Page 100 of The Man I Hate

It sounded like a hell of an idea. “I like it,” I said. “Let me see who will do what.” I nodded toward her laptop. “How’s the email campaign coming?”

“I’m just getting started.”

Everyone I contacted was supportive of the stay at home order and wanted to do whatever they could to encourage others to follow the state’s guidelines. Their support of first responders, medical workers, and caregivers was profound. After thirty minutes of text messages, I had more donations than I knew what to do with.

I chose two of the more appealing offers and included them as an incentive in my return email to the supplier. A few seconds after clicking the send button, my phone rang. It was my contact with the supplier.

Wearing a smirk, I answered the phone. “Rourke.”

“A walk-in on a Kevin Hart movie?” he asked. “Seriously? You’re telling me I’ll have a part in the next Kevin Hart movie?”’

“That’s what he said.”

“And a guest spot on Ellen DeGeneres’ show?”

“That is correct. But I’m giving you $200,000 even, and you’re air freighting me 125,000 masks and 8 brand new ventilators.”

“I said I’d provide 6.”

“And, I’m saying you either need to provide 8, or I’ll find someone else to do business with.”

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” he asked. “The ventilators are bringing $20,000 each on the streets.”

“If the feds catch you selling them for profit, you’ll be doing 20 years in Lompoc.”

“Well, you’re not the feds.”

“It’s something to think about though. Men in the federal prison system are being infected at an astounding rate. Have you seen the numbers?”

“Enough about prison,” he said. “I can’t do 8. We need to stick with 6.”

“Got any kids?” I asked.

“What the fuck’s that got to do with anything?”

“Just wondering if any of your kids would like to be in a Shawn Mendez music video.”

“Who the fuck’s Shawn Mendez?”

“You must not have any kids.”

“Is he popular?” he asked.

“He’s an award-winning artist. He’s got one music video that has over a billion views on YouTube.”

“A fucking billion?” he asked. “With a ‘B’?”

“Billion with a ‘B’.”

“Let me call you back.”

“Make it quick,” I warned. “In ten minutes, I’m going to someone else. Someone who knows who Shawn Mendez is.”

I hung up the phone and set it aside. When I looked up, Anna was sitting at her computer with her mouth agape. Her eyes were as wide as saucers.

“You got Shawn Mendez to donate a music video spot?” she asked. “Shawn Mendez? Like Seńorita Shawn Mendez? Camila Cabello Shawn Mendez?”

“That’d be him.”