Those records are kept confidential,” Griff argued.
“Supposedly.”
Griff thought of the gate with the disembodied voice, the high wall surrounding the property. Apparently privacy was a real issue with this guy. Like neatness. The psychologist at Big Spring would have had a field day over the obsessive way Speakman had removed the drinking glasses from view, folded the towel, and replaced the coaster.
Intrigued in spite of himself, Griff studied the millionaire for a long moment, then said, “So how would it work? I’d go to a doctor’s office and jerk off into a jar and—”
“No office. If Laura was inseminated in a doctor’s office, there would be talk.”
“Who would talk?”
“The people who staff the office. Other patients who might see her there. People love to talk. Especially about celebrities.”
“I’m a fallen star.”
Laughing softly, Speakman said, “I was referring to Laura and me. But your involvement would certainly add another element to a delicious piece of gossip. It would be too tempting even for people bound by professional privilege.”
“Okay, so I don’t go to the doctor’s office with you. You could take my semen in and claim it as yours. Who’s to know?”
“You don’t understand, Griff. That still leaves room for speculation. My condition is obvious. A specimen I claimed as mine could have come from the pool boy. A skycap. Anybody.” He shook his head. “We’re emphatic about this. No nurses, no chatty receptionists, no office open to the public. At all.”
“So where? Here?” Griff envisioned taking a dirty magazine and a Dixie cup into one of the mansion’s bathrooms, the mute manservant standing outside the door, waiting for him to finish and deliver the specimen.
No way, José. Or rather, No way, Manuelo.
But for half a million bucks?
Everyone had their price. He’d proved he did. Five years had decreased it considerably, but if Speakman was willing to pay him five hundred grand for doing what he’d been doing for free for the past five years, he wasn’t going to let modesty stand in the way.
He’d walk away with six hundred thousand, counting the “signing bonus.” The Speakmans would get the kid they desperately wanted. It was win-win, and it wasn’t even against the law.
“I assume you’d have the doctor check me out first,” he said. “For all you know, I could’ve taken up with a lover in prison and have HIV.”
“I seriously doubt that,” Speakman said drily, “but, yes, I would require you to undergo a thorough physical examination and bring me back a clean bill of health, signed by a physician. You could say it was for medical insurance.”
It still seemed too easy. Griff wondered what he was overlooking. Where was the catch? “What if she doesn’t get pregnant? Do I have to return the first hundred grand?”
Speakman hesitated. Griff tilted his head as though to communicate that this could be a deal breaker. Speakman said, “No. That would be yours to keep.”
“Because if she doesn’t conceive, it might not be my fault. Your wife may not be fertile.”
“Who negotiated your contract with the Cowboys?”
“What? My former agent. Why?”
“A piece of advice, Griff. During a business negotiation, once you’ve won a point, drop it. Don’t mention it again. I’ve already conceded that you could keep the initial hundred thousand.”
“Okay.” They hadn’t covered that in the release preparation sessions.
Griff weighed his options, and they boiled down to this: he didn’t have any options, other than saying no and walking away from mega cash. To turn this down, he’d have to be crazy. Crazy as Speakman and his old lady.
He raised one shoulder in a negligent shrug. “Then if that’s all that’s required, we have a deal. One point, though. I want to do my thing in the privacy of my own bathroom. The doctor will have to come to my place to pick up the stuff. I think you can freeze it, so I could give him several samples at one whack.” He laughed at the inadvertent double entendre. “So to speak.”
Speakman laughed, too, but was serious as sin when he said, “There won’t be a doctor, Griff.”
Just when he thought he had this figured out, Speakman hit him with something like a linebacker coming around on his blind side and knocking him on his ass. “What do you mean, no doctor? Who’s gonna…” He made gentle thrusting motions with his hand. “Put it where it needs to go.”
“You are,” Speakman said quietly. “I’m sorry for not making this clear from the beginning. I insist on my child being conceived naturally. The way God intended.”