messenger bag and clears his throat] “How does it feel to cancel a meeting to deal with me?”

ANTONY immediately freezes and looks up at BILLY in shock as the realization slowly washes over him that he’s been had.

BILLY: [smirks and looks back down at the post- it note] The Lady suggests that next time, you schedule an appointment specifically for her in order to avoid any unwelcome intrusions into your private time.

ANTONY: GET OUT!

BILLY laughs, folds up the note, and sticks it back into his bag. He finishes his whiskey, puts his hands in his pockets, and whistles as he walks out of the villa and back to his bike. He barely registers the sound of the door slamming behind him as he goes. He gets on his scooter with his giant bag of money and takes off into the mountains far away.

The End