Hank at Red Lobster

Hi, my name is Hank.

WILDE: Let's talk.

I have a secret.

For the past three months, I've been the only person in the state who knows the identity of its most famous gay blogger.

And now it was time to strike a deal.

WILDE: What do you want?

I had arranged to meet him in a place nobody would see us.

Red Lobster.

ME: I'll tell you what I want.
WILDE: What makes you so sure I'm going to give it to you?
ME: Because if everybody finds out whose been talking shit about them on a statewide blog for the past two years than you might as well throw yourself off a cliff.
WILDE: Okay, what do you want?

I had thought a lot about this.

ME: I want to be the It Boy.
WILDE: Excuse me?
ME: You can make or break people. I want to be made.
WILDE: Do you want me to make you a tap dancer too?
ME: Hey--
WILDE: How about head cheerleader?
ME: Listen, I'm the one holding all the cards here.

Wilde leaned in over his popcorn shrimp.

WILDE: How do you know people would believe you if you told them who I was?
ME: Because I'm a good person who never lies. Now, are you going to do what I want or do I have to keep blackmailing you?
WILDE: What exactly do you want me to say?

I pushed a piece of paper across the table to him.

He picked it up, scanned it, and then locked his eyes on mine.

WILDE: 'The Boy to Bed?' Are you serious?
ME: Just print it, Hedda.

I could see hatred in his eyes, but I didn't care. This was my ticket to Happytown.

WILDE: Fine.

See? Magical things can happen at Red Lobster.