Coos Bay, Oregon

June 28, 1994

Dinner this Thursday evening was taco salad, prepared by Jim and Marcie�or at least it was the Scanlon family version of taco salad. A bowl of ground turkey meat spiced with taco seasoning. A large salad bowl filled with chopped iceberg and romaine lettuce in which garbanzo beans, kidney beans, chopped green chilis, and shredded cheddar cheese had been added. Three family sized bags of Doritos nacho cheese chips. Last, but certainly not least, bowls containing freshly made guacamole, sour cream, and chipotle salsa. The idea was to take a plate, crunch up some of the nacho cheese chips across the bottom of it, put a healthy serving of salad atop this, put a healthy serving of the meat atop that, and then add in some guac, some sour cream, some salsa, and mix the entire concoction up before eating it.

It was absolutely delicious. Jake himself had two large helpings. Laura, who sat beside him at the large family dining room table in the rental house, had three small helpings.

�That was incredible, Marcie,� Jake told the thirty-two-year-old mother who had been the primary engineer of the meal. �I had my doubts when you first told me what you were making, but it was delicious.�

�And filling,� added Laura, who had just had to restrain herself from belching at the table.

�Yes,� said Sharon, who was rubbing her belly, which was now noticeably swollen with her second trimester pregnancy. �My little passenger certainly appreciated it. He�s kicking up a storm in there.�

�It is unlikely that it is genuine fetal motion you are perceiving,� Nerdly told her.

�It�s the baby,� Sharon insisted. �I know it is.�

�You are only eighteen weeks and five days gestation currently,� Nerdly said. �Statistically, primigravida women such as yourself do not begin to feel actual fetal movement until well into the twenty-third or twenty-fourth week. It is most likely gas or some other form of hormonal-related gastrointestinal upset you are experiencing.�

�Seriously, Nerdly?� asked Stephanie Zool, who was sitting just to the right of Sharon. �She tells you that she feels the baby moving and you go all scientific on her?�

�My statistics are valid,� Nerdly told her. �Why would I not point out the fallacy of her perception?�

�Because she says it�s your baby kicking her and that makes her happy,� Steph said. �You shouldn�t be pissing on her perception; you should be encouraging it.�

�But that would be dishonest,� Nerdly said, genuinely confused by her words.

�It�s okay, Steph,� Sharon said with a smile. �Bill is Bill and his honesty in spouting off such things is part of why I love him. I knew what I was getting myself into when I agreed to marry him.�

�That�s sweet,� said Jenny White, Jeremy the bass player�s wife. She was a chubby little woman with auburn hair and large breasts. Pleasant natured and a born nurturer, she was in charge of the pack of children that had invaded the house, part of the baggage brought by their parents. For this task, KVA Records was paying her four hundred and fifty dollars a week, a bit more than she had been making selling appliances at the Providence Sears store.

�Besides,� Sharon said. �I still know it�s the baby kicking me.�

�My old lady told me she felt the baby kicking well before the second trimester started,� said Rick Jackson, who, at forty years of age, was the oldest member of Brainwash. �And she�s a nurse, so she should know what she�s talking about.�

�Having an education in a medical science does not necessarily qualify one to judge whether a perceived sensation in one�s own body is factual or not,� Nerdly told him. �What is required is empirical and repeatable evidence that suggests the hypothesis is correct.�

�Uh ... yeah,� said Rick, a puzzled look on his face. �I suppose that makes sense.�

�I will always remember the first time I felt little Meghan kicking,� said Marcie. �I was in bed, at night, and Jim and I had just finished ... you know?�

�Finished what?� asked Nerdly.

�Uh ... practicing up for when it was time to make little Alex,� Jim said.

�Oh, I see,� said Nerdly. �You had just engaged in legally sanctioned sexual relations.�

�Uh ... yeah,� Marcie said. �A good way of putting it. Anyway, we were laying there and I was drifting off to sleep, and then I felt this fluttering inside of me. It would start and then stop, start and then stop. It was subtle, but it was definitely Meghan getting a workout in.�

�Exactly!� Sharon said triumphantly. �That is what I�m feeling right now. A fluttering in my uterus. And it started right after I finished eating.�

�How far along were you when this phenomenon occurred, Marcie?� Nerdly asked her.

�I was just starting the second trimester,� she said. �I remember because it was right after that surge of hormones hit that made me ... you know ... want to have those legally sanctioned relations all the time.�

�Yes, of course,� Nerdly said. �Sharon is in the midst of that phase right now. She calls upon me to engage in intercourse with her at least once a night of late.�

�Bill,� Sharon hissed at him. �You don�t have to tell them that.�

�It�s true though,� he said. �And quite an interesting biological response as well. I mean, when you think about it, the surge of hormones that triggers increased sexual desire actually serves no purpose since the female in question is already pregnant. What is the point of it?�

�Some things,� Jake suggested, �you should just not question or seek a point to. Having your wife suddenly want to...� He looked over at the children�s table that sat near the doorway to the kitchen. Meghan and Alex, the Scanlon children, were sitting with Jeffrey and Jessica, the White children. The two older children seemed to be monitoring the conversation. He chose his words carefully. � ... to, uh ... engage in that sort of activity more than the usual amount would be one of those things, wouldn�t you say?�

�Perhaps,� Nerdly agreed. �In any case, I have to assume, Marcie, that the sensation you are describing was probably not the fetal Meghan since it would have been too early in the pregnancy. You were probably just feeling post-orgasmic tremors in your uterus.�

�That�s assuming that there was an orgasm to trigger such a post-orgasmic event,� Stephanie said with a smile.

�Hey now,� said Jim. �Just because I�m a hetero doesn�t mean I can�t ring the bell.�

�What bell were you ringing, Daddy?� asked Meghan from the kids� table. �Do you still have it?�

�He still has it,� Marcie said as the adults all laughed at Meghan�s words.

�Can we play with the bell?� asked Alex.

�Unfortunately, no,� Jim said. �When you�re older though... much older ... you�ll find your own bell to play with.�

Alex and Meghan declared this to be unfair, but Jenny was able to distract them by telling them it was time to start the cleanup. Rule Number 1 was still in effect in the house and everyone, even the children, were expected to do their part to keep it from being violated. The four kids started with their own plates, carrying them over to dump them in the garbage before carrying them to the sink and depositing them inside. They then went about the task of cleaning their table off with wet disinfectant wipes from a box that sat on the counter.

Jake and Laura�s job tonight was helping to rinse the dishes and put them into the dishwasher. Before they could start doing that, however, there was a problem with the garbage can. It was full and needed to be taken out.

�I�ll do it,� said Jim.

�No no, sit down,� Jake told him. �You helped cook the dinner. You don�t have any cleaning duties.�

�All I did was open cans and boxes and bags,� Jim said. �Marcie did all the actual cooking.�

�It doesn�t matter,� Jake said. �Go sit your ass down. I�ll take out the garbage.�

�You said �ass�!� Jessica shouted out delightfully. �Put a quarter in the swear jar!�

�Shit,� Jake muttered, reaching into his pocket, where he had taken to carrying a roll of quarters with him. They now officially had a swear jar. Jenny had set it up after hearing the typical conversations that took place among the musicians and witnessing their inability to restrain themselves when the children were present. The going rate was a quarter per swear for typical profane utterings, a dollar when the F-bomb was dropped. There was at least five dollars worth of quarters and perhaps ten in folding currency in that jar from Jake alone.

�Two quarters!� Alex said with glee. �You said �shit� too!�

�Two quarters, going in,� Jake said, pulling them out of his pocket and dropping them in.

�You know, Jake,� said Jenny, her mother�s gaze of disapproval upon him, �the idea of the swear jar is not to collect money for investment purposes, but to dissuade profanity.�

�Really?� he said with a smile. �Now you tell me.�

�Can I just drop a ten-dollar bill in there at the beginning of each week and talk like normal?� asked Steph, who had dropped at least as much currency into the jar as Jake.

�You may not,� Jenny said sternly.

�Well, that sucks butt,� Steph told her, just barely keeping on the right side of the swear line with that one.

Jake chuckled once more and then grabbed hold of the black Hefty garbage bag inside of the trash can. He pulled it out, struggling a little and having to brace the can with his feet, but it finally came free. He twisted it closed and then walked through the kitchen to the side door that led outside.

It was only six days past the summer solstice and, as such, the sun was still well above the western horizon even though it was past seven o�clock. The sky was cloudless and a brilliant blue. A slight onshore breeze was blowing and the sounds of waves crashing to shore at the base of their cliff could be heard.

Jake carried the bag of refuse over to the plastic can that had been issued to the house by the County of Coos for weekly garbage collection. He opened the lid and dropped it inside. He shut the lid again and then walked over to the driveway where he stood facing the ocean. He stood there for a moment, enjoying the breeze on his face, the smell of the salt, the sound of the waves, the relative serenity of the environment outside of the house.

Brainwash and families had been living in the house with Jake, Laura, and the Nerdlys for a week now. It was an interesting experience, to say the least. Having children around was definitely a change in the usual dynamic of communal living. One had to watch what one said these days or risk having to feed the swear jar. One stepped on toys in the hallway. One walked across scattered beach sand in the entryways. One had to listen to complaints that there wasn�t anything to eat around here. One had to wait one�s turn to use the bathroom, especially if one wanted to use one of the downstairs ones. The Scanlon and the White children were starting to grow a little on Jake�they were all reasonably well-mannered and engaging�but he was always the first to volunteer to take out the garbage, or make a run to the store, or anything else that let him step out into the quiet and calm of the outside for a few minutes.

So far, Project Brainwash was on time and only slightly over budget. KVA had flown the entire bunch of musicians and family members from Boston to Los Angeles on June 7^th, put them all up in the Hilton Hotel in Santa Clarita, and provided them with rental cars (including a rental minivan for Jenny to drive the children around in). There, the band, the Nerdlys, and Jake had spent two and a half weeks working eight-hour days in the KVA rehearsal studio, picking out the fifteen songs they were going to work up, and then culling that down to the ten that would appear on the album.

This turned out to a little more difficult of a task than Jake had been anticipating. It was not because Brainwash had to struggle to find suitable tunes to work-up, it was because they had too many to choose from.

�How many songs to you have in your repertoire?� Jake asked them on one of the first days, after listening to them name off several dozen possible pieces to work on.

�Sixty-eight that we have composed and worked-up enough over the years to be played live in front of an audience,� Jim told him.

�Sixty-eight?� Jake asked incredulously. �You mean ... like ... ten times six, plus eight? That kind of sixty-eight?�

�That�s right,� Steph said. �Of course, at least twenty or thirty of those we haven�t done in a few years. I�m thinking we should stick with our classics and the newer stuff.�

�That�s incredible,� Jake said. �And they�re all as good as what we�ve been hearing from you?�

Marcie laughed. �That statement is open to debate,� she said. �I, myself, have more than a handful that I�m not particularly proud of these days.�

�Yeah, me too,� said Steph.

�Not me,� said Jim. �All my tunes are freakin� masterpieces.�

�Oh really?� Marcie challenged. �Even Lock and Load?�

�What�s wrong with Lock and Load?� Jim asked with a smile that implied he knew exactly why Marcie objected to it.

�You know very well that Steph and I both hate that song,� Marcie said. She turned to Jake. �He wrote it back when he was playing with Courage. It�s a misogynistic rant about bagging groupies and then leaving them behind.�

�It�s a realistic portrayal of the life of a traveling musician,� Jim insisted. �I�m sure Jake can relate.�

�Groupies?� Jake asked. �You mean those mythical women of loose morals who come backstage after the show hoping to engage in meaningless fornication with a band member?�

�Mythical?� Steph asked, raising her eyebrows.

�Yeah, mythical,� Jake said. �I personally don�t think they really exist.�

Those were still the early days and it took a few moments for them to realize he was joking�and that he was also changing the subject.

�In any case,� Jake told them. �Having sixty-eight songs to choose from is incredible. You must�ve been very prolific writers and composers.�

�Yeah,� Marcie agreed. �There is a chemistry between us that makes it easy for us to work up a new song.�

�True that,� Steph agreed. �We�ve been playing together almost ten years now.�

And so the first few days had mostly been composed of Brainwash going through a good chunk of their repertoire, song by song, so Jake and the Nerdlys could help them pick out the very best. And while Marcie and Steph had been right�there were quite a few clinkers in the inventory�most of the songs were impressive pieces that, with a little work, would sound amazing on a CD.

�I think we�ve associated ourselves with a goddamn gold mine,� Jake told Pauline one day during the weekly business meeting. �They have sixty-eight songs in their inventory, at least forty of which are recording quality in composition and lyrics. We pull off this first album with them and there are at least four more that can be done even if they never write another song from this point forward.�

�That�s good to know,� Pauline said. �But let�s not get too far ahead of ourselves. How about we just concentrate on making this first Brainwash album everything it can be.�

�That�s the plan, sis,� he assured her. �That�s the plan.�

In the end they settled on sixteen of the very best Brainwash originals to work up. After another week in the studio rehearsing those sixteen over and over until everyone was sick of them, it was time to head north and get to work.

That had been a week ago. They�d made the move to Coos Bay on the 21^st of June. Nerdly and Sharon drove their new car�it was a 1993 Honda Civic, which had replaced their 1985 Honda Civic�up there while Jim and Marcie drove Jake�s Beemer up. Steph, Rick, Jeremy, and Jenny, along with the four children, were all flown from Van Nuys to North Bend on a private jet paid for by KVA. And Jake and Laura made the trip in Jake�s plane, heading out the day before so they would be there first.

Since then, everyone had pretty much settled in. Jake and Laura were staying in the master suite up on the third floor. Bill and Sharon were in the secondary suite on the second. Jim and Marcie were in the smaller bedroom with its own bath, while Steph was staying in the tiny, bathless room at the end of the second-floor hall. All of the children were installed in the bunk-bed room where Ted and Ben used to sleep. Jeremy and Jenny were in the small room just next to the bunk room. Rick, the drummer, was given the tiny room just off the kitchen, though if and when his wife and children came to visit, Jake planned to give him the master suite for the visit and he and Laura would move in with Obie and Pauline until the visit was over.

As far as the recording process went, they were only just beginning. So far, Brainwash had spent five full days in the Blake Studios building under the direction of the Nerdlys. Not much had been accomplished as of yet. The first day had been almost entirely taken up with just setting up the instruments and getting the basic sound arrangements dialed in. The second through fifth days had been occupied with just getting the order of operations set and starting on the rhythm tracks for the first song: Look at Me, Jim�s declaration that he was somebody. The band from Providence was quite unaccustomed to the glacial pace that was being set.

�It�ll get a little faster,� Jake promised them just before dinner this very evening, when Jim and Marcie had asked him if he really thought they were going to be done before school started up again in September. �As you and the Nerdlys�or, as we affectionately call them during this process: The Spawns of Satan�get to know each other a little better, as you start to see how they like things done and they start to see how you respond to direction, and as I start hounding their asses about not being so freaking anal about everything, the pace will pick up. One way or another, we�ll be done by the end of the summer break. We have to be. That�s all the studio time we have.�

�I suppose,� Marcie said, �but I have to ask. Is it really that important that the bass tracks and the drums are exactly perfect for each bar? I mean, I usually can�t hear any difference between one take and the next, especially when they�re complaining about the timing.�

�I know it seems like you�re in hell right now,� Jake assured her, �and you are, make no mistake about that, but know that it really is for a higher purpose. When you hear your master CD for the first time, you�re going to understand why we do things this way.�

�If you say so,� Marcie said.

�I say so,� Jake assured her.

Jake took one last breath of the fresh sea air. His moment of serenity thanks to garbage disposal was now at an end. He turned and headed back in to finish the cleanup.

The time immediately after dinner cleanup was leisure time in the house�as long as one did not wish to go out into the hot tub out on the deck. Though there had been no official announcement of the policy, and no one had proposed a new rule, it had somehow been written in stone that the after dinner cleanup period was when the children got to invade the hot tub. All four of them were out there now, with Jenny and Marcie supervising as they splashed and yelled and bordered on disturbing the peace.

�You sure you two know what you�re getting yourself into with this whole having a child thing?� Jim asked the Nerdlys as a particularly loud screech penetrated through the closed sliding glass door.

Jim was sitting on the couch next to Jake and Laura. Stephanie and the Nerdlys were sitting in the easy chairs. All except Mrs. Nerdly were sipping from a bottle of chilled white wine that Jake had opened. On the television, the news was playing. The lead story of the night was, as always, about OJ Simpson, who had, just eleven days ago, been charged with the murder of his wife and taken into custody after a nationally televised slow-speed chase across LA.

�We�re kind of committed to the project at this point,� said Sharon, giving her protruding belly a little rub.

�Precisely,� said Nerdly. �Although I will say that had I been exposed to the sheer noise and off-key manor of multiple children, the discussion whether or not to attempt reproduction might have gone differently.�

�Kids are noisy and a general pain in the ass,� Jim said, �but they�re worth every miserable second.�

�I love listening to them talk to each other,� Jake said. �They�re very amusing. Even if they do take over the goddamn hot tub every night.�

�I�m sorry, Jake,� Jim said apologetically. �I didn�t know it was inconveniencing you. I�ll tell Marcie and Jenny to not let them...�

�No,� Jake interrupted. �You just let this be their time out there. They�re having a blast. And I notice the nightly soak and scream seems to tire them out for bedtime.�

�Well ... yes, it does do that,� Jim said. �But I don�t want to kick you out of your own hot tub every night. We�re the guests here. We should be working around your schedule.�

�Bullshit,� Jake said.

�A quarter in the swear jar,� Laura said with a smile.

�That�s only when the kids can hear it,� Jake countered. �That�s the unwritten rule.�

�I suppose,� she said with a sigh, patting his leg affectionately.

�Anyway,� Jake said, �you�re not the guests here. You�re the talent. You are the reason we are all here. Stop thinking of yourselves as a burden. You�re here to get your music heard and make us all some money. Those kids can play all they want in that hot tub and scream as loud as they want. They�re part of the package, okay?�

�Okay,� Jim said. �Thanks, Jake.�

�Besides,� Jake said. �It�s doing Laura and I some good to have this kind of exposure to little ones. We might be wanting to have some of our own at some point.�

�Right,� Laura said. �We should know what we�re getting ourselves into.�

�I still can�t get over how beautiful that ring of yours is, Laura,� said Steph. �Was his proposal a romantic one?�

�Oh ... yes, very romantic,� Laura said, giving the ring in question a little twirl with the fingers of her right hand. �It was right out there in the hot tub, as a matter of fact.�

�Out there?� Jim said. �On the deck of this house?�

�That�s right,� Laura said. �This house is where Jake and I first got together, where we fell in love. And that hot tub is where we had our first kiss.�

�Awww,� Steph crooned. �That is romantic.�

�He asked me right at sunset,� Laura said. �Just as the sun dipped into the water out there on the horizon.�

�That is so sweet,� Steph said. �And you said yes right away?�

�Uh ... well ... he kind of caught me off guard,� Laura said. �I honestly hadn�t been expecting him to ask me to marry him. I was really just blown away at first.�

�And we had a few things to talk over first,� Jake said with a dismissive shrug. �Logistics and stuff like that. You know how logical and structured women can be.�

�Uh ... right,� Steph said, raising her eyebrows a bit.

�She did say yes though ... eventually,� Jake said.

�That�s right,� Laura said, holding up her ring for everyone to see. �We�re planning a destination wedding. Hopefully around Christmas. Celia will be off-tour then.�

�Celia Valdez?� Jim asked. As of yet, none of the members of Brainwash had met her, though she was one of their bosses.

�That�s right,� Laura said. �She�s the reason that Jake and I met in the first place. And she�s been a really good friend and mentor to me ever since. She�s going to be my maid of honor.�

�That�s really cool,� Jim said, seemingly in awe that he was talking to someone who was going to have Celia Valdez as her maid of honor. The band was still trying to get used to the fact that they were actually living with and working for celebrities.

The subject of Jake�s proposal and the upcoming wedding passed on by as the musicians began talking about music and the making of it once again. Jake was grateful. Whenever the issue of his proposal and how Laura had answered him that fateful night came up, it always made him feel a little awkward. Not because what she had told him had been shocking�though it had been�and not because he was ashamed of or upset with what Laura had done�he was not�but because attempting to explain the issue to anyone was simply out of the question. It was a very private thing, something that no one who was not directly involved needed to know about. Laura had told him that Celia knew her secret (which meant a better-than-even chance that Greg knew as well), and Jake now knew, and, of course, Bobby Z and his band and a few of the roadies and security guys knew, but aside from that, Laura�s experimentation with alternate sexual practices (as Nerdly would have termed it, had he known about them) was being kept well under wraps.

Which was not to say that Jake didn�t think about what she had told him, what she had described to him, endlessly.

He was thinking about that conversation now, in fact, as Jim and Steph took turns narrating their story of the first gig that Brainwash had ever played.

�I want to say yes, Jake,� she had told him that night after he proposed. �I really do. I love you and I�d love to be your wife. Oh my God ... I can�t believe this is happening!�

�Uh ... I�m not sure here,� Jake said. �Did you just say yes?�

She sighed. �I didn�t,� she said. �I said I want to say yes.�

�But ... but you can�t?�

�Oh wow,� she said, shaking her head a little. �Before I answer you ... well ... there�s something I need to tell you first.�

�What is it?� he asked. This had definitely become a bit awkward.

�Well, it�s about something that I ... that I did out on tour. It might change the way you feel about me.�

�Something you did out on tour?� What the hell are we talking about here?

�I should have told you a long time ago, but I didn�t know you were going to propose to me. Oh my God, what a mess!�

�What is it, hon?� he asked. �What did you do?�

�I ... I ... well ... it�s complicated,� she said, her face now looking miserable, as if she were about to start crying.

�Complicated,� Jake repeated slowly. �Are you trying to tell me that you ... were ... uh ... unfaithful to me out on the road?� Like I have any place judging her for that, his mind reminded him.

�No!� she barked immediately. �I wasn�t unfaithful. I didn�t cheat on you ... well ... not in the strict sense of the word anyway.�

�That�s not exactly a clear and concise answer,� Jake told her.

�No,� she said with a sigh. �It really isn�t. This is kind of hard to spit out, Jake.�

�So it seems. How about you just start at the beginning and tell me what�s going on?�

She nodded. �All right,� she said. �Here goes. I was really ... you know ... lonely out on the road. Lonely and sexually frustrated. I really missed having sex with you, Jake. I missed it a lot.�

�Yeah,� Jake said. �I was in the same boat back here, remember?� Except for that one night in Portland, that overly-helpful part of his mind reminded him.

�I know you were,� she said. �And I�m not trying to justify anything ... not really anyway. I�m just trying to give you an idea of my state of mind. I was horny all the time. I got into ... you know ... pleasuring myself as kind of a release valve, but even that didn�t seem to relieve the pressure after a while. You can only ... uh ... paddle the pink canoe so much, right?�

�Paddle the pink canoe?� Jake asked, grinning. �I�ve never heard it called that before.�

�That was Celia�s term for it,� Laura said. �She had a few others too.�

�Celia?� Jake asked. �What does she have to do with this?�

�I told her about ... about what I�m about to tell you,� she said. �It was that night we went shopping together and got drunk, remember?�

�I remember,� Jake said instantly. The same night that Greg reported Celia developing a sudden interest in... Holy shit! What are we talking about here?

�I needed to talk to someone about this, Jake. The guilt and the shame were getting to me. And Celia was there, and she listened to me, gave me good advice even ... like the advice that I should tell you what I�m about to tell you.�

�Okay,� Jake said. �You certainly have my attention now. You were horny and paddling the pink canoe was no longer doing it for you. Then what?�

�Well ... as the horniness grew, I began to have some ... well ... some impure thoughts about Squiggle.�

�Squiggle?� Jake said, his brow furrowing a bit. �You mean the trombone player?�

�Yeah,� she said. �There was a little bit of chemistry between us, I won�t deny that. And Squiggle let it be known ... you know ... that if I wanted to do anything with him ... he would be up for it.�

�He hit on you?� Jake said. I knew there was something between the those two! I fucking knew it!

�Not in any overt way,� Laura said. �And we never touched each other, Jake. Squiggle and I did not do anything ... you know ... physical with each other. I was just trying to explain my state of mind. I was afraid that if I didn�t get my ... my horniness under control, that I might start thinking about doing something with him. And I didn�t want that, Jake. I didn�t want it then and I don�t want it now.�

�Okay,� Jake said. �So, you didn�t get it on with Squiggle?�

�No,� she said. �Absolutely not. Nor did I get it on with any other member of the band or the road crew or any other male while I was out on the road. I want you to know that, Jake.�

�Okay,� Jake said. �I believe you.� And he did, but he was still unsure just where she was heading with this story.

�Having said that,� Laura said softly. �I did find a way to take care of that horniness. I just kind of stumbled across it one night. That�s what I need to tell you about.�

�I�m still listening.�

�It was after the show in La Paz,� she said. �I�d just finished my shower and I went back into the dressing room to grab a little something to eat, take a few hits of some pot, and have a glass of wine. Normal routine stuff. Ron had brought back some groupies for those band members who wanted them. Z, like always, had a couple of good-looking guys for himself. Squiggle was sitting out the groupies that night. Sally and Homer and Groove each had some slut they were planning to take back to the hotel. Anyway, as we�re sitting there, eating and smoking and drinking, Homer and his groupie start groping each other there on the couch. He actually slid his hands up under her shirt and started playing with her boobies, you know, pinching them and stuff.�

�Uh huh,� Jake said, picturing the scene quite well.

�Ordinarily, when someone started doing stuff like that, I would just turn my head and ignore it. Life on the road as part of a traveling band, right?�

�Right,� Jake agreed.

�But this time ... I found myself watching them. I remembered how nice it felt when you played with my tits and pinched them like that. And then I started thinking about how nice it felt when your tongue was on me ... especially ... you know ... down there.�

�That is a good place for a tongue to be,� Jake said.

�The horniness was getting out of control. I was getting wet inside my panties just sitting there, watching them and thinking about what I wanted to do with you. But I couldn�t do it with you because you weren�t there. And then ... well ... I happened to glance over at Squiggle and saw he was looking at me with a smile. I knew he didn�t have a groupie that night. I knew that if I were to ask him to my room after we got back to the hotel, he�d join me. And for the briefest moment, Jake, I actually found myself considering this. Not because I wanted to cheat on you, but because I needed some relief! Can you understand that?�

Jake nodded. �Yeah,� he said. �I can understand it.�

�Anyway, I finally looked away from them and got myself under control. We went back to the hotel a little later. It was a pretty nice place in downtown La Paz. Our accommodations were a lot better in South America than they were up here. We all went to our rooms. When I got up to mine ... well ... I thought about laying down on the bed and going to town on myself. I was still wet, still horny, still needed to come, but ... I knew it wouldn�t be enough. My fingers just weren�t doing it for me anymore.�

�What did you do?� asked Jake.

�I decided to have a couple of drinks,� she said. �Most of the time there was a mini-bar in the room and Aristocrat had that deal where they pay for our drinks�Pauline negotiated that one for us. This room, however, did not have a mini-bar. So ... I went downstairs to get a few drinks in the hotel bar. The same deal was in play. I could just sign for my drinks down there and Aristocrat would pay for them.�

�I never had anything like that when I was out on the road,� Jake said sourly.

�Talk to Paulie the next time you go out,� she suggested. �Anyway, there wasn�t much going on in the bar. Only a few people there. I sat down at one end and the bartender comes over. She was a woman, maybe forty years old or so, spoke good English. She was very nice and ... she had a pretty face.�

�Really?� Jake said.

�Yeah, really,� Laura said with a sigh. �Anyway, we got to talking as I drank a couple of gin and tonics. She didn�t know who I was until I told her that I was Bobby Z�s sax player. And then she became really excited. She loved Bobby Z but hadn�t been able to go to the concert. I told her a few tales of the road and then mentioned that I was your girlfriend. She got excited about that as well. She loved Intemperance, she said. And she had just bought your last CD.�

�International fame,� Jake said. �You gotta love that. Anyway ... she was pretty?�

�Yeah,� Laura said with a sigh. �She was pretty. And she let me know after about the third gin and tonic that she was also a lesbian.�

Jake looked at her pointedly. �Are you trying to tell me that you and she ... that you...�

Laura nodded slowly. �She was my relief valve,� she said. �We started talking about ... you know ... how it was being away from a loved one. I told her about how horny I�d been, and about how I felt like I was going to explode or do something I regretted if I didn�t get some relief. And ... and ... she offered to help me get that relief.�

Jake felt mixed emotions at this revelation. Laura had had sex with another woman! The thought was intriguing, the visualization quite erotic ... but she had also had sex with someone other than him! Shouldn�t that be upsetting information? But it wasn�t a man, another part of him insisted. It wasn�t the same kind of betrayal.

�Jake?� Laura whispered. �Are you still with me?�

�I�m still with you,� he said, his mind spinning. �Are you ... bisexual, Laura?�

�No ... not really anyway,� she said. �Until that moment, I�d never really considered having any kind of ... you know ... relations with another woman, not seriously anyway. I mean, we all think about it every now and then, and the thought had never really grossed me out or anything, but ... I�ve always primarily been attracted to men.�

�Did you ... like do everything with her?� Jake asked.

Laura shook her head. �I didn�t do anything at all to her,� she said. �I didn�t even kiss her. That was the deal.�

�The deal?�

�She told me that she was off shift at 11:00,� she said. �She said if I wanted some relief, she would be happy to come up to my room and give me some. I was ... interested. The thought of having her ... you know ... go down there and do her thing was exciting. But I had no interest in ... uh ... returning the favor. I told her this, figuring that would be a deal breaker, but I just couldn�t picture myself putting my mouth ... there.�

�But it wasn�t a deal breaker?�

She shook her head. �It wasn�t. She said it would be an honor to suck an orgasm or two out of my pussy and that she expected nothing in return. She said she wouldn�t even take her clothes off if I didn�t want her to. I still wasn�t sure about the whole deal, but after another drink, all those little self-doubts went away. When eleven o�clock rolled around and the relief bartender took over, I invited her up to my room.�

�Wow,� Jake said.

�Yeah,� she said. �She accepted the invitation. We went upstairs and ... well ... she did it to me.�

�She ate your pussy out?� Jake asked, just to be clear.

�She ate my pussy out,� Laura confirmed. �Right there on the hotel bed. I was a little awkward at first, but she kind of took charge of the situation. She took off my pants and my panties, laid me down, and went to work. It didn�t take much to get that first orgasm out of me. I was on a hair trigger and the ... the naughtiness of the situation combined with the fact that it was a woman doing this combined with how flippin� horny I was ... well, it only took me a minute or two to blast off. But she didn�t stop there. She kept licking me and sucking my clit and pretty soon, I came again. And then one more time after that.�

Jake was unsurprised to find that his manhood was now standing tall beneath the water. He reached down and gave it a stroke or two and then looked back up at Laura, seeing that her nipples were hard. �You enjoyed it?� he asked.

�Yes,� she said without hesitation, her eyes shining in a way he was familiar with. �I enjoyed it a lot. I also felt guilty about it. But another part of me knew that I wouldn�t be thinking about doing anything with Squiggle for a while, so it must�ve been a good thing, right?�

�A valid rationalization, I suppose,� Jake said.

�Yeah,� she said. �She left a few minutes after that, leaving me still laying on the bed with my pants off and my shirt still on. Like I said, she never kissed me, and I never touched anything on her except ... well ... I did grab the back of her head when I was coming. Anyway, I never saw her again.�

�And that was enough to get you through the rest of the tour?�

Laura shook her head. �No,� she said softly. �It wasn�t enough. She wasn�t the only one.�

�She ... she wasn�t?�

�She was only the first,� Laura said. �Once I figured out that this was a good way to relieve my sexual tension ... well ... I used it whenever the pressure started to build too much. On those nights, when things were getting to the point where I was starting to think about ... you know ... Squiggle, I would ask Ron to bring me back a lesbian woman when he brought the rest of the groupies.�

�You put in a request?� Jake asked, astonished.

She smiled a little. �Yeah, I did,� she said. �I�m here to tell you, that was awkward as hell the first time I did it. I felt like a teenager trying to buy condoms in the drug store the first time I asked Ron for that. But he didn�t even blink an eye, just asked me if I wanted a bull-dyke kind of lesbian or a lipstick lesbian. I didn�t even know what those things meant at the time�not really anyway�but he explained it to me.�

�And which did you take?� Jake asked. He was still trying to figure out how he felt about all this, but he was also still sporting an impressive erection from hearing the tale.

�I tried both as the experiment went along,� she said with a little giggle. �I started with the bull-dyke types since it seemed like having a masculine looking woman eating my pussy wouldn�t seem so ... oh ... you know ... gay. But after the first couple of times, I switched to the lipstick lesbians. It turns out that, for me anyway, if you�re going to go down that road, you might as well have someone soft and cuddly licking you. It gave me more of a thrill having a feminine woman going downtown�even it was gayer.�

�How many times did you do this?� Jake asked, picturing it as a nightly thing, as it had been back in his road days.

�Not terribly often,� she said. �Once every week and a half or so on average, though sometimes twice a week and sometimes I would go three weeks without it. In all, there were ten of them, including the bartender that first time.�

�Exactly ten?�

�Exactly ten,� she said. �I remember each and every one of them very well.�

�I see,� Jake said softly.

�Well ... now you know my secret. Do you hate me?�

�What? No, of course I don�t hate you, Laura. I�m just trying to wrap my mind around all of this. It�s quite a story.�

�I want you to know that I never stopped loving you during this, Jake. I did what I did, and maybe it was wrong, but I did it so that I wouldn�t be tempted to do something worse. Can you understand that?�

�Yeah,� Jake said, thinking of that night in Portland again. �I understand it very well.�

�Anyway, when you asked me to marry you just now ... well ... I couldn�t answer you without having you know what had happened ... about the women on the road. And if you want to take back your question ... I�ll understand.�

�I think ... I think I need to think about this for a bit,� Jake told her.

She nodded slowly. �Okay,� she said softly.

�It�s a lot to process.�

�I understand,� she said.

�While I�m thinking about it though ... is it okay if we still fuck?�

�Uh ... yeah, sure,� she said. �As a matter of fact, I could use a good fuck right about now.�

�All right then,� Jake said. �Here or in the house?�

She smiled. �Both.�

They fucked in the hot tub for a bit, long enough to pull an orgasm out of Laura and to put Jake on the brink. They then went in the house and got into bed.

�So ... your recent aversion to having me go down on you,� Jake said. �Does it have to do with your experiences with these women?�

�Yes,� she said. �I�m sorry. I know how much you like to do that to me�and I�ve always loved having you do it�it�s just that after having those women do it ... I guess I became obsessed with having an actual dick. Whenever you would lick me it reminded me of what I�d done. And when I was reminded of what I�d done, I�d start to feel guilty.�

�Makes sense,� Jake said. �But now that you�ve told me...� He was looking down at her swollen and wet lips like a man contemplating a turkey dinner on Thanksgiving.

She smiled. �Why don�t we make the experiment?� she offered.

He feasted on her that night, drawing three orgasms out of her, back-to-back. She did not try to push him away this time. And when he climbed atop her and put himself inside of her body, she was as enthusiastic as she�d ever been.

After, as they lay side by side, both naked, the covers askew, the sweat on their skin still drying, Jake turned to her.

�You said you remember all ten of them?� he asked.

�Yes,� she said. �I will remember them for the rest of my life.�

�Do you know their names?� he asked.

�Names?� she asked, confused.

�Right,� Jake said. �What were their names?�

�Uh ... I don�t know,� she said. �I�m sure I was told every one of their names at some point, but ... well ... I don�t remember them now. They were just groupies ... oh, and one bartender.�

Jake smiled. He had heard what he needed to hear. �I see,� he said. �In any case, that question I asked you earlier ... it�s still valid.�

�The question?� she asked, with no idea what he was talking about. He�d asked a lot of questions since they�d climbed into that hot tub earlier.

�The big question,� he said. �The one about ... about you marrying me. I�d still like you to do that if you�re up for it.�

�Really, Jake?� she asked. �Even after knowing what I�ve done?�

�I understand, hon,� he told her. �Really, I do. And I don�t consider what you�ve done to be cheating. In truth, it�s actually kind of sexy to think about it.�

�I don�t plan to do it again, Jake!� she told him forcefully.

He shrugged. �A topic for another day. In any case, what do you say? Wanna get married?�

She smiled. �Sure,� she said. �I�d love to.�

Minneapolis, Minnesota

June 30, 1994

The sold-out show finished up at 10:03 PM, Central Daylight Time, three minutes behind schedule. Celia Valdez and her band�Coop on drums, Charlie Meyer on bass, Steven O�Hara (known as Little Stevie) on lead guitar, Liz Watertown on piano and secondary vocals, Natalie Popanova on violin, and, of course, Dexter Price on saxophone�linked arms at the front of the stage and took their bows. The seven of them then walked off the stage to the left, waving one last time at the still-cheering, standing ovation giving crowd, as the house lights came up.

They were escorted through the backstage area, where the roadies were already getting to work on tearing down the entire set so it could be packed into three big-rigs for the trip to Chicago, where they would then reassemble everything for tomorrow night�s show. Head of tour security, Dan Baldovino, a soft-spoken but efficient man of forty-three who had once been a Los Angeles police officer, handed each of them their all-access backstage passes to hang around their necks and then led them down a flight of stairs and through an underground tunnel to the clubhouse/locker room area of the auditorium.

�Good show, guys,� he told them. �The caterers have the usual spread set up for you in the main room. We went with the rotisserie chicken and the macaroni salad for the mains tonight, and, for Charlie, we have some vegan lasagna that actually looks pretty good.�

�Someone checked to make sure it�s thoroughly cooked?� asked Charlie, who, aside from being a vegetarian�not because he was morally opposed to eating animal products, but because he was afraid of contracting tapeworms or some other type of nematode�was also a germaphobe.

�Absolutely,� Dan said with a nod. �Larry knows to give specific directions to the caterers we deal with. You should know that by now.� After all, they had this same conversation pretty much every night.

�When it comes to microbes,� Charlie told him, �you always have to make sure.�

�A good philosophy,� Dan said, deadpan and straight faced. He opened the door to the room for them. �Enjoy the spread, everyone. And for those of you who put in requests, I�ve got the boys working on it right now.�

Celia rolled her eyes a bit at his words. She did not particularly approve of the whole request and delivery process that Dan, as head of security, was responsible for, but she knew it was a time-honored part of being a traveling musician. Trying to put a stop to it would be futile and would quite possibly destroy the band dynamic and cohesion they were enjoying, so her stance was to just look the other way and ignore as long as nothing overt actually occurred here in the venue before her eyes. Besides, she was not a hypocrite. Back in her La Diferencia days she had been known to put in a request or two herself.

They entered the main clubhouse. It was a moderate sized area, specifically designed and set up for the purpose for which it was now being used. There were a variety of couches and chairs arrayed around the perimeter of the room. In the center were catering tables upon which aluminum tins of food and tubs of beer and other liquids upon ice were resting. A small, but well-stocked liquor bar had been set up next to one of the tables as well. For those who enjoyed that sort of thing, there were a few cigar boxes that contained high-grade marijuana, rolling papers, and a water bong. There was no cocaine available, however. Celia had drawn the line there. If someone wanted to sniff some of the white powder, that was their business, but they needed to score it on their own, and not do it in front of her.

Larry Candid, the tour manager that Aristocrat Records had assigned to keep things rolling along, was waiting for them in the room. He, like any tour manager worth his salt, was an aggressive, two-faced snake, but one with superb organization and leadership skills. His main focus, his prime-directive, was to make sure that the show went on every night and he would lie, cheat, steal, maim, and possibly even kill to make sure that happened.

�Great show, great show,� he told everyone as they trooped into the room. Larry said this to them every night, regardless of how their show had actually gone, and Celia suspected that he did not even see most of the shows since he was usually back in the dressing area, directing this or that, making phone calls, or doing paperwork.

�Thanks, Larry,� Celia told him, walking immediately over to one of the drink tubs and pulling out a bottle of Gatorade. She opened it and drank half of it down without taking it from her lips. The venue had been muggy tonight and she had been sweating more than usual. Her skin was damp and sticky and her blouse was sticking to her. Large sweat stains had formed in her armpits and on her back. Even her hair was damp. She could not wait to get into the shower. But first, she needed to get some water and electrolytes and food into her.

Most of the other bandmembers had the same idea. Gatorade bottles were opened, consumed, and then tossed into the trash. Only then did the beer, wine, and liquor start seeing some action. Celia left the hard stuff alone for now. Instead, she grabbed another Gatorade and then went over and picked up a paper plate and started to put food on it. She would eat and hydrate a little more and then, once fully cooled off, she would go take her shower. Then she would have a nice glass of chilled white wine.

As Celia sat down to eat, Larry came over and sat next to her. Larry was not one to just shoot the shit, she knew, so he undoubtedly had some business to talk.

�What�s up, Larry?� she asked, knowing that he was fan of just getting to the point.

�Just wanted to run something by you,� he said. �You already know that both Chicago shows sold out weeks ago.�

�I do remember you telling me that,� she said from around a mouthful of garlic infused chicken breast.

�Well, the word that your shows are worth going to, coupled with the ongoing success of the album, are getting around. We release tickets for sale a month in advance of the venues in question. For the past week now, every one of those venues has sold out within twelve hours of release.�

�Twelve hours, huh?� she said, impressed and proud of herself.

�Twelve hours,� he said. �And the word on the street is that the scalpers are charging up to a hundred and fifty dollars apiece for the general admission section tickets and up to three hundred bones for reserved.�

�That�s insane,� she said, shaking her head. �What are we charging for those tickets?�

�Twenty-five dollars for GA, forty for the reserved,� he said sadly.

�Madre de Dios,� she said. �I guess being a ticket scalper is where it�s at, huh?�

�It�s interesting that you should say that,� Larry said. �Because that�s exactly what I want to discuss with you.�

�How much the scalpers are charging?�

�Yes,� he said. �You see, I was talking to the home office a couple of hours ago, right before you and the band took the stage. They made a very interesting suggestion.�

�Did they now?� Celia asked carefully. Experience had told her that when Aristocrat made a suggestion, it was usually something she was not going to like or agree with.

�Yes,� he said. �Now, hear me out before you say no.�

�Uh huh,� she said, putting her stern face on.

�It�s like this ... you�ve heard that the Eagles are on the road now, right?�

�Yes,� she said. �Everyone knows that.� And not just in the music industry. The Eagles reunion and the release of their latest album, Hell Freezes Over, had been big news for the past five months. After an acrimonious breakup in 1980, the popular band had put aside their differences (or at least buried them for the time being), managed to record some new material, had gone out on tour, and were now selling out venues to legions of nostalgic baby-boomers across the country.

�Have you heard what Henley and Frey and the boys have done with ticket pricing?� Larry asked next.

�No,� she said. �I�ve been a little too busy with my own music to pay attention to what other artists are doing.�

�It�s very lucrative, very engaging,� Larry prompted.

�Explain,� she said, knowing that the tour manager did not usually use words such as �lucrative� or �engaging�. Thus, he was spitting out a spiel that had been fed to him by the Aristocrat suits.

�It seems that when the Eagles found out what scalpers would be charging for their shows, someone asked the question: �Why are we letting these lowlife scalpers snatch up all the tickets and then resell them for hundreds, sometimes even thousands of dollars, while we, the band and the record company that produced the music, are losing money on the tour?��

�Okay,� Celia said slowly.

�The answer to that question,� Larry said, �is that there really is no reason besides tradition and custom. It has always been assumed that the purpose of the tour is to promote an album release so therefore it is in the industry�s best interest to charge as little as feasible for concert tickets in order to pack the venues. The tour doesn�t have to make money, although some still do�this one, for instance, and the Intemperance tours as well�because that is not its purpose. Promotion is the purpose.�

�That has always been my understanding, Larry,� Celia said. �Are you saying the Eagles are doing something different?�

�They are,� he said. �You see, they have realized a fundamental fact of life. Their live performances are in extremely high demand and they are a limited commodity. For every city the Eagles play in, there are an average of twenty thousand tickets available per show. But there are hundreds of thousands of people who want those tickets and are willing to pay top dollar for them. Why should the scalpers make all the money off of that supply and demand imbalance? Why shouldn�t we be the ones raking it in? That�s what the Eagles asked themselves.�

�Are you saying they are scalping their own tickets?� Celia asked.

�Not exactly,� Larry said. �They are simply following the rules of capitalism and charging what the market will support for them.�

�They�re not charging twenty-five for GA and forty for reserved?� she asked.

�They are not,� Larry said. �In the first place, there are no general admission tickets at an Eagles show. All seats are assigned and reserved. The price is being set depending on the location of the seat.�

�What do you mean?� she asked. This was a foreign concept to her, at least as far as concert seating went. In most venues they played in, the bleacher sections were reserved and the open floor area in front of the stage was the general admission area.

�The bleacher seats in the rear, for instance, are priced at a hundred dollars each,� Larry said.

�A hundred dollars?� Celia asked, wide-eyed. �For the bleachers?�

�That�s right,� Larry said. �You cannot get your hands on an Eagles ticket for the Hell Freezes Over tour for under a hundred dollars. And if you want to sit on the side bleachers, closer to the stage, you�re talking a hundred and fifty. And if you want to sit on the floor in the rear area behind the soundboard, one hundred and seventy. And the first twenty rows, in front of the soundboard ... those are two hundred dollars a pop.�

�That is insane!� Celia said. �The band itself is charging that much?�

�They are,� he said. �Like I said, if people are willing to pay that for the tickets, why should the scalpers get to keep all the money?�

�Are people paying that?� she asked.

�Every show sells out within eight hours of ticket release,� Larry said.

�At those prices?�

�At those prices. People grumble about it, of course. They accuse the band of profiteering, of selling out, of being greedy bastards, of every other kind of atrocity, but they�re snatching up those tickets the moment they come on sale. And even with that, the tickets are still being scalped on the black market. The nosebleed seats are being resold for three and four hundred. The front section tickets are being resold for five to eight hundred.�

�Five to eight hundred?� she asked, incredulous. It was hard to believe that anyone would be willing to pay that much just to watch a two-hour concert�even if it was the reunited Eagles.

�Like I�ve been saying, the demand is high for these shows. Ticket sales is a vast, untapped revenue source, at least when we�re talking about a popular act.� He looked at her. �An act such as yourself.�

She looked at him pointedly. �Is that what this is all about?� she asked. �You want to raise the ticket prices?�

�That is the suggestion of the home office,� Larry said. �Now, of course, we won�t be able to charge as much as the Eagles are charging�your fan base is not the baby-boomers with their limitless funds�but we can certainly do better than twenty-five and forty a ticket.�

�What are they suggesting?� she asked.

�Well, we�re committed to the venues we�ve already sold tickets for,� Larry said, �but we can put the tour on hold for a few weeks beyond that and restructure everything. Instead of GA areas, we would have to rent seat setups for the floor and assign numbers for them. Once that is done, they are suggesting fifty dollars for the rear bleachers, seventy-five for the side bleachers, one hundred for the rear floor seats, and one hundred and fifty for the seats forward of the sound board.�

�Madres de Dios,� she whispered. �That�s a lot of money.�

�It is,� Larry agreed. �And it�s still only about half of what the scalpers are charging. People are willing to pay that much, Celia. Why shouldn�t we be the ones to profit from it?�

�It just seems ... wrong,� she said.

Larry shrugged. He did not really have much of a concept of what was right and what was wrong. �I was just told to offer up the suggestion to you,� he said. �They don�t need a decision right now. They want you to talk it over with Pauline and Jake, see what they think about the idea.�

�Okay,� she said, nodding slowly. �I�ll call Paulie in the morning before we leave for Chicago.�

Two hours later, Celia was in her room on the top floor of the Hyatt Regency hotel just north of Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport. It was just past midnight, but she was still not sleepy. She was acclimated to a swing-shift type of schedule these days and sleep was not as hard to come by since she and the band did not have to ride the bus between venues. They typically checked out of their hotels around eleven o�clock in the morning and boarded their plane just after noon for the flight to whatever city was next. Tomorrow would be no exception. Celia would go to bed around two in the morning and sleep until nine-thirty or ten. She would have a room service breakfast and then head downstairs to the bus at eleven.

She had just got off the phone with Greg a few minutes ago. They made a point to talk to each other several times a week. Their relationship was still a bit on the touchy side and she still did not quite know where it was heading, but the dark anger and mistrust in him had cooled down considerably.

She had told Greg about Aristocrat�s suggestion to increase ticket prices. Greg, of course, was all in favor of the idea�she never thought for a moment that he wouldn�t be�but he listened patiently to her doubts about the scheme and even expressed understanding of her reluctance.

She thought about him now, as she sat at the writing desk, a glass of chilled chardonnay before her. Did she miss him? It was hard to be sure. She certainly missed the regular sex she got from him, but was that the same as missing him?

Before she could follow this thought too far, the phone began to ring. She looked at it for a moment, a smile coming to her face. There was only one person who would be calling her at just past midnight. She picked up the handset and put it to her ear.

�Tell me you have something long and cylindrical for me,� she said into the mouthpiece.

A female voice chuckled in her ear. �You know it, hon,� said Suzie Granderson, the pilot-in-command of their chartered aircraft. Celia and Suzie had become friends over the past two months of the tour. The lesbian flyer was a very interesting person with a quirky personality and a commanding presence that was quite intriguing. The two of them liked to get together a few nights a week in Celia�s room and �shoot the shit�, as Suzie liked to term it.

�Come on up,� Celia told her. �I�m in room sixteen-twenty. There�s a really nice balcony that looks out toward the airport.�

�Be there in less than five,� Suzie promised.

It actually only took about two minutes before there was a gentle knock on the hotel room door. Celia, now dressed in a pair of tattered sweatpants and a pullover t-shirt, padded over in her bare feet and opened it.

�Hey, Fly Girl,� she greeted as the pilot stepped into the room.

Suzie was wearing a pair of jeans and a tank top that showed off her well-muscled arms. She had a tattoo of a pair of air force wings on her right bicep. Her hair was short, almost militarily so, but her face was feminine and kind of cute. �Hey, band geek,� she returned, holding up her hand, which held two Cuban cigars�the long cylindrical objects of which Celia had spoken.

Their standard greeting ritual complete, they made their way out to the balcony of the room, where a small table and two chairs sat. Celia had already moved her ice-filled wine bucket and her wineglass out there. Suzie, who did not drink alcohol for the obvious reason, had brought a tall glass of iced tea with her.

�Nice view,� Suzie said, looking out at the city lights and the airport where, despite the late hour, there was still considerable arrival and departure traffic. �My room is down on the seventh and looks out over the air conditioning units.�

�There�s a lot to be said for air conditioning units,� Celia said, sitting down.

Suzie chuckled a little and then sat down across from her. She unwrapped the cigars and then quickly prepped them with a cutting tool she carried. She handed one to Celia and put the other in her own mouth. She then produced a lighter, which she fired up and held under the tip of Celia�s stogey.

Celia puffed away until ignition was accomplished and then took a slow, steady drag, enjoying the harsh flavor of the Cuban tobacco.

�Very nice,� she said after blowing the smoke out over the balcony ledge. �How did you get your hands on Cuban cigars in Minneapolis?�

�It�s not too hard to do,� she said. �They sell them in Canada and we�re not very far from Canada.�

�You flew into Canada and bought some?� Celia asked.

�No, they�re black market, of course,� she said. �I have my connections here in the twin cities. I was based out of Chicago a couple of years ago and MSP was a regular stop.�

�I see,� she said, taking another puff while Suzie fired up her own cylinder.

They sat and puffed and sipped and talked of inconsequential things for a few minutes before the talk turned to tour gossip. This was a favorite thing for them to discuss since there was a considerable amount of it.

�What�s the deal with Little Stevie and Liz?� Suzie asked. �Word in the cockpit is that the two of them are bonding on more than a musical level.�

Celia nodded her head. �It certainly seems like something is going on there,� she said. �They seem to be very close to each other, and neither one of them ever puts in any requests with Dan anymore.�

Suzie chuckled a little, shaking her head. �I still can�t get over that whole request thing. It really is interesting flying you people around.�

�I can�t say that I approve of the request ritual,� Celia told her, �but it is tradition. In any case, Stevie and Liz were regular requesters when we started out, but the last three weeks ... nothing.�

�She�s like twice his age, isn�t she?�

�Pretty close,� Celia confirmed. �She is certainly biologically old enough to be his mother.�

�Hmm,� Suzie said. �Does Little Stevie have mommy issues, maybe?�

�Maybe. And maybe Liz has some nurturing urges. It really sounds like her ex-husband was kind of a cabron.�

�But he was at least her age?�

�That�s my understanding,� Celia said.

�Very interesting dynamic,� the pilot said, taking a sip from her tea.

�And speaking of interesting dynamics, it looks like Mark and Natalie are breaking some ground on international relations?�

�Yeah,� Suzie said, �he�s boning her all right. In fact, they�re probably doing it as we speak.�

�She is pretty,� Celia said. �And he�s not a bad looking guy himself�seems a little square though.�

�He�s a nice kid,� she said. �And a good pilot too. He�ll go far in his career. Pretty soon he�ll be working for Southwest or United or one of the other carriers.�

�Is there any ... you know ... ethical issues with him getting it on with one of his passengers?� she asked, her voice casual, off-handed, but her mind acutely interested in the answer.

Suzie shook her head. �Not as far as I�m concerned,� she said. �As long as they maintain the proper relationship with each other once we step aboard the aircraft, they can lube each other�s parts all they want when we�re off duty. I don�t imagine that the whiteshirts in management would particularly care for their relationship, but I�m not going to tell them about it. What happens on the mission stays on the mission, as long as nothing is compromising the mission.�

Celia smiled. �We have a similar saying in our business,� she said.

�I would think you would have to,� Suzie told her, dipping her ash into the ashtray.

�And what about you, Ms. Fly Girl?� Celia asked her next. �Any romantic entanglements you�d like to confess to? Are there such things as pilot groupies?�

�No entanglements currently,� Suzie told her. �We move around too much for me to get into any. And while there are pilot groupies out there�we call them buckle bunnies, or crew-pie�it�s not necessarily easy for someone of my sexual orientation to hook up with one. Most of them are looking to score with the boys, not the girls.�

�That�s a shame,� Celia said. �How do you handle the pressure when you�re on assignments like this?�

She laughed a little. �The same way you�re handling it, I imagine,� she said. �By performing my own maintenance at regular intervals.�

Celia chuckled. �Yes, I�m familiar with that technique�depressingly so. There does come a point where even that fails to relieve the pressure.�

�True,� Suzie said. �I guess the hope is that I�ll stumble across a little crew-pie who is into the softer things in life before I get to that point.� She shrugged. �It can happen. It has before.�

�Interesting,� Celia said with a smile as she pictured a soft, feminine groupie putting her face between Suzie�s naked legs on a hotel room bed.

�And what about you?� Suzie asked her, her eyes showing keen interest. �What do you do when the pressure gets to be too much and the old self-maintenance routine isn�t doing it for you anymore? Do you put in a request?�

�I�m a married woman,� she said. �I just have to wait until Greg finally gets on a plane and flies out to take care of his marital obligations.�

�And when will that be?� she asked.

�I don�t know,� she said sourly. �He�s still working on film promos for So Others May Live.�

�That was a good flick,� Suzie said. �I really enjoyed it. Most of the flying scenes were actually pretty accurate.�

�I�ll let him know you liked it,� Celia promised. �Anyway, he�s also starting to get offers for roles in other projects now. He�s got two auditions this week and one the next. He�s also got about six scripts to review for interest. I was hoping he would be able to meet me in Chicago since it�s a two-night engagement followed by two days off, but ... well, it�s not going to happen.�

�That�s too bad,� Suzie commiserated. She even sounded sincere.

�That it is,� Celia agreed. �That it is.�

Their talk turned to other things as they sipped their drinks and smoked their cigars. When the stogies were down to the nubs, they went back inside and closed the door to let the air conditioner do its work.

�Well, I guess I�ll head back to my room now,� Suzie said. �Thanks for letting me share your balcony.�

�Absolutely,� Celia said. �Thanks for the smoke.�

�Anytime. See you at the airport.�

�I�ll be there,� Celia told her.

The pilot went out the door and it closed behind her. Celia continued to stare at it for a few moments and then sighed. She then turned off all the lights and made her way to the suite�s bedroom. She took off all her clothes and piled them into the hamper bag. Now naked, she went to the bathroom and urinated then brushed her teeth to get the cigar taste out of her mouth.

Once these tasks were complete, she climbed under the covers and turned out the bedroom light.

Her sex was wet and she knew that she would not be able to get to sleep until she �performed some self-maintenance�, as Suzie had termed it.

She went to work on herself. Usually when she performed this act, it was Jake she thought of, of the things they had done to each other in that Portland hotel room that one fateful night, of the things she�d like to do to him if they ever ended up naked in bed together again. She had long since ceased feeling guilty for these fantasies (though the guilt from the actual act itself was still a very real thing).

Tonight, however, a different image popped into her mind as she started to play. She started thinking about Laura, and about the bartender in La Paz she had told her about, and about the other nameless lesbian smooth jazz groupies that had followed. It was a blackly exciting, deliciously naughty image�a female face between those feminine legs, a girly tongue licking girly parts. How would it feel to have a woman eat her out? Would she be better at it than a man? Better than Greg, who was pretty good at the act? Better than Jake, who was outstanding at it?

And then, almost before she realized it, she found herself thinking of Suzie, wishing that Suzie were here, right now, in this very bed, and that it was Suzie�s experienced tongue down there, licking at her, sucking at her clit.

Her breathing began to pick up and soon a powerful orgasm washed over her as she contemplated this image.

She slept quite well that night.

Venice, California

July 15, 1994

The office of Hopple and Hopple, Certified Public Accountants LLC, was in a nondescript mid-rise office building on South Venice Boulevard near the canals. The window of the fifth-floor office looked out toward the beach five blocks to the west. A steady stream of colorful characters heading to or from that beach made their way past on the sidewalks below. Matt Tisdale did not notice any of them unless a particularly attractive and/or scantily clad female made an appearance. Right now, the majority of his attention was focused on the thirty-four-year-old CPA sitting on the other side of an oak desk.

Andrew Hopple II was that CPA. He looked like a CPA, dressed in a dark power suit with a red tie, his hair cut short and neatly trimmed, his face clean shaven. Matt did not like him much. Andy, as he insisted on being called, was a grinner, which reminded Matt of Greg Gahn, the hypocritical Mormon tour manager. Aside from the grinning, Andy was full of phony ingratiation while simultaneously coming across as insultingly condescending. He would talk down to Matt about his investments and his net-worth and where his income stream was being directed and stored one minute and then start showing him pictures of the strippers in the adult club he (Hopple) had an interest in the next, thinking, quite mistakenly, that Matt would be impressed by them.

Matt had been a client of Hopple and Hopple since 1987, when Pauline Kingsley, who had been his manager at the time, had insisted that he find an accounting firm to take care of his suddenly blooming income from the new Intemperance contract. He had picked the firm pretty much at random back then and had set up his account with Andrew Hopple the Original, Andy�s father, a boring-as-fuck suit-wearing motherfucker who was about as square as the day was long and had no detectible sense of humor. Still, Andrew (one did not call him �Andy�, not even his most lucrative client) had been honest, competent, and was able to explain things to Matt (like how he had arrived at the previous quarter�s tax payments) in way that Matt understood. Though Matt had never had the desire to sit down and have a beer with Andrew, he�d trusted the man and appreciated his dedication and loyalty. Alas, the square motherfucker had gone and had himself a major heart attack last year and had decided to retire to Florida or some fucked-up place like that. Though his name was still up on the wall, he had put control of the family firm in the hands of Andy, his first-born child and namesake.

Matt had always disliked Andy and had gone out of his way to avoid the grinning freak when Andrew had been the boss, but now Andy was the one in charge of the Matt Tisdale account. Matt had wanted to sever his relationship with the firm ever since hearing that Andrew the Original was retiring, but he had been out on the road at the time and unable to facilitate the severance of the relationship. And now, though he was home, having returned from the wildly successful solo tour and with an assload of fresh album royalties, tour profits, and endorsement income that needed to be accounted, he still didn�t have the energy to call it quits. It was undoubtedly a pain in the ass to change accounting firms. Files would have to be transferred; a new firm would have to be found. He decided he would at least listen to what this freak had to say before making a major decision like that. True, he was an untrustworthy scumbag, but he did know Matt�s situation better than a new accountant would.

�This one is Electra,� Andy said, showing Matt a couple of polaroid pictures of a skanky bleach-blonde stripper. In the first picture she was naked, standing next to the pole on the stage. The second picture was a close-up of her face. In this shot, her mouth was open and she had a large clump of semen on her tongue, more of it dripping down her face. �We just hired her last month and she packs the house whenever she�s on the bill.�

�Uh huh,� Matt grunted, hardly even looking at the shots.

�Tight fuckin� body, I�m here to tell you,� the CPA told him. �And in the face shot ... well ... I took that one in my office, right after she got done giving me my weekly commission on her earnings, you know what I mean?�

�Yeah, I know what you mean,� Matt said, pushing the photos back across the desk. �Anyway, about my account with you motherfuckers...�

�You should come down to the club with me one of these nights, Matt,� Andy told him, giving him a particularly large, particularly phony grin. �You�ll be my special guest. You can have your pick of the girls for a private lap dance back in one of the rooms. And when you�re my guest at my club, it goes without saying that the lap dance will be very thorough, if you know what I mean.�

�Yeah, I know what you mean,� Matt said impatiently. �Afraid I�m gonna have to take a pass on that shit though. You see, if there�s one thing I do not have trouble doing, it�s scoring myself some fuckin� pussy. I don�t need to be in no disgusting, germ-ridden back room with some slut who wasn�t hot enough to make it in legitimate porn.� He paused for a moment, as if considering. �I do appreciate the offer though.�

�Uh ... sure,� Andy said, seemingly hurt by Matt�s refusal. �Keep it in mind though. Our girls are very...�

�Keeping it in mind,� Matt interrupted. �Just don�t hold your fuckin� breath until I get there. Now, can we talk some business here?�

�Of course,� Andy said. �I just finished up your second quarter report the other night and I double checked everything this morning before you got here.� He opened a desk drawer and pulled out a file folder that had Matt�s name on it. �You�ve done very well for yourself these past two quarters.�

�I know,� Matt said. �My album sold like a motherfucker, still is selling like a motherfucker.�

�You�re not talking out of your ass,� Andy said. �Nine hundred and eighteen thousand copies in the second quarter of 1994, one point four million in the first quarter. My guess is that you will reach triple Platinum before the end of the year.�

�That ain�t no shit,� Matt agreed. �So, what�s the bottom line for the first two quarters here? How much did I pull in and how much am I going to have to give to those fucks at the IRS and the franchise tax board?�

�You pulled in a little more than two point five million in sales royalties for Hard Time, the album, over the first half of the year. You also pulled in around six hundred and eighteen thousand in tour revenue. That includes all revenue contractually paid to you by National Records, which is primarily your share of the ticket sales and the merchandising receipts. That does not include the endorsement income you get from Fender for playing your Strat onstage, or the endorsement you get from Brogan for playing their guitars in the studio.�

�Yes,� Matt said, irritated at his condescending tone. �I understand the fuckin� endorsement income is separate from royalty and tour income. How much we talking?�

�One point seven million dollars in endorsement income for the first half,� Andy said. �Not bad.�

�Fuck no,� Matt agreed. �They paid me that shit just for doing what I was going to do anyway.�

�The best way to do business,� Andy told him. �In any case, that wraps up revenue from the new album. Revenue from your first album of the contract period�Next Phase�was ... well ... negligible.�

�What do you mean by �negligible�?� Matt asked.

�Less than ten thousand in royalties,� Andy said. �Sales of Next Phase did pick up a bit in the first quarter when Hard Times was at the peak of popularity, otherwise you wouldn�t have even had that much.�

Matt shook his head sadly. �People just don�t get what I was doing with Next Phase,� he said.

�Hey,� Andy said, putting the grin back on his face, �I got what you were doing with it, Matt. I always thought it should have sold better.�

�Really?� Matt said, his eyes boring into the accountant�s. �What was I doing with it?�

�Uh ... well ... you know, you were trying to get your music out to the people ... trying to put it down like it is, like it should be. Shit like that.�

�Wow,� Matt said with an eye roll. �That�s fuckin� profound, Andy. It�s like you were right inside my goddamn brain there. I guess you really do understand me after all.�

�Goddamn right I do, Matt,� Andy said, completely missing the sarcasm.

�Yeah,� Matt said. �Anyway, we were talking about my money?�

�Right,� Andy said. �In addition to the revenue you�ve pulled in for your solo efforts, you�re still pulling in a considerable chunk of change from Intemperance royalties. Between continuing album sales of all Intemperance releases, but particularly Greatest Hits, which sold more than three million copies over the first half, combined with licensing fees when National grants use of one of the tunes for a TV or radio commercial or use in a film, adds up to just a hair under two point eight million dollars.�

�Not bad,� Matt said appreciatively. Though he had been opposed to National releasing that Greatest Hits bullshit (not that his opposition meant a goddamn thing) he had to admit that it was bringing in some serious coin for him.

�Not bad at all,� Andy agreed. �We add in another ninety-six thousand or so for incidental income�things like capital gains on investments, interest income from the various accounts and certificates of deposit your easily liquidated wealth is stored in, and miscellaneous payments for things like compensated media appearances. The bottom line for the first half is about seven point eight million dollars in income.�

�Uh huh,� Matt said. �Sounds like a lot. But how much is going out in taxes?�

�Not as much as you might think,� Andy told him. �Your tax payments for the first quarter were four hundred and eighteen thousand dollars, which has already been paid. Tax payments for the second quarter, which I will be sending out at the end of the week, are four hundred and thirty-two thousand dollars, give or take a few hundred. That means, for the first half of 1994, you will be paying a combined total of eight hundred and fifty thousand dollars in federal and state taxes.�

Matt was not sure he was hearing correctly. �Eight hundred and fifty grand?� he asked. �On seven point eight million in income? Is that what you�re saying?�

�That�s what I�m saying,� Andy agreed, grinning happily.

�That�s not very much,� Matt said. �When I was making half that amount on Intemperance alone, your old man was paying out more than twice that in taxes for me. Are you sure you did your math right?�

�Of course I did my math right,� Andy said, insulted at this suggestion. �I stand by my figures. Remember, my name is on those tax documents as well as yours.�

�Not that I�m complaining,� Matt said. �I�m all for keeping as much of my money as I can, but that seems like an awfully low amount for taxes. I don�t want to be getting in trouble with the fuckin� IRS, you dig?�

�There is nothing to get into trouble about,� Andy assured him.

�Then why did I pay so much more when your old man was figuring this shit out?�

�It�s very simple,� Andy said. �My father was very conservative, very by-the-book. He was too cautious about his accounting practices much of the time and, as such, he did not fully take advantage of the various tax shelters and exemptions that you are entitled to.�

�What the fuck does that mean?� Matt asked.

�It�s very simple,� Andy said. �You don�t live in the United States.�

�What? What the hell are you babbling about? Of course I live in the United States.�

Andy shook his head. �You don�t though,� he said. �Your primary residence is the domicile you own in Cabo San Lucas, Mexico. Though you are and will remain an American citizen, you currently reside outside the United States and therefore the bulk of your income is not subject to taxation by the IRS or the California franchise tax board.�

Matt stared at the grinning accountant for a moment. �Andy,� he said. �I only spend about two weeks out of the year at my pad down in Cabo. This year I ain�t been there but a few days.�

Andy simply shrugged. �The IRS and the franchise tax board don�t know that. They have no idea how much time you spend there and they have no way to determine that information. That foreign domicile is worth its weight in gold, Matt. It frees you up from the obligation of paying United States and California taxes on your primary income.�

Matt scowled. This sounded way too good to be true. �This shit don�t sound legal to me,� he said.

�It�s a perfectly legitimate loophole in the tax codes,� Andy assured him.

�Then why am I paying any taxes at all?� Matt asked.

�Because, unfortunately, you can�t have it all. All of your Intemperance-based income is still subject to US and California taxation because it stems from a legal agreement�your Intemperance contract with National Records�that was forged and approved before you purchased the home in Cabo San Lucas. Therefore, we cannot claim that living outside the United States relieves you of the taxation burden for that income.�

�Why not?� Matt asked. �The money I make for my solo albums is money that is earned in the United States, isn�t it?�

�Yes, of course,� Andy told him. �But the establishment of that income stream took place after you left the United States for Mexico, therefore it is tax exempt.�

Matt furrowed his brow a bit. �Are you sure about this?� he asked. �Something about this whole deal just doesn�t sound right.�

�I am absolutely sure,� Andy said confidently. �I have a Bachelor�s degree in Business and a Master�s degree in taxation. I know what I�m talking about. You can take that to the bank.�

�All right,� Matt said slowly. �I guess you�re the expert on this shit.�

�That�s right,� Andy told him. �Now, while we�re on the subject of your Intemperance revenue, I feel that I should point out to you that you are missing out on a significant portion of it.�

�What do you mean?� Matt asked. �I�m losing more than just the taxes from those album sales?�

�You are,� Andy said. �Pauline Kingsley is no longer your manager, correct?�

�That�s right,� Matt said. �I don�t have no fuckin� manager anymore. I don�t need one.�

�I will be the first to agree that you do not need a manager,� he said. �But Ms. Kingsley is still collecting twenty percent of your Intemperance income right off the top. That hardly seems fair since she is no longer representing your interests.�

�Yeah, but she�s the one who negotiated that Intemperance contract for us back in the day. Without her, we never would�ve been able to get in a position where we were actually making money from National. I�d say she earned her twenty percent.�

�Well, of course, back in the day she did,� Andy said. �And it was both required and appropriate for you to compensate her at the rate of twenty percent back then. But what is she doing for you these days?�

�Nothing,� Matt said. �She�s not my manager anymore. But the money I get from Intemperance only exists because of her and, even if I didn�t feel fuckin� honor-bound to keep giving it to her because she was a badass bitch who got up there and fuckin� rammed it home to those suits and their lawyers, we signed a contract with her. She was our manager, and she gets to take twenty percent off the top of everything we earned from Balance of Power onward. That�s in writing and I couldn�t change it even if I wanted to.�

�Twenty percent is a lot of money, Matt,� Andy told him. �I appreciate your sense of honor�truly I do�but I think that if I got my legal team looking into this issue there is perhaps a fifty to sixty percent chance we can get a legal ruling that will separate Ms. Kingsley from your Intemperance revenue on the basis that she no longer represents you or your interests. You�ll get to keep everything if that happens. Everything.�

�No,� Matt said without even pausing to consider this suggestion. �I don�t work like that. Pauline may have sold out Darren and helped kill his stupid ass�something I�ll never forgive her for�but she earned that fuckin� money and I�m not going to try to take it away from her. I�m not like she is, you dig?�

Andy sighed but he nodded. �I dig,� he said. �It was just a suggestion and I�ll drop it.�

�Good,� Matt said.

�Will you at least let me start working on ways to separate Pauline from your Intemperance revenue stream?�

�What do you mean?�

�All of the income you receive from Intemperance-related contracts still comes through her office first before it comes to me.�

�Well ... yeah,� Matt said. �That�s because the entire band as a whole is paid and then she breaks it up into individual royalties. That would be her keeping up with her part of the contract. What�s wrong with that?�

�It�s a potential weak point in the chain of your income,� he explained. �By having that money pass through Pauline first, you are vulnerable to fraud and deceit on her part. She could be skimming off more than her twenty percent.�

The glare returned to Matt�s face. �Do you have any evidence that she is doing something like that?� he asked.

�No, of course not. If I had such evidence, I would have informed you the moment it came to my attention. The problem is that she could be cleverly concealing such skimming and there is no evidence. By removing her from the equation I can guarantee that such a thing is not occurring.�

The glare increased in intensity. �Doesn�t she provide you with all the paperwork and wire transfer shit that itemizes each and every penny of that income?� he asked.

�Yes, she does,� Andy said. �And when I look at them, everything seems to be in order so far. I�m just saying that such documents could easily be forged or altered. I�m not saying she would do it, but it is possible. If we have National just wire your share of the profits directly into your account each quarter instead of sending them to Ms. Kingsley first, we can be absolutely sure that she is not pilfering more than her due.�

Alarm bells and flashing red lights were now going off all over the place in Matt�s brain. Red flags were popping up as well. �Look, dude,� he told the accountant, �I may not have a fucking Master�s degree in taxation. In fact, I only have a high school diploma to my name and I barely managed to score that. Still, I�m not a dumbshit. There�s this thing called �checks and balances�, you know what I�m saying? Pauline is part of that system. She makes sure that National Records is not playing games with my Intemperance money and your job is to make sure that Pauline is not playing games with my Intemperance money and, in turn, Pauline is there to make sure that you�re not playing games with my Intemperance money. It�s a system that�s worked pretty fuckin� well for me over the years, you dig?�

�I dig,� Andy said, �but...�

�No fuckin� buts,� Matt interrupted. �Pauline may be a sellout bitch that helped kill one of my best friends, but she�s honest. I trust her.�

�I�m not suggesting she�s not trustworthy,� Andy said, �I�m just saying...�

�I trust her a fuck of a lot more than I trust you,� Matt told him. �Even though I ain�t seen her or talked to her in almost five years, I kind of like having her look over my shit before it gets to you. We ain�t changing anything about that.�

�All right then,� Andy said, the grin returning to his face in an instant. �I�ll drop the subject then. We keep things the way they are with the Intemperance income.�

�Goddamn right,� Matt said.

Ten minutes later he was back in his limousine, snorting a few lines of cocaine off a CD case. He congratulated himself for not taking any shit from Andy the Second. You just had to know had to deal with assholes like that.

And the news that he wouldn�t be paying as much in taxes was good to ponder as well.

Shrine Auditorium

Los Angeles, California

July 16, 1994

The hosts of the 1994 Soul Train Music Awards were Patti Labelle, Gladys Knight, and Johnny Gill, all of whom Jake and Laura had had the pleasure of meeting prior to the start of the ceremony. Laura had been quite awed by them, almost to the point of being tongue-tied. Jake, who was more accustomed to meeting legendary musicians, had maintained his calm demeanor but had still felt a little intimidated himself. The greats had actually conversed with him, had actually spoken to him as if he were a peer. It was a very odd sensation.

As guests of Bigg G, who was nominated for the Best Rap Album category for his multi-platinum release Bring It, as well as Song of the Year, for Step Inside, on which Jake had played the acoustic guitar, they had really good seats. Fourth row back, on the center aisle. Gordon and Neesh sat on the aisle itself while Jake and Laura sat next to them. Janet Jackson was sitting on Jake�s right and Toni Braxton was sitting just in front of him. Toni and Laura had actually been chit-chatting with each other during the commercial break periods, their conversation beginning with Laura�s dress, which had been designed by Versace and was quite alluring on her, and then rolling into anecdotes of recording and touring after that.

Jake was not the only white man in the audience, but he was one of the few. If all of them got together, they wouldn�t have been able to field all the positions in a baseball game. Still, he was unintimidated by his minority status, at least in the audience. In a few minutes, however, he was going to step up on that stage with Gordon and the rest of Gordon�s band and they were going to perform Step Inside for the crowd and the national television audience watching the show. Jake would be the only white performer to appear on that stage tonight. That thought was a little nerve wracking.

Gladys Knight handed out the award for Gospel Album of the Year and the members of the group Mississippi Mass Choir made their speeches. The show went to commercial and the gospel singers left the stage, award in hand, to go back to their seats. This was the cue for Jake and Gordon.

�All right,� Gordon said, standing up from his chair and adjusting the bow tie of his tuxedo. �You ready for this shit, white boy?�

�Hell to the yeah,� Jake told him, standing as well and taking a deep breath.

�You�ll do fine, hon,� Laura told him, giving his hand an affectionate squeeze.

Jake laughed. �Since we�re only lip synching what we recorded earlier, it would be really hard to screw it up.�

�There are those who have found a way though,� Gordon said. �Come on. Let�s hit it.�

They hit it, making their way to the front of the auditorium floor and then walking up a set of steps onto the stage. A stagehand and a security guard met them up there and led them back behind the red curtain that was blocking the view of the primary stage where the various acts that were performing had their equipment set up. This part of the stage was divided into two halves so that one act�s gear could be removed and another�s set up while yet another group was performing on the other half of the stage. And since everyone�s performance for this ceremony had been prerecorded the day before so it could be played over the speakers and lip-synched to, there was no need for sound checks, power-ups, echo checks, or even wires to connect the equipment to the sound system.

The rest of the band was already backstage and in position when Gordon and Jake were led in. Rickie Mack, G�s DJ, stood behind a table with three turntables on it. The lead bass player, James Witlock, (who played the acoustic guitar parts for Step Inside when G was out on the road) stood just to the right of him. The two drummers, Evan Jackson and Lucky Powel, had their sets side by side in the rear, and the secondary bass player, Fro Allen was set up back between them. G�s microphone stand, with its dead microphone clipped into it, was at front and center of the stage. Jake had no microphone because he would not be singing, but he knew from rehearsal that his place would be just behind and to the right of G�s microphone stand.

�Here you go, Jake,� said Bobby Core, the lead production manager for entertainment at the ceremony. He held Jake�s Fender Grand Concert guitar in his hands. It had been highly polished with Pledge and smelled of it. There was no cord plugged into its receiver.

�Thanks, Bobby,� Jake told him, taking the instrument and slinging it over his shoulder. He walked over to his position and pulled a pick from the inlay. Instinctively, he strummed the strings a few times, listening to the tuning, before remembering that it didn�t matter if the thing was in tune or not. No one was going to hear it.

�All right,� Bobby told them. �I�ve got twenty-five seconds until we�re back from commercial break. After that, Johnny is going to do the intro for you and the curtain is going to come up. Remember the rule of sham performing. Play like you�re really doing it and keep in synch with the recording. Look into the cameras, particularly the ones in the rear of the venue. Pretend like you�re not pretending. Everyone dig?�

Everyone dug. All of them had been through variations of this before.

�All right,� Bobby said. �Kick some ass, homies!� He then trotted off into the backstage area.

The large clock on the wall in the stage left area clicked down to zero and then began to count back up again. The sound of Johnny Gill�s voice began to boom out of the sound system all around them.

�Notorious rapper Bigg G, known for his hard-hitting lyrics and relevant topics about growing up and living in the inner city as an African-American, decided to go a little experimental on his latest album, Bring It. He hooked up with Jake Kingsley, former lead singer for the heavy metal rock group Intemperance, a man who has more than a little notoriety of his own, if you can dig what I�m saying...� Johnny sniffed loudly a few times, causing the audience to break out into laughter and a little applause.

�Jesus Christ,� Jake said with a laugh of his own, shaking his head.

�Now, aside from having some questionable ideas about where he should be putting his nose,� Gill went on, �Jake is also one of the finest acoustic guitar players to ever put a pick to strings, and Bigg G knew that. So, he recruited him for this next song, a fusion of hip hop and progressive rock that is unlike anything that has ever been done before. This song spent nine weeks at the number one position on the popular music charts, sixteen weeks at number one on the R&B charts, and, incredibly enough, six weeks at number one on the progressive rock charts. It has helped propel Bigg G�s album, Bring It, to triple Platinum status and nomination for the category of Best Rap Album here tonight.

�That song is called Step Inside, and it has been nominated for Song of the Year. Bigg G is here to perform that song for you tonight and he brought along Jake Kingsley to play the acoustic guitar for him. Let�s give them a warm, Soul Train Music Awards welcome.�

Applause rippled across the venue and the curtain before them rose up and disappeared. The spotlights clicked on and Jake found himself staring out into the dimness of a live audience once again. He looked over at Bobby, who was just leaning out of the stage door, out of the view of the audience. Since the song opened with Jake�s guitar picking out the melody, it was Jake who needed to know when to start playing in order for everyone to synch properly.

Bobby counted down from five with his fingers. When the last finger disappeared, Jake began to play. At that same moment in time, the recording began to play the intro as well. The timing matched exactly.

Step Inside was four minutes, nineteen seconds in length on the CD. It was four-fifty-eight on the recording they had done yesterday for this performance, that extra time being taken up by an extension to Jake�s solo and to G and Ricky�s outro. Jake remained firmly rooted to his spot on the stage, his fingers playing the strings to match the recording. G sang into his microphone on the stand for the first verse and then pulled the microphone free and began to wander around the stage for the remainder of the song. Everyone acted as if they were really performing the tune and when it was done, the audience cheered loudly with what seemed genuine appreciation. The seven of them stepped to the front of the stage, linked arms, and took a few bows as the curtain came back down, blocking them once again from view.

Johnny Gill�s voice boomed out once again, telling them when they returned from the commercial break, they were going to announce the winner of the Best R&B/Soul Album Female.

�All right,� G said, nodding in satisfaction. �I guess that�s that then.�

�Yep,� agreed Rickie. He turned to Jake. �Not bad for a white boy,� he told him.

�Thanks,� Jake said. �Can we start drinking now?�

Gordon did not win either of the awards he was nominated for. Best Rap Album went to Onyx. And Song of the Year went, of course, to Whitney Houston for I Will Always Love You. G and his band were not terribly disappointed. They were mostly just glad that the endless ceremony was finally over and they could go home.

�What you two gonna do now?� G asked them as they waited in the limo queue after the show.

Jake shrugged. �I guess we�ll just go home,� he said.

�Home?� G said, appalled. �It�s only ten-thirty on a Saturday motherfuckin� night. You can�t be going home this early.�

�We can�t?� Jake asked.

�Hell no, homey!� G said. �We need to drink some booze, smoke some shit, have a good time.�

�We do?�

�We do,� he confirmed, turning to Laura. �You up for some good time, Teach?�

�Always,� she said with a giggle. She had consumed more than a few glasses of complimentary champagne during the ceremony.

�And what about you, Neesh?� G asked his fianc�. �You down with some good time?�

�As long as I can get out of this dress first,� she said. �It�s making my tits sore.�

�Fair enough,� G said. �How about we party at our place? The bar is stocked and I got some premium fuckin� weed from Humboldt County in my stash box. We�ll throw on some tunes, smoke some bud, maybe order a pizza to munch on.�

�What about our clothes?� Jake asked. �I don�t want to do all that in a tux.�

�And I really don�t want to get pizza sauce on this dress,� Laura added.

�Stop by your pad first,� G suggested. �It�s on the way to my pad ... kind of.�

And so that was what they did. Jake and Laura rode the limo home (both having a few drinks during the trip), went inside and quickly changed into shorts and pullover shirts, and then climbed back in the limo for the trip to Malibu where G�s mansion sat on the beach.

�Nice house,� Laura said approvingly as G and Neesh gave the quick tour of the eight thousand square foot domicile.

�It�s home for now,� G said. �A lot better than that two-bedroom pad I grew up in in East Palo Alto.� He chuckled a little. �I�m not sure the neighbors are too keen on me living here though. I got some tight-ass whitey real estate developer living on one side of me, some fuckin� Jap executive with Toyota living on the other, and some beaner who�s in the import/export business across the street. They never seem to invite me to the neighborhood get-togethers.�

�I wonder why,� Jake said, as if pondering.

�Must be my political views,� G offered.

�That�s probably it,� Laura said with a giggle.

They retired to the entertainment room, which was the largest room in the house. There was a pool table, a pinball machine, a stereo system that had probably cost as much as Jake�s car, and a whole lot of gold and platinum records on the wall. Huge sliding glass doors opened up to the backyard and the beach. G opened the door to let in the night sea breeze and then turned on the stereo, putting The Very Best of Aretha Franklin in the CD player.

�Let�s do this thing,� G said. �I�ll make the drinks. Neesh, you order the pizza, Jake, you get in that stashbox there on the table and roll us a fatty.�

Everyone went about their appointed task. By the time the pizza guy arrived with two large thick crust combinations with extra cheese, everyone was feeling quite fine indeed.

The annihilated one pizza completely and then, after a few more hits on the joint, even broke into the second one. All the while they swilled down glasses of white wine (Neesh and Laura), run and cokes (Jake) and Jameson on the rocks (G).

�How�s things going up there in Oregon?� G asked after refreshing the ladies� glasses for the fourth time.

�Rolling right along,� Jake told him. �We�re in a pretty good rhythm now. Most of the basic tracks for the tunes have been laid down now that we got the Nerdlys to stop being so anal about everything. We�re hoping to start working on the overdubs before the end of the month.�

�It is a fine moment when you finish with the basics,� G said. �I still can�t believe they�re all a bunch of fuckin� teachers.�

�What�s wrong with teachers?� Laura asked. �I used to be one myself.�

�Yeah,� G said. �I know that. And my understanding is you were kind of a tighty-whitey square back in them days, right?�

�Well ... maybe a little,� she admitted.

�I can attest that she was pretty tight,� Jake put in, earning him a playful slap on the shoulder from his beloved.

�Was pretty tight?� Neesh asked.

�Was in the philosophical sense,� Jake qualified. �Is in the anatomical sense.�

�Could we maybe stop making allusions about the elastic qualities of my hoo-hoo?� Laura asked, feigning outrage.

�See!� G said, pointing his finger at her. �That�s what I�m talking about right there. You said �hoo-hoo� instead of �pussy� or �box� or �cooter�. That�s tighty-whitey shit. Now don�t get me wrong, I love teachers, even banged a few here and there in my day, and I totally respect what teachers do, but there is a certain stereotype that goes along with the profession. Teachers tend to be square motherfuckers, wouldn�t you say? And when you have a group of square motherfuckers, it�s hard to believe they got the kind of soul that�s required to lay down music. That�s all I�m sayin�.�

�What teachers did you bang?� Neesh asked him, feigning a little outrage of her own.

�That was back in high school, baby,� G assured her.

�I think I need to hear that story,� Jake said.

�I have soul,� Laura protested. �You�ve heard me play the sax, haven�t you, G? Are you saying I don�t have soul?�

�I have heard you play,� G said, �And you got a whole lotta soul, baby. I wasn�t tryin� to say you don�t. I�m saying you�re the exception to the teachers don�t have no soul rule. I�m saying it�s hard to believe you got five other exceptions to the rule all in one spot up there in Oregon. That was my point.�

�Brainwash has soul,� Jake said seriously. �They are five of the best musicians I�ve come across in my time. Wait �til you hear the album before judging, G. They got more soul than they can control.�

�Homey, that�s a bold statement right there,� G told him.

They talked a little more about soul, and about Brainwash, and about living in a house with a pack of children. They all drank a little more as well. And then suddenly G stood up.

�I almost forgot,� he declared. �I got something for you, homey.�

�Something for me?� Jake asked.

�Yeah,� G said. �I meant to give it to you the next time we got together. Hang tight for a minute.� He left the room, heading for the staircase.

�What�s he gonna bring me?� Jake asked Neesh.

�I don�t have the slightest idea,� she said.

�It�s such a nice night,� Laura said after draining the last of her latest glass of wine. �It�s much cooler here on the beach than at our place.�

�I do dig living right on the beach,� Neesh said. �You want another glass of wine, girlfriend?�

�I want to go walk on the beach,� Laura said. �Can I do that?�

�Of course you can,� Neesh said. �That�s our beach out there, at least to the high tide line.�

�Let�s do it!� Laura said, with all the zeal a drunken idea could cause. �Let�s go down to the water, Neesh!�

Her enthusiasm was definitely infectious. �All right,� Neesh said, standing up. �Let�s do it!�

Laura gave Jake a quick hug and quick kiss on the mouth, and a moment later, the two women grabbed a fresh bottle of white wine and disappeared out the sliding glass door. Jake heard their giggles fading away for a few moments and then the night swallowed them up.

G came back downstairs a few minutes later, carrying an odd-looking contraption in his hands. It was a rectangular box, about nine inches wide by six inches deep and perhaps three inches high. Wires protruded from it in several places�Jake could see they were power cords and amplifier cords�and a plastic tube was wrapped around on the top. It looked like an effects pedal except for the tubing.

�Where�d the ladies go?� G asked, carrying the device over and setting it down on the coffee table in front of Jake.

�They decided to go down to the beach and play,� Jake said. �What�s this thing?�

�It�s a talk box, homey,� G told him.

�A talk box?� Jake asked. �You mean like Peter Frampton plays?�

�Fuckin� A,� G said, sitting back down. �You ever fuck around with one of these?�

�No,� Jake said. �I�ve never even seen one before. Why do you have it?�

�It was a part of my experimentation that didn�t work out,� he said. �I thought that having Rickie run his turntables through this thing and then me having the tube in my mouth might be a new sound I could use on a few of the tracks for Bring It.� He shook his head sadly. �It was a new sound all right, just not a good one. Not only that, but it�s hard to make this thing sound the way you want, twice as hard as just putting out notes with a normal instrument. Anyway, it�s just been sitting up in my composing room ever since. It really is best to use a guitar with the thing and I started thinking about who I knew that played a badass guitar and your name came to mind. It�s top shelf audio tech, homey, and it�s yours if you want it.�

�Hmmm,� Jake said, starting to get intrigued now. �How does it work?�

�It�s simple really,� G told him. �You put it on the floor and plug your output cord into it like any other effects pedal. When the switch is off, the music just passes through it without alteration to your amp or to the next pedal in your string. When it�s on, however, the output goes into the box where there�s an isolated speaker installed in the middle of a bunch of foam sound insulation. The only way for the sound of your output to get out is through that plastic tube. You take that tube and tape it to your microphone stand with about eight or nine inches of slack up by the mic itself. When you�re playing it, you suck that fuckin� tube into your mouth like it�s a cock. The sound of your instrument comes out of the tube, into your mouth, and you use your lips and tongue to shape the sound from there.�

�Interesting,� Jake said.

�Frampton�s a fuckin� magician with one of these,� G said. �Joe Walsh is pretty good too. After playing around with it I got some new respect for those motherfuckers.�

Jake picked up the end of the tubing and examined it. It was about half an inch in diameter, soft, and very pliable. �I�ll see what I can do with it,� said. �Thanks, G.�

�I�m the one who should be thanking you, homey,� G told him. �Bring It is my fastest selling album of all time. A big part of the reason for that is because you laid down those acoustic tracks for me on Step Inside. I feel guilty as hell that you ain�t pulling in no coin from the album�s success.�

�Don�t feel guilty about that,� Jake said dismissively. �It was fun putting that tune together with you. In fact, I was hoping maybe we could do another one.�

�Yeah?� G said, immediately interested. �Like what?�

�We should expand upon this collaboration,� Jake said. �Go to the next level with it.�

�What�s the next level?�

�I�ve been kind of thinking about this a little,� Jake said. �Maybe we write a tune together, both contribute the lyrics, and then sing it as a duet. We can have your boys doing the backbeat with the bass and the turntables but throw in some grinding electric guitar in parts too.�

�Switch back and forth between hip hop and rock?� G asked, pondering that.

�Maybe,� Jake said. �Or maybe we try a fusion of the two sounds.�

�That would be hard to pull off.�

�Hard, but not impossible,� Jake said.

�Maybe,� G said, obviously warming to the idea by the second. �What would we write about though? You a white suburbanite who grew up in a tract house on the right side of the tracks and I�m a nigger from East Palo Alto who grew up getting my head busted by the po-lice.�

�My head�s been busted by the po-lice a time or two as well,� Jake pointed out.

�Not while you was in your formative years though,� G said. �We would need to come up with a hard-hitting song with lyrics that reflect our mutual experiences in life. What kind of experiences in our formative years do you and I have in common?�

Jake thought about that for a moment and then said, �Well, we both got fucked up the ass by the record company suits with our first contracts. There�s that.�

Gordon nodded thoughtfully. �There is that,� he said.

�I bet, between the two of us, we can come up with a decent melody and some hard-hitting lyrics to that theme.�

�Yeah,� G said, smiling. �I bet we could. Let�s start it right now.�

�Right now?� Jake asked.

�Right here and right fuckin� now,� G said. �Let�s see what we can come up with.�

�I�m pretty fuckin� drunk right now, G,� Jake pointed out.

�So am I,� G said. �That�s why this is such a good idea. Come on, homey. Let�s play.�

�Well ... do you have a guitar for me?�

�Goddamn right I do,� G said. �I have an old Yamaha hanging on the wall in the composition room right over my piano. It might need to be tuned a bit, but it don�t have much mileage on it.�

�All right then,� Jake said. �Let�s see what we can come up with.�

�Fuckin� A,� G said. �But first, we better roll another joint. If we�re gonna be composing, I need to be baked.�

Jake nodded. �A good plan,� he said.

Sixty yards away, Neesh and Laura were sitting on a large piece of driftwood just above the high tide mark. The night was clear and pleasant, with a nearly full moon hanging high in the sky to the south. The waves were crashing ashore about fifty feet below the high tide mark currently. Neither had the slightest idea whether it was an incoming or an outgoing tide as neither had bothered to check the tide table for the day. The bottle of Napa Valley chardonnay they had brought out with them was now about three quarters empty. Since they had neglected to bring glasses or cups out with them, the two ladies were passing the seventy-eight-dollar bottle of smashed and fermented grapes back and forth and swigging directly out of the neck.

�I am really fucking drunk right now, Neesh,� Laura said, her words slurred, her teeth numb.

Neesh found this hilarious for some reason and broke into laughter.

�What?� Laura asked, laughing as well.

�You said �fucking�,� Neesh said. �You never say that word!�

�I say it all the time,� Laura protested. �But usually when I say it, I�m talking about ... you know... fucking, so it doesn�t come up in conversation much.�

�Yeah, you don�t really talk about sex very much, do you?�

�Not as a casual conversation topic,� she allowed.

�You know, when I first met you, I thought you were such a prude,� Neesh told her.

�I can see how I could give that impression,� Laura said. �What do you think about me now?�

�You�re a lot looser when you�re drunk, that�s for sure, but ... well, you do still come across a little prudish at times.�

�I can assure you, I�m not a prude,� Laura told her. �Maybe I was before Jake and I started ... you know ... fucking, but not these days.�

�No?�

�No,� she said. �It would be almost impossible to be in a sexual relationship with Jake Kingsley and remain a prude. I�ve done it on the wing of his airplane, in various hot tubs, in the back of limos, and I�ve sucked his dick in some very unconventional places.�

�On the wing of his airplane?� Neesh asked, visibly impressed. �How�d you pull that off?�

�Uh ... the plane was on the ground at the time,� she said, wondering if Neesh really thought they had done that in flight.

This caused another peal of laughter to erupt. �I would certainly hope the plane was on the ground,� she said between giggles. �I mean where was it? Were you just parked out on the tarmac when you did it? If so, that�s pretty goddamn wild.�

�It was in the hangar at the time,� she said. �But the door was partly open.�

�Oh yeah? Do tell the story.�

The alcohol had destroyed her inhibitions enough to do just that. �It was after he flew back to Santa Monica after he finished up the mixing and mastering of the first solo albums he and Celia did. We hadn�t seen each other in more than two months. I went to pick him up at the airport and ... well ... after he put his plane away in the hangar, we just couldn�t keep our hands off of each other. I was wearing this summer dress and he brought me inside the hangar, closed the door most of the way, and then he lifted me up and set me on the wing of the plane. He pulled my panties to the side and fucked me right there�hard and fast.�

�Wow,� Neesh said, taking another swig from the bottle. �That�s fucking hot.�

�It was pretty fucking hot,� she admitted.

�Jake�s good at fucking?� she asked, handing over the bottle.

�Yeah,� she said with a smile. �He�s really good at everything that has to do with sex. Especially ... you know ... going downtown.�

�That is a good trait in a man,� Neesh said. �Gordy�s pretty good at munching my pussy too, which is remarkable.�

�Why is it remarkable?�

�Most black men won�t put their face within two feet of a pussy,� she said.

�Really?�

�Really,� she said. �It�s a cultural thing. Good thing Gordy never got the memo on that one.�

�I can�t imagine an existence where my pussy doesn�t get eaten out on a regular basis,� Laura said. �I wouldn�t want to live in that world.�

�Neither would I,� Neesh said.

They passed the bottle back and forth a few more times, emptying it. Neesh tossed it behind them.

�Wine�s all gone,� she said. �Let�s go play in the water.�

�Okay,� Laura said.

They kicked off their shoes and socks and trotted across the sand to where the waves were breaking on the shore. Soon they were laughing and giggling as they ran in and out of the edge of the advancing and retreating breakers.

�The water is so much warmer here than it is up in Oregon,� Laura told Neesh as a wave splashed over her bare knees. �You can actually swim in it here.�

�You can�t swim in the water in Oregon?� she asked. �Not even in July?�

�No way,� she said. �The ocean up there is always icy cold even on the hottest days. You can go in up to your knees like we�re doing now, but that�s about it. And even with that, you�ll start to freeze your ass off after a little bit.�

�That�s weird,� Neesh said. �It�s the same ocean as this one. Why is it so much colder up there?�

�Nerdly explained it to me once. It�s something to do with equatorial currents and prevailing winds and the way the Earth rotates.�

�Oh,� Neesh said with a giggle. �Thank you for clearing that up for me.�

�Anytime,� Laura laughed as another wave washed over her feet and calves.

�Hey, all this talk about swimming makes me want to get all the way in. You up for it?�

Laura looked at her. �Swimming? Right now? We�d get all wet!�

�Uh, yeah,� Neesh said. �That�s usually what happens when one jumps into the ocean.�

�I mean I don�t have a bathing suit with me,� Laura said. �And I don�t want to have to wear wet clothes the rest of the night.�

�I understand your concern,� Neesh said. �Fortunately, there is a simple solution to the problem.�

�You mean I borrow one of your swimsuits?� Laura said, eyeing Neesh doubtfully. She was beautiful and voluptuous, but considerably larger in height, weight, hips, and boobs. �I�m not sure it would fit me ... especially not, you know ... up top.�

�That�s not the solution I was talking about,� Neesh said.

�Then what is?�

Neesh giggled again. �Teach, you�re so adorably na�ve. It�s cute. Kind of sexy too.�

�What do you mean?� Laura asked, feeling a little surge of sexual excitement ripple through her at being called sexy.

�I�m talking about skinny dipping, girlfriend,� Neesh said. �Ain�t you ever done it before?�

�Well ... of course,� she said, feeling herself blush. �Jake and I swim naked in his pool all the time, but this is a public beach.�

�Ain�t nobody out here but us girls,� Neesh told her. �And it�s not exactly a public beach in the strict sense of the word. Gordy owns the property above the high tide mark on this stretch. And while the beach between the high tide mark and the water belongs to the people of California under the law, the only way they can get here is by walking from the easement path half a mile in that direction. I don�t think any of those people will be strolling by at this time of night.�

�But what about the neighbors?� Laura asked.

�A bunch of tighty-whities, as Gordy would say. I never see them out on the beach at night. Come on, girl, let�s do this thing. Don�t be a prude!�

�Well...� Laura said, her inhibitions trying to creep back in despite the alcohol surging through her bloodstream.

�Last one in�s a rotten egg!� Neesh told her, trotting out of the waves and onto dry sand just beyond the breakers. She then whipped off her shirt. Her bra followed right behind it, revealing an impressive set of mammaries for Laura to look at in the moonlight. The shorts and panties came down next. Laura saw that Neesh kept herself clean-shaven down there.

�Looks like you�re a rotten egg,� Neesh told her, running into the surf and plunging head first into one of the breaking waves.

�All right,� Laura called after her. �You talked me into it!�

She pulled off her clothes and piled them next to Neesh�s on the sand. She then streaked across the sand and into the surf. The water was warmer than Oregon�s coast, that was for sure, but it wasn�t as warm as Hawaii�s or Florida�s. There was a distinct bite as she plunged into it, jumping over the top of an incoming wave and submerging.

She got used to the cold fairly quickly as she and Neesh paddled around just beyond the breakers. And she had to admit that skinny dipping was fun. There was a smooth sensuousness to the feel of ocean water on naked flesh, a liberating freedom to not having a stitch of clothing to soak up the water. And the occasional contact between her and Neesh, their legs or feet touching, their butts coming into contact for a brief second, and one accidental grope of one of Neesh�s large boobs while backstroking, were kind of turning her on. Not that she was into girls or anything, it was just the illicitness and risqu� nature of the game.

That�s what she told herself anyway.

Back in the house, Gordon and Jake were in the mode and it did not occur to either one of them to wonder why the ladies had not returned from their foray onto the beach. They were upstairs in the large secondary bedroom that had been converted into a composing room. A baby grand piano was the centerpiece of the room, but there was also a five-piece drum set and a synthesizer. On the walls were an acoustic bass guitar, an alto sax, a trombone, and the Yamaha acoustic six-string that Jake was currently playing (it had indeed been quite out of tune but was better now).

Gordon sat at the piano, an array of blank musical scores and plain pieces of paper and a pencil sitting on a stand next to him. Jake sat in a comfortable chair next to him.

�I think the chorus should be the rock part, sung by me in classic rock style,� he suggested to his co-writer.

�I can dig that,� Gordon said. �And I sing the verses in hip hop style?�

�That�s probably the best way to go about it,� Jake said. �We switch the tempo back and forth between verses and chorus; hell, we can even change key if we want, and then do some kind of a fusion of the two styles for a bridge.�

�Sounds good in concept,� Gordon told him. �How do you usually compose your tunes? Do you go melody then chorus then verses then bridge?�

�Most of the time,� Jake said. �The chorus is the main theme of the song and is usually supported by the primary melody, so it helps to do that first.�

�Well ... how about you pull a little melody out of your ass then?�

Jake smiled. �I�ll see what I can do.�

He began to strum the guitar, playing around with the G-chord, trying to come up with something simple, yet something different than anything that had been done before. Eventually, after maybe ten minutes, he stumbled across a little three-chord progression that he liked the sound of. He played it out a few more times, his fingers pushing the strings with more force, with more confidence.

�I kind of like that,� Gordon said. �It�s catchy.�

�I like it too,� Jake said. �Play it on the piano, see what it sounds like there.�

�Run it by me.�

Jake named off the notes in order. Gordon nodded, whispered the progression to himself a few times, and then slowly picked out the melody on the piano, note by note.

�That it?� he asked.

�That�s it,� Jake confirmed.

Gordon played it a few more times, upping the tempo some. Once he seemed to have it down, Jake accompanied him, strumming out the melody in harmony with Gordon. It continued to sound good to their ears. Whether it would still sound good when they were sober was a question for another day.

�All right,� Jake said. �Now let�s see if we can put some lyrics to this.�

�Something that reflects how the suits fucked us over,� Gordon said.

�Eight syllables per rep of the melody,� Jake said.

�Eight syllables max,� Gordon corrected, continuing to play out the melody. �You can always draw one out to cover more than one note.�

�True,� Jake conceded.

They continued to churn out the melody, both of them trying to think up an appropriate first line, a summary of the theme they wanted to cover.

�It�s got to be something hard-hitting, profound,� Jake said.

�Right,� G said. �Something with some fuckin� teeth.�

They tried a few things out, but nothing seemed to fit. And then Jake, playing off a variation of something G had tried a few minutes before, hit upon something they liked. �How about this one, G.� He waited until the melody came around to the beginning again and then sang out: �I signed that line, turned in my soul.�

G nodded appreciatively. �I like it,� he said. �Do it again.�

�I signed that line, turned in my soul,� Jake sang. He then filled in the next line, which would have to be an extension of the concept, with vocal exercises. �La da da da hmm hmm yeah yeah.�

�It�s tight, homey,� Gordon told him. �I think we�re onto something.�

�It�s only the first line,� Jake reminded him, still strumming the melody on the guitar.

�Every journey begins with a single step. Pull another line out your ass, something to go with that first one.�

�Putting my fingers up there now,� Jake told him.

Back on the beach, Laura and Neesh, both still as naked as the day they were born, were no longer swimming but had not come out of the water. They had found a perfect place to rest themselves, out beyond where the waves were starting to break, but in water that was shallow enough for them to stand up. They faced each other in the moonlight, their hands clasped together to help them stay balanced in the swells. The water came up to just over the tops of Laura�s breasts, up to her shoulders when a swell would roll over her. Neesh was six inches taller than Laura. Her breasts were well above the water even during a swell. Laura found herself looking at them an awful lot. They were a delectable set of boobies, of that there could be no argument.

�Have you and Jake settled on a wedding date yet?� Neesh asked.

�Not an exact date,� she replied, shifting her feet back and forth a little as a particularly strong swell pushed against her. She felt Neesh�s hands pull on her a little to help keep her settled. �We�re thinking about November though, over in Hawaii.�

�Destination wedding, huh?� Neesh said. �Small affair or going for broke?�

�Just close friends and family,� she said. �Well ... Jake�s family anyway. I�m pretty sure none of mine will care to be there.�

Neesh had been told about Laura�s family of devout Mormons before. She shook her head sadly. �Fuck �em if they don�t want to see you get married,� she proclaimed. �Shit, are you even going to invite them?�

�I�m still thinking that one over,� Laura said.

�Don�t let them spoil your day, that�s my advice.�

�I�m kind of leaning in that direction. I haven�t even talked to any of them in more than a year now, not since my mother talked to that sleazy reporter.�

�Can�t say I blame you.� She looked meaningfully at the redhead. �Has Jake brought up the prenup yet?�

�He didn�t bring it up,� Laura said. �I did. I asked him if he wanted me to sign one.�

�You brought it up?� Neesh asked incredulously. �Girlfriend, didn�t you go to girl school before you got hooked up with a rich man? You never bring that shit up first.�

�Well, I did,� Laura said. �I wanted to get the conversation out of the way and done so there wouldn�t be tension about it.�

�And what did he say?� she asked.

Laura smiled. �He said that he didn�t think a prenuptial agreement would be necessary.�

Neesh looked at her as if she were a space alien. �No prenup? Are you fucking serious, girlfriend?�

�Dead serious,� she said. �He said he doesn�t plan for our marriage to be a failure, and even if it was, I didn�t seem like the kind of girl who was going to try to take more than she was due.�

�Well fuck my ass,� Neesh said, shaking her head. �Gordy started talking prenup the day after he proposed to me. The one I eventually signed is six fucking pages long.�

�But you signed it?� Laura asked.

�Of course I signed it,� she said. �It�s fair. If the marriage goes bad, I�ll be taken care of for life. Besides, I have my own career on top of that. Being married to Gordy, I won�t have to work while I�m finishing up my degree and studying for the bar and all that. It�s a good deal.�

�I suppose,� Laura said.

They danced around in the waves a little more, moving from place to place, their hands still clasped together, their feet trying to stay in a level spot that kept them above the swells. Laura continued to steal quick glances at Neesh�s breasts, telling herself that she was just admiring their form from an artistic standpoint. True, she was feeling extremely horny right now, but that was just the wine and the pot they�d smoked. Those substances always had that kind of effect on her.

And then a fairly large swell swept into them with considerable power, threatening to knock them off their feet. Neesh reacted quickly, pulling Laura toward her to help her stay upright. In the course of doing this, their bodies came together and Laura felt those wonderful boobs pressing into her chest. They were very soft, very sexy. She felt that surge of sexual excitement kick up a notch or two.

�Sorry about that,� Neesh said once the swell was past them and breaking on the beach. She let Laura reel herself backward again.

�That�s okay,� Laura said, and then, before she could stop herself, added: �I rather enjoyed it.�

Neesh smiled at her. �Did you now?�

Laura knew she was blushing. �I can�t believe I just said that,� she said.

�Neither can I,� Neesh told her. �Are my boobies turning you on, girlfriend?�

�Well ... maybe a little,� Laura admitted.

�I see,� Neesh said, stepping a little closer. �You into chicks, Teach?�

�Uh ... well ... not really,� she said.

�Not really? What the hell does that mean? Have you ever done anything sexual with another girl? Be honest now.�

Laura thought about lying but could not quite bring herself to do it. �Yeah,� she said. �I have.�

Neesh smiled a naughty smile. �This sounds like an interesting story,� she told her. �Tell me about it.�

�It was while I was out on tour,� she said. She then told her about the bartender in La Paz, and the lesbian groupies that followed. Neesh listened with rapt attention.

�That�s a hot story, Teach,� she said when the tale was told. �Does Jake know about that?�

�He does,� she said.

�And he�s cool with it?�

�He says he is,� she said.

�Wow,� Neesh said. �Even hotter.� She looked at her meaningfully. �I�m bisexual you know.�

Laura nodded. �I was starting to pick up on that,� she told her.

�And your little petite body is turning me on something fierce,� she added.

Laura shuddered a little, starting to feel like things were getting out of hand. �I�m really flattered, Neesh,� she told her, �but I think...�

�Can I kiss you?�

�Uh...� Laura started to answer, but the question was apparently rhetorical, because Neesh tugged on her again, until they were chest to chest again. Laura once more felt those soft breasts pushing into her. She felt Neesh let go of her hands and reach up to her face. She then felt her face being pulled upward, while Neesh�s face moved downward.

She made no attempt to pull away and a moment later, a soft, full set of girly lips was pressed against her lips. The tip of Neesh�s tongue slid out and licked at her lips for a moment. Instinctively she pushed her tongue out to meet it. The two organs began to slip and slide together, swirling back and forth on a film of saliva. Neesh tasted of chardonnay and salt water.

Oh my God! Laura�s mind screamed at her. What the hell are you doing? You�re making out with Neesh!

And it felt far too good for her to try to stop it. She put her arms around Neesh�s body, pulling her tighter against her, relishing the feel of feminine flesh pressing into her. They continued to kiss deeply, their tongues dancing. Neesh let go of Laura�s face and returned the embrace, letting her hands slide down to touch Laura�s butt, where she began stroking it.

The kiss went on for an eternity, but finally they broke apart. Neesh looked at her, smiling. �That was fun,� she said.

�Yeah...,� Laura agreed. �It was. I�ve never kissed a girl before.�

�It�s just like kissing a guy, only softer,� Neesh said. �Sexier.�

�Yeah,� Laura breathed, and then a semblance of sanity tried to reassert itself. �Maybe we�d better head back in.�

�Maybe,� Neesh said. �Or maybe you�d like to put one of my titties in your mouth and suck my nipple for me.�

Another shudder of desire rippled through Laura at these words. The truth was, she really did want to put one of those titties in her mouth. And those nipples, they were hard and swollen and she could feel them pushing into her chest. But still ... there was Jake to think about. �I ... can�t,� she said. �Jake is...�

�Don�t worry about Jake,� Neesh told her dismissively. �This is girl time. It ain�t like you�re cheating on him or anything. We�re just having a little fun between the ladies.�

�But...�

�Shhh,� Neesh said, shutting her up with another kiss, a brief one this time. She then leaned back a bit and put her hands to the back of Laura�s head. She began to pull her toward her breast. �Come on, girlfriend. You�ve been staring at these titties ever since I broke �em out. Have a little suck.�

Giving in, Laura allowed herself to be pulled forward. She took the left nipple in her mouth and had a little suck. And the little suck turned almost immediately into a big suck.

�That�s it, girlfriend,� Neesh panted from above her. �That feels really good. Use the tongue a little bit too.�

�Mmm,� Laura grunted from around a mouthful of tit.

�Here, give me your hand,� Neesh whispered, taking Laura�s right hand in hers.

Laura felt her hand being pulled downward and then placed on Neesh�s smooth belly. It was then slid down even further, across the silky softness of her mons, until her digits were touching the soft lips between her legs.

�That�s it,� Neesh told her. �Slide your fingers inside of me.�

Laura obeyed, fascinated with the feel of another woman�s vagina. Despite the salt water they were immersed in, it was still slippery enough for penetration. She felt Neesh gripping at her fingers with her muscles. She was very tight.

�Finger fuck me,� Neesh barked at her. �Use two fingers.�

Continuing to slurp and suck on her nipple, Laura did as requested and inserted a second finger. She began to pump in and out. Neesh began to moan into her ear.

�You a natural, honey,� Neesh told her. �You sure you ain�t done this before?�

�Quite sure,� Laura told her, breaking contact with the nipple in her mouth. Her intention was to go after the other one, but Neesh had other plans.

�Let�s go back to the log,� she suggested.

�To the log?� Laura asked, thinking that Neesh was bringing this sexy encounter to an end. She was simultaneously happy and sad about this.

But ending the encounter was not what Neesh had in mind. �I�m gonna sit you down on that log and eat your pussy out,� she told her. �And I�m not going to stop until you come all over my face.�

No, we can�t do that, Laura wanted to say. That�s going a little too far. That is truly what she meant to say. But what came out of her mouth was: �Okay, let�s go.�

They trotted out of the waves, hand in hand, and rushed back to the driftwood log where they had drank the wine earlier.

�Sit on the log there,� Neesh told her. �And keep your ears open for the boys coming out to check on us. My ears are going to have your thighs covering them.�

�Okay,� Laura panted, sitting on the log and spreading her thighs. She could feel how wet she was, how swollen her lips were. Her doubts about what she was doing were buried in a wave of lust. Neesh was going to eat her pussy out!

Neesh dropped down on her knees between Laura�s thighs and leaned forward. She suckled on Laura�s breasts for a few moments, alternating between them, increasing Laura�s lust exponentially.

�No teasing!� Laura ordered.

�Just a little teasing,� Neesh said. �It�s my nature.�

Laura groaned in frustration.

Neesh began to work her way southward, kissing and nipping her way across Laura�s belly and then down to her upper thigh, carefully avoiding the actual wetness between her legs. Laura groaned with every touch of that wet, girly mouth on her body.

She was just about to reach down and grab Neesh�s hair so she could force her face to go where it was needed, but a particularly large crash of a wave suddenly boomed through the night. Laura looked up for just a second, more out of instinct than alarm. She saw that the tide was apparently incoming, as the waves were now crashing considerably closer to their spot then when they had sat here with their clothes on.

Clothes? Oh my God!

�Neesh!� she yelled, reaching down and grabbing her face. Only she didn�t pull it to her center, she pulled it up so she was looking at her.

�What?� Neesh asked. �I told you, this is girl time, Teach. There�s nothing wrong with...�

�Our clothes!� Laura told her. �We took them off down by the water.�

�So?�

�The tide is coming in!� Laura said.

Understanding washed over Neesh�s face. �Shit!� she said, springing to her feet. �Let�s go!�

Naked, they ran down to the spot where they had shucked their clothing nearly an hour ago. The spot was well underwater now. Of their shorts, bras, and panties, there was not a trace.

�Fuck me!� Neesh said, looking everywhere and seeing nothing.

�What do we do now?� Laura asked.

�Let�s check around the area,� Neesh suggested. �You go that way; I�ll go this way.�

�Right,� Laura said.

They headed off in different directions. Laura ran right along the water�s edge, her naked buttocks pumping, her eyes searching the surf for any sign of clothing. She didn�t get very far. As she trotted along, she had the briefest impression of something dark in front of her. Before her brain even had time to process this information, her legs thumped into something massive and she went sprawling forward. She crashed to the ground, landing on her forearms, feeling flesh being scraped away in several places.

What the hell was that? her mind screamed as she thumped and rolled. It had felt like ... well ... an animal of some kind.

It was an animal. She turned and found herself looking at a California sea lion that had been sleeping in the sand, it�s black body almost invisible in the darkness. And it was very upset at having its slumber disturbed.

�Ark ark ark ark ark!� it screamed at her, rearing up on all four of its fins and getting ready to do battle.

Laura screamed in terror, jumping to her feet and running down the beach. The sea lion immediately began to chase after her, ark arking all the way.

�Neesh, help!� Laura screamed, terrified.

�Oh my god!� she heard Neesh yell back. �Inland, Laura! Get out of the water!�

Out of the water? Yes, that was probably a good idea. She didn�t know how fast an angry sea lion could run on land, but it probably wasn�t as fast as it could move in the water. She hooked left, leaving the surf behind and the creature remained in pursuit of her. Adrenaline flooded through her body as full panic took over and she ran right into a piece of driftwood, tripping her again, sending her tumbling to the beach again. Her face struck the sand this time and she felt grit on her tongue.

�Fuck!� she barked, scrambling to her feet again and resuming her sprint. This time, the sea lion broke off the pursuit, perhaps because it was tired, or perhaps because it felt it had made its point.

Laura was finally able to slow down and catch her breath. The adrenaline started to fade away. She stood in the sand, her hands on her knees, bent over, panting.

Neesh came up to her. �Are you okay?� she asked.

�Yeah, I think so,� she said with a nod.

�I think you�re bleeding,� Neesh said.

�Yeah? Where at?�

�Your arms and your wrists.�

Laura looked and could see just enough by the moonlight that her forearms were all scraped up and abraded. Also, her toes, the ones that had struck the driftwood, were all throbbing with pain. �I don�t suppose that you found our clothes?�

Neesh shook her head. �Not a stitch,� she said.

�Lovely. Where�d the sea lion go?�

�I think it went back into the water,� Neesh said. �You�re lucky you got away. That thing was pissed off.�

�Yeah,� she said. �It really was.�

�Come on,� Neesh said. �Let�s go back to the house and get you cleaned up.�

�How are we going to explain this?� Laura asked her.

�It�s easy,� she said. �We tell as much of the truth as feasible. That�s the way you keep girl time between girls.�

�I see.�

Los Angeles, California

July 18, 1994

Celia and Greg arrived at Pauline�s house just before six o�clock in the evening, their limo dropping them off out front. It was a muggy, smoggy late afternoon and the sky was an ugly shade of grayish-blue. No clouds were present and there was not a stitch of wind. Celia was wearing a pair of white shorts and a sleeveless maroon top. Greg, as usual, was dressed a little nicer than his wife. He was sporting a pair of two-hundred-dollar slacks, a Pierre Cardin dress shirt, and a tie. He was also sporting a contented smile on his face. Celia had landed at LAX after a flight from Logan International in Boston twenty-four hours before. The two of them had become reacquainted with each other several times since.

Pauline herself answered the door after they rang the bell. She smiled and hugged both of them, even giving Greg a peck on the cheek. She seemed in a very good mood.

�I�m glad you could make it, C,� her manager told her.

�This is an important meeting,� Celia said. �I kind of needed to be here for it.�

�True,� Pauline said. �Everyone else is already here. We�re having drinks in the living room and we�ll talk business during dinner.�

�Sounds good,� Celia said.

They made their way into the living room, which looked out over the lake. Obie was sitting in an easy chair, sipping from what appeared to be a scotch on the rocks. Jake and Laura were sitting on the couch. Jake had Tabby, who was now just a few days shy of six months old, sitting in his lap and he was making her giggle by pretending to sneeze. It was Laura that caught Celia�s attention, however. She looked a little like she had been through a wringer. She had an abrasion on the right side of her face and some discoloration that looked suspiciously like a black eye on her right side. There were more abrasions that looked like road rash on both of her lower arms and a brace of some kind on her right ankle.

�Madres de Dios, Teach,� Celia exclaimed. �What the hell happened to you?�

�I had a little run-in with a sea lion the other night,� Laura said sourly.

�A sea lion?� Celia asked, astonished.

�While she was naked,� Jake added, smiling.

�What?� Celia asked.

�It�s a long story,� Laura said.

�You have got to tell it to me,� Celia said, walking over to her. �Are you okay?�

�A sprained ankle, a black eye, two broken toes, three toenails that aren�t going to make it much longer, and various scrapes and abrasions,� Laura said. �I�ll heal.�

�And hopefully you�ve learned not to run naked on a beach in the middle of the night,� put in Obie, who had apparently already heard the story.

�Well, at least not without a flashlight,� Laura said with a laugh. She got to her feet and held out her arms to Celia, who gave her a big hug.

�I can�t wait to hear this one,� Celia said.

�After hugs,� Laura said, holding out her hands to Greg, who quickly obliged her while Celia herself moved onto to Jake, who stood, Tabby still in his arms, and gave her an affectionate one-handed embrace.

�And look at you, little Tabs,� Celia proclaimed. �You�ve gotten so big since the last time I saw you.�

�She�s growing like a goddamn weed,� Obie said, coming over to collect his hug as well.

�Yeah,� Pauline said. �And biting at my goddamn nipples now.�

�Most women kind of like that,� Jake offered, earning himself a murderous scowl from his sister.

After the hugs, Greg and Jake did their customary handshake and then Obie and Greg did the same.

�All right,� Celia said, snatching Tabby away from Jake. She went willingly enough. �Tell me the sea lion story.�

�It�s not really that interesting,� Laura said, sitting down and picking up her wine glass.

�I seriously doubt that,� Celia said. �Give it up.�

�Well ... it was after the Soul Train Awards the other night,� Laura said.

�Oh yeah,� Celia said. �I caught Jake and G�s performance while I was in the hotel. Not bad for lip-synching.�

�I always feel like such a sellout when I do that,� Jake said with a shrug. �Still, it was a good time.�

�And I got the most beautiful dress out of the deal,� Laura said.

�I caught a couple of glimpses of you in it,� Celia said. �It was gorgeous.�

�I still can�t believe they just gave me a Versace dress,� Laura said. �I can only image how much that thing actually cost.�

�Welcome to the big-time celebrity life,� Pauline said. �You gotta love those endorsement deals.�

�There is a lot to be said for it,� Laura agreed.

�Anyway,� Celia said. �The sea lion?�

�Right,� Laura said. �Well ... after the ceremony, Jake and I went over to G�s place on the beach in Malibu. Neesh was with us.�

�And Neesh is...� Celia prompted.

�Gordon�s fianc�,� Laura said. �She lives there with him. They�re going to be getting married next April. She�s really quite beautiful.�

�That would be the woman sitting next to G at the ceremony?� Celia asked. She remembered her as an exotic looking dark skinned woman. Laura was right. She was quite beautiful.

�That�s her,� Laura confirmed. �She comes across as kind of, you know ... uh...�

�Bitchy?� Jake offered.

�Right,� Laura said. �She seems kind of stuck up when you first meet her, but she�s really not. I like her a lot. She�s very sweet.�

�She was involved in the sea lion incident?� Celia asked.

�Yeah,� Laura said with a giggle. �We had some pizza with her and G, and ... you know ... a few drinks, a few tokes on the old J, and pretty soon, I had this idea it would be fun to go down to the beach. So Neesh and I went out there.�

�What time was this?� Celia asked.

�It was pretty close to midnight,� Laura said.

�And you were drunk?� Greg asked.

�Hammered to the core,� Laura confirmed. �Anyway, we went down to the beach and kicked off our shoes and socks and then went down to splash around in the waves a little bit. After we did that for a while, we got to talking about how much warmer the water was here in southern California than Oregon and how you could swim in the water here, and ... well ... we decided to go swimming.�

Celia laughed a little. �But you didn�t have a bathing suit with you?�

�Right,� Laura said. �Neesh suggested we go skinny dipping. I didn�t want to at first�you know me, I�m kind of shy about things like that�but after all that wine, and after Neesh told me that it was pretty much a private beach and no one but us girls would likely be out here at that time of night ... well ... it started to seem like a good idea.�

�So ... you did it?� Celia asked.

Laura giggled a little. �We did it. We stripped out of our clothes right there above the spot where the waves were breaking and just jumped on in.�

�Oh my,� Celia said with a giggle. �Very naughty of you, Teach.�

�Yeah, but it was fun. We swam around for almost an hour, I think. And then we realized that the tide was coming in.�

�What�s wrong with the tide coming in?� Greg asked.

�We�d left our clothes right where the waves were breaking, remember? We both kind of thought of that at the same time. We rushed back to the spot where we�d undressed, but that spot was under water. Our clothes were nowhere to be seen.�

�Oh my God,� Celia said, giggling again. �What did you do?�

�We decided to split up and start looking for them. Neesh went one way down the surf and I went the other. I was running, looking in the waves for a glimpse of bra or panties or shirt or shorts, and ... well ... there was this sea lion laying on the beach right where the waves were coming in. It was black and I didn�t see it until it was too late. I ran into it and tripped and fell down.�

�Madre de Dios!� Celia squealed. �You tripped over it? Was it mad?�

�It was really pissed off,� she confirmed. �It started barking at me and reared up on its flippers. I screamed and took off running and it started to chase me.�

�It started to chase you?� Celia asked, fully laughing at the story now.

�Yeah,� she said. �It was terrifying. I panicked and didn�t know what to do. Neesh saw what happened and screamed at me to stop running along the shore, to go inland.�

�That seems a good course of action,� said Greg, who was grinning at her story.

�So I did, but it kept chasing me. I was running harder and faster than I�ve ever run before and that thing was still behind me, ark ark arking for all it was worth, and then I ran into a piece of driftwood with my foot. That�s how I got the broken toes and the sprained ankle. I fell face first into the sand. That�s how I got the black eye. I didn�t know any of that at the time, however, I was still in full-on panic mode. I jumped back to my feet and kept on running. This time the sea lion gave up and turned back to the water.�

�It�s a good thing it didn�t catch you,� Greg said. �I can only imagine what it might have done. It probably could have killed you.�

�Yeah,� Laura said, shaking her head at her predicament. �What a way to go, huh?�

�Can you imagine how the celebrity press would have spun it if my fianc� got killed by a freaking sea lion?� Jake asked.

�You�d a been in the cell next to OJ,� Obie said with a laugh.

�I wouldn�t have signed up to defend you,� Pauline added.

Even little Tabitha was laughing at this point. Celia tweaked her little nose affectionately and then turned back to Laura. �Did you ever find the clothes?� she asked.

�No,� Laura said with a sour shake of the head. �In truth, after the sea lion, we didn�t even look anymore. We just went back to G�s house. That was a bit awkward.�

�I can imagine,� Celia said. �How did you do it? Just stroll on through the door in all your naked glory?�

�Eventually, but not at first,� Laura said. �Neesh and I went up to the sliding glass door and we stood off to the side of it. She slid it open a little bit and tried to call G over so he could go get us some robes and hand them out. But G and Jake weren�t sitting in the living room anymore. The CD player wasn�t playing and their drink glasses weren�t there. She called a few times, but no one answered. She told me that G had a composing room and that maybe they�d gone up there to work on something.�

�Which was exactly what we�d done,� Jake confirmed. �We decided to co-write a tune and we had gone up there to start working on it right after the ladies went down to the beach. We were pretty hammered ourselves and we kind of got into the groove. That was why we didn�t notice they�d been gone so long.�

�Anyway,� Laura went on, �we decided we could make it to the downstairs bathroom and at least get some towels to cover up with and then get me cleaned up a little. So, we creep into the house and are about halfway across the living room, about as far from any cover as we could possibly be, when Jake and G both turn the corner in the upstairs hall and look out over the railing that looks down on the living room. We couldn�t have been more center stage if we�d planned it.�

Another round of laughter erupted, Laura included, although she was blushing furiously.

�That must have been quite a sight, Jake,� Celia said between giggles.

�It was one of the most inspiring moments of my life,� Jake agreed. �You�ve never seen two girls move so fast before. They sprinted to the bathroom and slammed the door so hard that a picture fell off the wall. The only thing funnier was listening to their explanation of what happened once they finally came out.�

�Yeah, the nurses and the doctor in the emergency room thought my story was pretty funny too,� Laura said. �And the x-ray technician, and the registration clerk, and those two cops they sent to make sure I wasn�t a domestic violence victim.�

�That part wasn�t that funny,� Jake said sourly.

�They really did that?� Greg asked, appalled.

�Of course they did,� Jake said. �I�m Jake Kingsley, the guy who rapes women and throws them off of boats, the guy who Mindy Snow implied was abusive to her. They were polite about it, but they showed up and separated us from each other and asked some serious questions about what had happened.�

�They seemed to be almost disappointed when they heard the real story,� Laura said. �Though they did think it was funny.�

�Yeah, and at least everyone�s kept their mouths shut about the whole thing,� Jake said. �There haven�t been any reports in the press about Laura�s assault on the sea lion, or about her swimming naked in the ocean�at least not yet.�

�You told them about being naked?� Celia asked.

�I kind of had to,� Laura said. �There was really no other way to explain why I�d shown up in the ER with no bra on, wearing a pair of sweatpants and a shirt that were three sizes too big for me.�

�Still,� Greg said, �I�m sure you could have come up with some explanation.�

�Maybe,� Jake said, �but then we would have been lying to them about something. Cops are pretty good at picking up on when you�re lying to them. If they would have found a hole in the story about why she was dressed like that, they might�ve started thinking there were other holes to explore as well.�

�It just seemed easier to tell the truth,� Laura said.

Celia looked at the battered redhead for a moment. She had looked down at the floor while she�d said that last part, as if she did not want to meet anyone�s eyes. It was a classic non-verbal cue of deceit. Was there something that Laura wasn�t being truthful about?

Probably not, she decided. The story was too bizarre, too detailed to be anything but the truth. The thought of falsehood by omission never even entered her mind.

�All right,� Jake said, after everyone had their plates of grilled tri-tip, baked potatoes, and grilled asparagus before them and had given the requisite complements to the cooks (Obie and Pauline). �Shall we talk about this concert ticket thing now?�

The concert ticket thing was the reason why Celia had flown home from Boston, why Jake and Laura were still hanging around in LA instead of going back to Oregon immediately after the Soul Train Music Awards. National�s suggestion on raising ticket prices for the rest of the tour needed to be discussed. It would be a controversial move if they decided to make it, maybe controversial enough to affect album sales, but it could also be a profitable one, potentially increasing tour revenue by more than one hundred percent.

�I�m ready to talk about it,� Pauline said. She was already on record as being in favor of it. �I just wish Bill and Sharon were able to be here. I feel weird talking about a business decision without all the owners of the LLC being here. Especially for something as important and far reaching as this.�

�Nerdly can�t bring himself to break away from the Brainwash project even for a day,� Jake said. �He thinks the whole thing will crash and burn if he and Sharon are not personally there to oversee every note that is put down. He told me that he will abide by whatever decision we make, one way or the other. He also said we can call him if we think we need his input on something. It�s after six o�clock. They�ll all be back at the house by now.�

�I understand,� Pauline said. �It doesn�t mean I approve of it though.�

�Fair enough,� Jake said. �I think the meeting will actually go smoother without Nerdly here to tell us about the theoretical physical aspects of the proposition and how the empirical data will lead us to the proper hypothesis.�

�Perhaps,� Pauline said.

�The person I really wish was here for this is Jill,� Jake said. �She would�ve been able to dial everything down to dollars and cents�data that probably would have been helpful. Unfortunately, she and the rest of her clan are on vacation in freaking Japan right now.�

�Yeah,� said Pauline. �They flew coach all the way across the Pacific and are all three sharing a room in the Tokyo equivalent of the Motel 6.�

�You�re shittin� me,� Obie said. �Are they really that cheap?�

�They�re really that cheap,� Jake assured him. �I went over to Jill�s house once for a dinner meeting. It was in the middle of winter and I could almost see my breath in there because she kept her thermostat set at sixty degrees.�

�Sixty degrees?� Obie asked. �In the winter?�

�Right,� Jake said. �She told me that the difference between sixty degrees on the thermostat and seventy, which is where I keep mine set, added up to an eighteen dollar and forty-six cent difference in natural gas billing per month for a house with the cubic footage of interior space and the type of insulation that hers has.�

�Eighteen dollars and forty-six cents?� Obie asked.

�That�s right,� Jake said. �And over the course of the winter months, when the furnace is primarily in operation, that adds up to ... whatever it adds up to, but it�s not even close to a hundred bucks total. That is how cheap the Yamashitos are.�

�How much do y�all pay them people?� Obie wanted to know.

�Between what I pay them for being my personal accountants and what KVA pays them to keep the company books, well over a hundred K per year. And they are also one of the most highly respected CPA firms for private businesses in the greater Heritage region. A good portion of the independent restaurants, medical and dental practices, car dealers, and specialty retail stores in the area use them to manage their money and do their taxes. If they�re pulling in less than two million a year I�d be surprised, yet Ma and Pa Yamashito are still living in the post-war tract house around the corner from the elementary school Jill and I went to as kids, and Jill herself lives in a modest little single story over in the Pocket area by the river�but not on the river, because, as Jill put it, �paying an extra twenty thousand dollars for a riverfront location makes no financial sense in the long-term�.�

Obie was shaking his head. �So, they could afford to fly first-class to Tokyo and stay in the best individual suites the city has to offer�even with the exchange rate being what it is�without dinging their net worth?�

�Without a doubt,� Pauline agreed. �They seem to get a little adrenaline rush out of finding ways to do everything cheaply though. When Jill told me about the deal they got on their flights and hotel room in Tokyo, you could hear how proud she was about it.�

�Hmmph,� Obie grunted in bewilderment. �Is this a Jap thing or an accountant thing?�

�I�m thinking it�s an accountant thing primarily,� Jake said. �With perhaps a dash of underlying Japanese culture to give it a kicker.�

�Kind of like the lime in a gin and tonic?� Obie suggested.

�Exactly,� Jake said with a smile.

�In any case,� Pauline said, �Jill is not here, so we�ll just have to muddle through the financial aspects of this proposed deal without her. I did run the idea by her before they left, and she did let it be known that anything that would increase KVA�s bottom line should be looked upon as a good thing.�

�And this would increase the bottom line considerably,� Greg said.

�On the surface and in the short-term it would,� Celia said. �My question, however, is what would be the long-term consequences of increasing ticket prices in the name of profit?�

�That is the question of the hour right there,� Obie said.

�What do you mean?� Pauline asked.

Obie fielded this one. �It�s like this, y�all,� he said. �I don�t have a horse in this race myself, but I�ll have one in a similar race pretty soon, so I�m a very interested spectator here. Them scalpers were selling my tickets for more than a hundred bucks a pop on my last tour, so I get the underlying argument for this deal. If people are willing to lay down a C-note or more for one of our tickets, why shouldn�t we be the ones pocketing those greenbacks instead of the scalpers? I also get the counter-argument to the proposal. Tours have always been for the purpose of promoting an album in order to increase sales, therefore we�ve always charged as little as feasible for the tickets: just enough to keep from losing too much money on the tour. Charging more than that will make us seem to be shamelessly profiteering from our music, an image that goes against our desired public perception as artists who do what we do for the furtherance of our art instead of to make an assload of money.�

�Exactly,� Jake said. �That is my fear if we go through with this whole deal. Right now, Celia has a reputation as a serious musician who is fully dedicated to producing quality tunes and getting them out there for the world to hear. Everyone knows about how she went independent and how we scraped together the money for KVA Records and used my mom and Nerdly�s mom for musicians and self-produced our CDs just so we could be heard. They think of her as selfless and humble, altruistic even. If she suddenly starts charging a hundred dollars or more a ticket to see her in concert, that could lead to disillusionment by her fanbase. Could that impact sales numbers of her albums? Could it lead to people not buying tickets to her shows?�

�Do you really think her reputation as a person has that much to do with sales?� Pauline asked. �Remember, you�re the one who has always maintained that an artist�s reputation has nothing to do with sales as long as the artist produces good music.�

�I was saying that about notoriety, which is a negative thing that the suits try to encourage,� Jake qualified. �The record company execs have always said that Ozzy Osbourne sold all those albums because he bit the head off a bat once and peed on the Alamo, that Motley Crue sold all those albums because of their drinking, that Intemperance sold all of our albums because we were Satan worshipers who snort cocaine out of butt cracks.�

�You never told me if you actually did that or not,� Obie said.

�Please,� Jake said, deadpan. �That�s not a story to be told in front of little Tabby.�

Obie chuckled.

�Anyway,� Jake went on, �notoriety has little to do with album sales in the big picture, but a positive public perception is something else entirely. People want to believe we�re selfless, dedicated artists. We still have to make good music, of course, but they eat it up when they believe we�re struggling artists and they start to lose faith in us when they get the perception that we�re greedy and money-grubbing just for the sheer exploitation of it.�

�Which is kind of what we�d be doing if we started charging outrageous prices for concert tickets simply because people will pay it,� Celia said.

�That�s not exploitation,� Pauline insisted. �It�s capitalism. The market price for Celia�s concert tickets is a hundred dollars. People are willing to pay that and they are going to pay that whether we�re the ones charging that much or not.�

�What about the guy who lives paycheck to paycheck and wants to take his wife to a Celia Valdez concert?� Jake asked. �We start charging a hundred bucks for each ticket and we lose him and everyone like him as a customer. And when that happens on a grand scale, the resentment might just cause enough animosity that he becomes disillusioned with Celia as an artist. Now he won�t even buy a CD.�

�Well ... let�s look at your hypothetical paycheck to paycheck guy realistically for a minute,� Pauline suggested. �He wants to buy two tickets for Celia�s show so he and his wife can go see her. Theoretically, he can wait in line for hours so that when Ticket King opens, he�s able to pay retail price of twenty-five dollars for a GA ticket, or forty for a reserved. Alternately, he can pick up his phone and dial up Ticket King�s eight-hundred number with his credit card in hand and hope to get through so he can buy his ticket that way. Is everyone following me so far?�

�We�re following you,� Jake said.

�Okay,� Pauline said. �Now, this all sounds good in theory, but in reality, his chances of actually scoring a ticket this way are maybe fifty percent. These tickets are selling out quickly, in less than a day. If he wants to get one from the Ticket King booth, he�s going to have to basically camp out all night or they�ll all be gone before he gets to the front of the line. He�s a working man. He probably doesn�t have the time or the inclination to camp out in front of a record store all night. And as for the phone order, we all know how that works. The scalpers and their agents are extremely well-organized when it comes to high-value tickets. They flood the phone lines the moment the tickets are released for sale and they snatch up every ticket they can get their hands on because they know they can resell them for more than twice face value. There�s a very good chance our hypothetical paycheck to paycheck guy, who is just trying to score some tickets and not make a profit, will just keep getting busy signals on the line until he gives up ... says, �fuck it, I�ll buy my old lady a goddamn toaster instead�.�

�But he can get the tickets if he�s persistent,� Celia said.

�That�s the thing,� Pauline said. �He has to be persistent. Most people, when it comes to something they do not necessarily need in their life, tend not to be persistent. So, what ends up happening is that the scalpers are the ones who snatch up most of the tickets. I�ve seen figures floated around that estimate well over seventy-five percent of tickets for acts that sell-out every show�the Rolling Stones, U2, Pearl Jam, Nirvana back before Kurt offed himself, and Celia herself�are resold after purchase for a higher price. That means the scalpers are getting the vast majority of them and making insane profits off of us. Profits that we should be making for ourselves.�

�That is unacceptable to me,� Obie pointed out. �If our paycheck-to-paycheck guy really and truly wants those tickets for his wife, he�ll most likely have to get them from a scalper. He�ll have to pay the hundred dollars apiece anyway.�

�I understand that,� Jake said, �but in that scenario it�s the scalpers that are being perceived as greedy profiteering slimeballs, not the artists.�

�Then you�re saying you�re against the plan to raise ticket prices?� Pauline asked him.

�Yes,� he said. �I�m against the plan.�

�Uh huh,� Pauline said with a nod. She turned to Celia. �And how about you, C? It�s in your name that we�re even discussing this. Where do you fall?�

�I�m not entirely sure,� she said. �I don�t want to be thought of as a money-grubbing corporate puta, that�s for damn sure. At the same time, it really bothers me that these lowlife scalpers are making all this money off me while my tour is barely in the black.�

�And it�s only in the black at all because you did not allow them to have all the dancers and lasers and choreography,� Greg pointed out.

�This is true,� Celia said.

�Why don�t we all look at this thing from a practical point of view?� Obie suggested.

�What do you mean?� asked Jake.

�Well, we have a test case to look at,� Obie said. �The Eagles are the boys who got this whole discussion rolling in the first place, right? They�re the ones selling those concert tickets for premium coin. Are people buying them?�

�Well ... yes,� Pauline said. �People are snatching up every last one of them in a matter of hours as each venue is released for sale. And there is still a considerable black-market resale market for them after that. That�s kind of my point.�

�And they are regularly accused of profiteering and exploitation of their fame in the media,� Jake said. �That�s kind of my point.�

�Is this reputation for profiteering having any effect on album sales?� Obie asked next.

�I think we all know the answer to that,� Pauline said. �Hell Freezes Over is selling like mad. It shot right to the top of the album chart the moment it was released and has been perched there ever since. And it�s mostly a live album, full of songs that have already been released in studio versions back in the day. There are only three new studio cuts on the album and only a few live cuts that have not been previously released on earlier live albums. I think it�s safe to say that the band�s image as profiteers is not impacting sales of their product.�

�And Celia�s CD is a studio album in its entirety,� Obie said. �Nothing but original, unreleased material on it. Hell, there�s not even a cover tune on it.�

�That is true,� Jake conceded. �But there is still the potential for the negative press and profiteering accusations to have an impact on sales.�

�Is that really what you�re worried about, Jake?� Pauline asked.

�What do you mean?� he asked.

�Are you actually worried that KVA would lose money and sales in this deal, or are you more worried about being seen as someone with a little greed in his soul?�

Jake was caught off guard by this suggestion. He opened his mouth to deny what was being said but then slowly closed it again. Could she be correct? Could she?

�Think it through, Jake,� Pauline said. �Hell Freezes Over is selling like mad, despite the negative press over the ticket prices. As Nerdly would say if he was here, we have empirical evidence that album sales remain unaffected when one gains a reputation as a profiteer. Capitalism reigns supreme. People will pay the market value for the tickets. They�ll grumble about it, but they�ll pay it. All we would be doing is shifting that profit from the black market to ourselves and making our tours a significant source of income instead of just a promotional gambit. The only real objection I hear from you and from Celia is that you don�t want to be thought of us greedy by the fans.�

Jake looked over at Celia, who was looking at him, a guilty expression on her face.

�I think maybe she�s right,� Celia said. �When I sit and think about it, that really is what concerns me the most; being thought of us greedy.�

Jake wanted to deny this was his primary concern, but his annoying tendency for self-honesty kept him from doing so. �Yeah,� he said with a sigh. �I guess that is my issue when you come right down to it.�

�All right then,� Greg said with a smile. �Now that we�ve opened up Jake and Celia�s souls and seen the darkness that lies within, let�s get this horse on the track. Do we give into the inevitable and embrace our greed, or don�t we?�

The two musicians looked at each other again. Celia raised her eyebrows questioningly. Jake hesitated for a moment more but finally gave a little nod.

�I guess we give in,� Celia said. �At least that�s what I�m going to vote.�

�Yeah,� Jake said with a sigh. �I guess I�ll have to vote for greed as well.�

About an hour after dinner, Laura and Celia were outside in Pauline�s back yard, sitting on the patio furniture and looking out at the setting sun as it sank through the smog layer and turned the sky a brilliant reddish-purple. Both ladies had a glass of wine sitting on the table between them. Laura opened her purse and pulled out a small one-hitter pipe and little bag of green buds. She stuffed some of the latter into the former and then flicked her Bic and sucked it down. Celia watched her impassively.

�Want a hit?� Laura offered after blowing the smoke back out into the air.

�I�m good, thank you,� Celia said.

It occurred to Laura that she had never seen Celia smoke any weed before, had never even heard her talking about it. �Do you ever get high?� she asked her.

�No,� Celia replied. �I�ve tried it a few times. I seem to be one of those people that it doesn�t have much of an effect on. It never really did anything for me except make me hungry.�

Laura finished stuffing another hit into the pipe. �That�s too bad,� she said. �I never really got into it either until Jake and I got together. Even then, we didn�t do it very much. Once I went out on the road, however, it got to be a regular habit.� She chuckled a little. �One little habit I didn�t leave down in South America.�

Oh, you little liar, Laura�s mind sang to her. She silenced the voice by sucking down her second hit. And then she found herself wondering what Neesh was doing tonight.

�Did you ever ... you know ... do as I suggested and tell Jake about those ... things you did down in South America?� Celia asked her.

�I did,� she said, feeling the THC going to her brain. She stuffed the pipe and the little baggie and the lighter back into her purse. �I told him the night he asked me to marry him.�

Celia raised her eyebrows a little. �Before or after he asked?�

�After,� Laura said. �I had to. I couldn�t say yes to him until he knew about ... you know ... those women and me. I had to be sure he was okay with it before I committed.�

Then why haven�t you told him about what you and Neesh did? the little voice spoke up again. This time she poured some wine on it. And then she started thinking about Neesh again, remembering how good it felt to have her tongue in her mouth, remembering the feel of her soft, sexy mouth kissing her thighs, pondering the thought of where that mouth would have ended up if she hadn�t remembered their clothes at that very moment.

�I�m assuming that he was okay with it?� Celia asked.

�It kind of caught him off-guard, I think,� she said, trying to shake the images of Neesh out of her head. She succeeded, but only by catching a glimpse of the side swell of Celia�s breast. She wondered what it would feel like to put her mouth on it. Jesus, what is wrong with me?

�I can imagine,� Celia said. �You caught me off-guard when you told me about it.�

�But Jake is ... well ... he�s Jake,� she said. �I told him the whole story ... well, not the whole story�I didn�t tell him what happened between me and Squiggle that one night, but I did tell him about the chemistry between us, and that I started doing those things with women to keep from being tempted to do anything with Squiggle. He understood. And he accepted it. He told me he still wanted to marry me anyway and I said yes.� She held up her left hand, the one with the engagement ring. �And here we are.�

�I think you did the right thing,� Celia said. �You didn�t really do anything with Squiggle�not when you come right down to it�and most guys will not see what you did with the women as cheating.�

�That�s exactly how it worked out,� Laura said. �I�m thankful for your advice.�

Celia took a good long drink of her wine and then set it back down. �Tell me something,� she said, her voice a little quieter now. �When you came back home after the tour ... did you ... uh ... I mean do you still ... you know... think about doing things with women?�

Why is she asking this? Laura wondered, a little alarmed. Does she suspect something? Does she know something?

�Uh ... well ... why do you ask?� Laura said, fighting to keep her voice casual.

�Well ... it�s funny,� Celia said. �Ever since you told me that story about you and the women, I�ve been ... uh ... kind of ... you know ... thinking about it a lot.�

�Thinking about it?�

�Yeah,� Celia said with a nod. �Almost obsessively at times.�

Laura licked her lips a little. �In a good way or a bad way?� she asked.

�In a curious way,� Celia said. �I�ve never ... uh ... done anything with a girl before. I�ve never even kissed one. But ... well ... I�ve thought about it. The idea was never really repugnant to me, but I never obsessed over the issue or was tempted to try it or anything. And then once you told me your story, I started thinking about it all the time ... mostly about what you did, having a girl go down there and lick me.�

Holy hell, Laura thought, amazed. Celia wants to get it on with a girl! The thought was blackly exciting and she felt a gush of moisture go rushing to her nether region. �That�s uh ... it�s uh ... kind of sexy, C,� she told her softly.

Celia smiled. �Is it?�

�Yeah,� Laura assured her. �Do you think you�d ever do it?� Maybe with me? her mind added. She felt immediately ashamed for thinking that�but the intrigue remained.

Celia paused for a few moments and then nodded her head. �I think maybe I would,� she finally said. �If I were single, that is. Even though Greg ... well ... you know what he did ... even though he did that, I don�t think I could bring myself to do it while we�re married.�

�What if Greg was okay with it?� she asked.

She shook her head immediately. �No,� she said. �Our marriage has enough troubles right now without throwing that into the equation.�

�But you told me I should tell Jake what I�d done,� Laura said. �How is it different with you and Greg?�

�Because Jake is Jake and Greg is Greg,� she said. �They�re two different people entirely. And the situation is different as well. You and Jake are in the beginning of your relationship with each other and have a strong bond. Greg and I are in the middle of our relationship and our bonds have been strained lately.� She shook her head again. �No, I�m not even going to hint to him about these feelings I have.�

�That�s too bad,� Laura said, with honest regret no less. Of course, she wouldn�t have really done anything with Celia, even if asked ... but ... it was rather hot to know that the possibility even existed.

�It is what it is,� Celia said with a shrug. It was a shrug that carried a bit of bitterness in tone. �Anyway, you never did answer my question.�

�What question is that?�

�Whether or not you still think about ... you know ... girls doing that to you.�

�Oh... that question,� Laura said softly.

�Do you?� Celia prodded gently.

I�ve done more than think about it, she thought with a mixture of guilt and desire. She sighed and then nodded her head. �Yeah,� she told the singer. �I still think about it. I think about it a lot.�

�In a good way?�

Another nod. �Jake keeps me pretty satisfied in the bedroom,� she said. �But on those occasions when I have to ... you know ... take care of things myself, having a girl eating my pussy out is pretty much all I fantasize about.�

�And did you used to think of that before?�

She shook her head. �No, not until I�d actually done it.�

�Are you bisexual, Laura?� Celia asked her.

Laura smiled. �Obviously, to some degree I am,� she said. �I never would have thought so before, and I don�t have any desire to have a romantic relationship with a girl, but when you�ve actively arranged for women to eat your pussy out for you, when you fantasize about women eating your pussy out while you�re playing with yourself ... well ... I think it�s kind of hard to say no when asked if you�re bisexual.�

Celia nodded slowly. �An interesting perspective,� she said. �Can you keep a secret?�

�Of course,� Laura said.

�The pilot of our tour plane has the hots for me.�

Laura simply shrugged. �What�s the big deal with that?� she asked. �You�re an incredibly attractive woman, C. Most of the guys in America between the ages of fourteen and sixty have the hots for you.�

�The pilot�s name is Suzie,� Celia said.

Laura licked her lips again. �Suzie,� she repeated. �Am I to assume that is not an ironic nickname for a man?�

�Suzie is a woman,� Celia confirmed. �She is a card-carrying lesbian and proud of it. And, though she hasn�t specifically said it in words, she has let it be known that if I want her to put her face between my legs some night in the hotel room, she would be happy to oblige me.�

�Wow,� Laura said, feeling another gush of moisture flooding in down below. �What�s she look like?�

Celia laughed, shaking her head. �That�s the first thing you ask me? I bare my soul to you about this raging temptation I�m saddled with, and you want to know what she looks like?�

�Well...� Laura said with a giggle, �it�s a relevant question, isn�t it?�

�She looks like a lesbian,� Celia said. �But an attractive lesbian. She�s tall, in impressive shape, with short hair but a very pretty face. The kind of face I frequently find myself envisioning planted between my legs�just to see what it�s like, you understand.�

�I understand completely,� Laura said. �What are you going to do about this situation?�

�My plan is to do nothing about it,� Celia said. �Suzie and I get together every few nights on the road and have a cigar together and talk. She flirts a little. I flirt back a little. I know she�s serious about the flirting and she knows that I�m not. When she goes back to her room, I usually lay down and paddle the old pink canoe while thinking about her. So far, that�s the status quo.�

�Nothing to be ashamed of about that,� Laura said. �It�s not like you�re doing anything wrong.�

�Yeah,� Celia said, �but like you and your friend Squiggle, I�m kind of worried that it�ll get to the point where playing solo isn�t enough. And we�ve got another three months of touring to get through.�

Laura was particularly enthusiastic when she and Jake fucked that night. Before he could even get out of his clothes, she forced him down on the bed, dropped her pants and panties to the floor, and then slithered up his body and planted her wet, swollen vagina on his mouth. He obliged her desires, licking her to one orgasm in this position and then flipping her over and licking her to another in that position. Only then did he remove his own pants and underwear and sink into her body. They rutted together until she squeaked out one more and then he shot off inside of her.

She fell asleep shortly after he climbed off of her. Jake was still wide awake, however.

He peeled off his shirt, leaving himself naked and then gathered up all the strewn laundry and placed it in the hamper so Elsa would not yell at them in the morning. He then pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a clean t-shirt. After brushing his teeth and washing his hands, he wandered downstairs and made himself a rum and coke at the bar.

Elsa, dressed in her night clothes, came into the room just as he was finishing up this task. �I thought I heard someone puttering around in here,� she said. She sniffed the air a little and gave him a knowing look.

�Just me,� Jake said. �I�m enjoying one more night of relative privacy before we head back to the asylum tomorrow.�

�What time are you heading out?� she asked him.

�I scheduled the flight out of Van Nuys for noon,� he said. �The limo will pick us up at eleven. We should be back in the beach house in Coos Bay by two-thirty.�

�Do you have all of your belongings packed and ready to go?�

�I do,� he confirmed. �You�ve taught me well.�

�Hmmph,� she grunted. �Please take care to put that glass in the sink when you�re done with it.�

�Don�t I always?� he asked with a smile.

�No, you do not,� she replied tersely. And with that, she returned to her room.

Jake took his drink and wandered over to the couch.

He sat down and turned on the television set but, after a few minutes of channel surfing, found nothing he wanted to watch and turned if off again. He thought about listening to some music for a bit, but that didn�t appeal to him either. Maybe I should work on the tune that G and I are putting together?

That sounded like a good idea. On the night that Laura had been chased by the sea lion (and I got to see Neesh naked, he recalled gleefully. Holy shit, what a fucking set of titties!) the two musicians had managed to come up with a solid primary melody and a tentative chorus. Maybe he could pound out the beginnings of a verse or two? It would be helpful if he had some ideas down for the next time he and G got together, whenever that might be.

He stood up and walked across the house to the music room near the back, the room he did most of his composing in. Several years before, at Elsa�s request, he had had a contractor come in and install cork soundproofing. He shut the door behind him and walked to where his old Fender was hanging on the wall. On the way, however, his eye was drawn to the talk box that G had given him. It was sitting on the composition table next to the music sheets and the notes they had made that night.

Curiosity crept into him and thoughts of composing retreated to the back of his brain. There was a new toy to play with. Wouldn�t this be a good time to check it out?

He diverted course and headed for the opposite wall instead, where one of his Les Paul guitars�a black and white one�was hanging. He took it down and carried it over to the couch, setting it down. He then walked over to the room�s storage closet and opened it. In here was a variety of musical equipment, most of which he rarely used. There was a small keyboard, a ukulele, a banjo he had once taught himself to play, a couple of amplifiers, a couple of speakers, a microphone stand and a microphone, and a large box filled with a variety of miscellaneous cords, effects pedals, and other gear.

He pulled out both of the amps, one of the speakers, and the microphone stand and carried them all over to the table and arranged them in a row. He then got the box of gear and carried it over to the couch. He spent the next fifteen minutes setting things up. First, he plugged the amplifiers and the speaker into the outlet strip near the wall to give them power. He attached the microphone to the smaller amp and the speaker and then sound checked it a few times until it was at a respectable volume that was loud enough to be heard well but not loud enough to penetrate through the cork sound-proofing.

Next, he plugged the guitar into a distortion effects pedal and then plugged that into the other amplifier. He played around with the instrument and the pedal for a few minutes, making sure the guitar was properly tuned and then dialing in a healthy level of rock and roll distortion for his coming experiment. After cranking off a few classic riffs�Crazy Train, Highway Star, For Whom the Bell Tolls, and his own Descent Into Nothing�and then cranking out an improvised solo, he plugged a heavy-duty speaker cable into the amp�s output jack and ran the other end into the talk box. He strummed the guitar a few times and confirmed that that distorted sound of it was now coming out of the end of the flexible plastic tube.

�Wild,� he said with a smile, playing a brief riff and listening to the sound. It did not sound all that impressive just falling into the air through a tiny hole like that. It sounded a little like a riff heard through a couple of walls.

Experimentally, he put the end of the tube in his mouth and strummed out the riff again. It turned out it was a bit louder than he�d thought once inserted into an enclosed place. Sound virtually exploded throughout his head, slamming through his skull bones and into his ears from the inside. His teeth vibrated uncomfortably, sending bursts of pain out anywhere he had a dental filling. With a shriek of surprise, he spit the tube out. It landed wetly in his lap, the fading power chord still weakly emitting from it.

�Wow,� he whispered, shaking his head a little to clear it. It seemed that an adjustment to the volume was in order.

He dialed down the primary volume and the bass level on the amplifier, leaving the treble and the distortion level on the pedal where it was at. Tentatively, carefully, he cranked out another power chord. The sound still seemed pathetic coming out of the tube, but that had fooled him before. Hesitantly, he picked up the tube and put it back in his mouth. Softly, wincing in advance, he touched his pick to the open low E string.

The sound filled his head again, but this time it was almost reasonable. He turned down the amp just a little more and then strummed again. Still loud, but tolerable. All right. It was time to check this thing out.

He had to leave the room and go hunt down a roll of duct tape from the kitchen drawer. Upon returning, he taped the tube to the microphone stand so that the final six inches protruded just beyond the microphone itself. He picked up the guitar again, positioned it, and then leaned forward to the microphone stand. He took the tube into his mouth and then turned his head so his mouth was close to the microphone.

Here goes nothing, he thought, and then struck the low E string once again.

This time the sound did not explode in his head, it exploded out of the speaker. A huge burst of distorted low E mixed with a nearly deafening whine of feedback reverberated throughout the room, sounding like something out of a nightmare. Pictures rattled on the wall. Jake could see the sound waves disturbing the liquid in his glass.

He silenced the instrument by grabbing the string. The feedback, however, continued until he pulled his mouth away from the talk box tube. Even then, it faded reluctantly, leaving only the hum of the speaker.

�Jesus fucking Christ,� he muttered, his ears ringing, his head throbbing.

There was a pounding on the door and it creaked open, revealing Elsa�s face. �Jake!� she barked at him. �Whatever in the world are you doing in here?�

�Sorry, Elsa,� he said. �Just playing around with a new effects pedal.�

�It sounded like you were strangling a cat!� she said. �I heard it all the way through a soundproofed wall!�

�I�m still working on adjusting the sound for it,� he said.

�Obviously,� she said. �Did it occur to you to maybe start at the quiet end of the scale and then adjust up instead of the other way around?�

�Actually, that did not occur to me,� he admitted.

�Perhaps it should!� she told him, and the door shut once again.

He did as she suggested and turned the volume on the amp down to almost nothing. He put the tube in his mouth again and began to strike the low E string, softly at first and then with more force. Between strikes he slowly adjusted the amplifier output upward until the sound coming out of the speaker was loud enough to be heard well but not loud enough to penetrate outside the room. It seemed obvious in retrospect, but he found that the optimum volume of the guitar distortion being expelled from his mouth and into the microphone was about the same volume as what came out of his mouth when he was singing. That made sense.

He pulled his mouth back again and noticed he was a little out of breath, as if he�d been running. He realized that he had not really been breathing while adjusting the volume, so intent was he on keeping the sound directed into the microphone without interference. He would have to watch that.

�All right,� he said, settling the guitar in his lap again. �Let�s see what we can do with this thing.�

He began to play around, cranking out simple distorted chords using primarily the low E and the A string. The vibration of the strings was transformed into an analog signal by the dual Humbucker pickups in the body of the guitar, sent out through the guitar cord into the first effects pedal where it was boosted and distorted, then into the amplifier where the signal was boosted even more and tone was added, and then into the talk box, where it was run through a tube into Jake�s mouth. Jake then took that sound and began to shape it by using his lips, tongue, and variations to the dimensions of his oral cavity before it was expelled out into the microphone for its trip to the speaker.

He could tell right away that he was going to have to seriously work on the technique if he ever hoped to produce anything like music in this manner. But still, he was having a good time playing around with it.

And though he improved only marginally, he kept playing around with it until almost two o�clock in the morning.

Later that day, when he boarded the Lear for the flight back to Oregon, the talk box and all the equipment that went with it were packed away in the baggage compartment.

Sunday was the one day of the week that the members of Brainwash were regularly allowed to themselves, although, if it had been up to the Nerdlys, they would have been in the studio on the Lord�s Day from nine to six just like any other. The Sunday after Jake and Laura�s return from Los Angeles was no different. Still, it was not a complete day of rest for everyone. There were chores and missions vital to the progression and maintenance of the household to be done. And so, on Saturday night, Jake was informed that a run to Costco in Eugene needed to be made for supplies that were unavailable or hard to come by in the Bay area. This was something that happened about every two weeks on average. Jake didn�t mind. It meant he would get to fly his plane, even though the hop was short. He usually took Laura with him so they could get away by themselves for a bit, but she was unable to make the trip this week because she was still having difficulty walking thanks to her encounter with the native pinniped down in Malibu.

Jake asked Stephanie Zool if she wanted to accompany him for the journey.

�I don�t know,� the guitarist said doubtfully. �I�m not a big fan of flying even in big old jet airliners. Your plane is even smaller than the one that brought us here, isn�t it?�

�True, but it�s good plane and I hardly ever crash it,� Jake told her.

�Hardly ever?� she asked, raising her brows.

�Hardly ever,� he assured her. �It�s just a little hop up over the mountains and then back down. About twenty-two to twenty-five minutes each way.�

�Well ... will it be bumpy?� she asked.

�It can be,� he said. �It�s warm in the valley today and we have a sea breeze blowing here. We get bounced around a little over the top of the mountains sometimes when that happens.�

�You�re not doing a very good job of selling this to me,� Steph told him.

�Come on,� Jake chided. �It�ll be fun, and I really need someone to go with me to help with the groceries and the loading and unloading.�

�I don�t know,� she said.

�I�ll let you do some turns and banks once we�re airborne,� he offered.

She shook her head. �No way am I going to fly an airplane.�

Jake nodded and then hit her below the belt. �All right, how about this? You don�t have a hair on your ass if you don�t climb in that plane with me.�

The eyebrows went up again, higher this time. And a little over an hour later, Steph was strapped into the copilot�s seat, a headphone set on her ears, her hands gripping the side of her seat as the aircraft accelerated down Runway 22 at North Bend Muni and lifted into the bright blue summer sky.

�Okay,� she admitted as they climbed out over the ocean, turned around, and then started heading for the mountains on the east side of town. �This is kind of cool.�

�Told you,� Jake said, smiling, enjoying himself. Below them they could see the extensive dunes along the coast and the estuary of the Umpqua River as it drained into the sea. The river itself was a twisting, turning blue line winding its way out of the mountains. Columns of smoke could be seen here and there as landowners burned debris in control burns. The mountains were covered with a dense carpet of evergreen trees�seemingly a billion of them.

�How high are you going to climb?� she asked.

�Sixty-five hundred feet,� Jake said. �That will keep us at least two thousand feet above the highest peaks between here and the Willamette Valley.�

�How high can this plane fly?� she asked.

�Theoretically, it could go as high as thirty thousand feet, but I don�t ever take it above nineteen thousand. If you fly higher than twenty thousand you have to have oxygen available in case of depressurization.�

�So ... you don�t have oxygen available?� she asked.

He shook his head. �Don�t need it as long as I don�t go above twenty. If the plane suffered a decompression at nineteen thousand, the air is still thick enough that I have time to recognize the situation and descend before I pass out.�

�I see,� she said. �Are you going to pressurize the plane for this trip?�

He shook his head again. �No need to at sixty-five hundred. I only pressurize when we go higher than nine thousand or so. At full pressurization we�re only at eight thousand feet of equivalent pressure anyway�same as in a commercial airliner.�

�What does that mean?� she asked.

�It means that this airplane and commercial airplanes flying at forty thousand are only pressurized to the level that a person sitting at eight thousand feet of elevation on a mountain would feel. That�s why traveling by airliner makes you so tired. The air is thin and dry.�

�Why do they only pressurize to eight thousand?�

�To prevent metal fatigue mostly,� he said. �If they were pressurizing to sea level altitude, the fuselage would be expanding and contracting a lot more with each ascent and descent. This reduces the useful life of the aircraft and increases the maintenance and inspection cycles.�

The flew on as Stephanie digested this information. Soon they were at their target altitude and flying over the coastal mountains. Though they were two thousand feet above them, they still looked close enough to touch. Highway 38, the road that crossed the mountains between Interstate 5 in the valley and Highway 101 on the coast, was visible twisting and turning its way through the passes. They bumped and bounced a little bit in the rising air, but not too badly. His passenger continued to stare at the passing scenery in amazement.

Jake was glad that she was enjoying the flight. Of all the members of Brainwash, he felt the closest to Stephanie Zool. It was not that he disliked any of the others�he did not�it was just that he and Steph spent more time together and had more in common. She was a physical education teacher and, as such, made a considerable effort to keep herself in shape. Like Jake, jogging was her favored method of accomplishing this. They ran together on the beach (or the road if the tide was wrong) most mornings before breakfast, the way he and Celia had once done. And she put at least as many dollars and quarters into the swear jar as Jake�maybe even more.

�Nerdly tells me that you should be able to finish up the primary vocals for Wrong the next session,� Jake said. Wrong was what they called Stephanie�s tune, Wrong Tree, which would be the last cut on the album when it was mastered, and probably a song of controversy due to its subject matter. It concerned a love triangle between two women and a man, with the singer�Stephanie obviously�trying to tell the other woman that she was a lesbian and should not be in a relationship with the man, she should be with her. It was a very profound and emotional tune, and Jake knew what Steph was trying to say with it, but he was afraid it would be misinterpreted by the more homophobic listening audience (those who were smart enough to analyze lyrics anyway) as Steph trying to turn a heterosexual woman into a lesbian instead of trying to explain to the woman in question what she really was.

�We just have the bridge to finish up,� Steph confirmed. �Finally. That used to be one of my favorite tunes to sing, but now I�ve sung it so much over the past few weeks that I�m sick of it.�

�That happens,� Jake said. �Is it a song from personal experience?�

She looked over at him, her eyes trying to see what was behind the question. He hoped she was picking up that it was simple curiosity. Jake had been around gay men quite a bit these last few years�Dexter, Charlie, Phil, Bobby Z�but Stephanie was the first verified and committed lesbian he had ever had a chance to get to know on more than a superficial level. He was finding that she was quite different in mannerisms, speech, and actions than what the stereotype suggested.

She seemed to see what she needed to see in his eyes. �Yeah,� she said. �It�s from personal experience. Her name was Carissa. Carissa Morgan. She was a teammate of mine when I played basketball for BU. We used to room together during the away games. She was tall, thin, quirky, and she considered me her best friend. We did everything together. I was in love with her almost from the first time I met her. And I�m pretty sure she was in love with me as well. And she was a lesbian�not bi, not curious, not experimental. I wasn�t trying to turn her to the dark side or make her be anything she wasn�t meant to be. She was a sister�one knows her own kind. Only she wouldn�t admit to herself what she was.�

�She stayed in the closet?� Jake asked.

Steph shook her head. �It was more than that,� she said. �She didn�t even let herself be free enough to get into the closet in the first place. Most of us dykes go through that to some degree when we first start to realize who and what we are, but most of us accept it at some point, whether we stay in the closet or not. Clarissa was one of the ones who could not accept what she was. Part of it was her upbringing�she was raised a strict Catholic�and part of it is societal views toward homosexuality. Nobody wants to willingly be part of a hated and mistrusted minority. And so, she played the game with classic overcompensation. She dated man after man, was extremely loose with her affections toward them, sleeping with any male who so much as hinted that he would like to get into her pants. And she enjoyed none of it, got nothing out of it. She was miserable, Jake, and she used to cry to me about how she couldn�t find a decent man to have a relationship with, all the while denying what was right in front of her.�

�That�s kind of sad,� Jake said. �What happened to her? Did she eventually come around?�

�I tried to explain to her one night what she was,� Steph said softly, her words almost drowned out by the sound of the engines turning. �She didn�t want to hear it. She knew that I was a lesbian, of course, but she always used to talk about my sexuality like it was a phase I was going through, like it was something that I would grow out of. Anyway, when I suggested to her that she was gay ... she got angry with me. She started accusing me of trying to �convert� her. Our relationship was never the same after that. She stopped hanging out with me. She stopped rooming with me during away games. Within a week she was dating some dweeb she met in a computer class. They ended up getting married her senior year.�

�How did that work out?� Jake asked.

�They got divorced after less than a year,� she said. �And she went back to the same pattern of sleeping with any man who asked. She started drinking a lot, got into drugs, couldn�t find a job. Two years after graduation, she committed suicide by jumping off a freeway overpass into the path of an oncoming semi-truck.�

�Wow,� Jake said. �That�s not a happy story.�

�No,� Steph agreed, �but it inspired me to write a pretty good song, don�t you think?�

They bought three hundred and forty-five pounds of groceries and household supplies from the Eugene Costco store and then transported them back to Mahlon Sweet Airport by cab. Jake loaded them in various places throughout the plane, taking care to make sure the weight was evenly distributed.

The flight back was a little less somber.

�I have to say,� Steph told him after the sterile cockpit condition was lifted, �it�s been really weird living in a house with you all.�

�What do you mean?� Jake asked.

�Well, you�re famous, a major celebrity,� she said. �And yet, at the same time, you�re an ordinary person.�

�Ordinary is a strong word,� Jake said with a chuckle.

�You know what I mean,� she said. �I feel ... oh ... schizophrenic sometimes, like this is all a dream. I have dinner with you and Laura and Nerdly. I go running with you in the morning. We sit down and drink wine together and have ordinary conversations, just like normal people have. And then you fly off for a few days and I turn on the television and there you are, with Bigg G, up on the screen playing music for the country.�

�We were lip-synching,� Jake told her.

�That�s not the point,� she said. �You�re Jake fucking Kingsley! The Jake fucking Kingsley. And that redhead who shares the bedroom with you is Laura Best, who I�ve seen in the tabloids. And the guy engineering this album we�re recording is Nerdly Archer. And you hang out with Bigg G, and Celia Valdez, and Greg Oldfellow. I just saw Greg Oldfellow in a movie right before we came here! When I sit down and think about all this, it just blows me away. I have to keep asking myself if this is really happening. And when I decide it is, I ask myself what we did to deserve this.�

�You�re all talented musicians and composers,� Jake said. �You deserve this chance. You�ve paid your dues and you�ve earned it. I�m just making sure you get your best shot.�

�We�re all very grateful for what you�ve done for us, Jake,� she said.

�Think nothing of it,� he said. �I expect to profit handsomely from the efforts. I only wish you were all able to participate in the mixing process. I feel kind of bad that you all have to go back to work while the Nerdlys and I do the most important part without your input.�

�We wouldn�t know what we were doing anyway,� Steph said. �Even Jim, who recorded two albums before, wouldn�t know a mixing board from his ass.�

�I didn�t know shit about it either when I first started in the business. But it�s a skill that has to be learned if one is going to put one�s heart and soul down on an album. Maybe on the next Brainwash album we�ll have more time, or you�ll have the ability to take leave.�

She looked at him. �Do you really think there�s going to be a next album?� she asked.

He smiled. �Yeah,� he told her. �I really think there is.�

They landed uneventfully at North Bend just before three o�clock that afternoon. Jake secured the airplane in his rented hangar and the two of them spent fifteen minutes loading the groceries into the back of the van they used to transport everyone to and from the studio.

Once they arrived back at the house on the cliff, everyone except Laura and the smaller children pitched in and had everything unloaded and carried inside in no time at all. As Jake was putting away the toilet paper in the storage closet upstairs, he heard the phone ringing downstairs. It rang three times before someone picked it up. A few moments went by and then Laura�s voice called up to him, telling him he had a phone call.

What now? he wondered, a trifle uneasily as he trotted down to the main living room. Receiving phone calls at the house was still an unusual event. And when they did come, they usually were not for Jake. And if they were for Jake, they usually were not good news.

Laura was sitting on the couch, sipping from a large glass of iced tea and holding the phone in her hand. As Jake got close to her, he could smell that she�d been hitting the pipe again. She was doing that more and more lately.

�Who is it?� he asked.

�It�s Jill,� she said. �She says she has news for you.�

Jake�s mood improved a bit at her words. She could only be calling about the property in San Luis Obispo that he wanted to buy. The survey teams had all issued their reports on it the previous month and the news had been good at that time. There were no zoning restrictions that would prevent Jake from building a house on the land. There were no geological issues that would prevent a house from being built either. A test well had established that there was ample groundwater and that it was not brackish from ocean contamination. And power could easily be strung in from the power lines along the roadway, though at a fairly steep price. With this information in hand, Jake had put an offer in on it just before Jill and family had left for Japan.

He took the phone from Laura�s hand. �Hey, Jilly,� he said into it. �Good to hear from you. How was the motherland?�

�We had a great time!� she said enthusiastically. �And best of all, we did everything we wanted to do there for less than three hundred dollars a day!�

�That is something to be proud of, all right,� he remarked. �I assume you took lots of pictures?�

�Hundreds,� she said.

�I can�t wait to see them. So ... what�s up? Are you calling about the offer we made?�

�I am,� she said. �You�ll be happy to know that the Heliodorus family accepted your offer of five million, three hundred thousand for the property.�

�Fuck yeah!� Jake said happily.

�A dollar in the swear jar!� a gleeful voice exclaimed from the kitchen area�it sounded like Jessica. �You said �fuck�!�

Jake shook his head and made a mental note to pay up once the phone call was completed.

�They are agreeable to a thirty-day escrow which will start when the down payment money is wired to the bank�s escrow account,� Jill said.

�Right,� Jake said. �And the agreement was ten percent down?�

�Ten percent,� Jill confirmed. �That�s five hundred and thirty thousand dollars, Jake. More than half a million.�

�Yep,� Jake said. �When can you get it wired?�

�I can do it tomorrow, but you�ll have to come back to LA at some point to sign the papers.�

�No problem,� Jake told her. �I can fly back Saturday night and sign on Sunday and then be back to Oregon on Monday.�

�That�ll cost you extra to have the notary show up on a weekend,� she told him sourly.

�That�s okay,� Jake said. �Start putting things in motion.�

A sigh from Jill. �Jake, I have to ask you one more time. Are you sure about this? This is a lot of money we�re talking about, and when you come right down to it, it�s an unnecessary expense. You don�t really need a house on the ocean right now.�

Jake thought of the earthquake, and the traffic, and the smog, and his general hatred of living in the city of Los Angeles. �But I do, Jill,� he told her. �I really do. Now make it happen for me.�

Another sigh. �All right, Jake,� she said. �I�ll send the money out first thing in the morning.�

Los Angeles, California

October 13, 1994

The twin engine, propeller driven King Air 350 that belonged to Peterson Aviation Services Incorporated touched down gently on Runway 16R of Van Nuys Airport in the San Fernando Valley one hour and forty-two minutes after going wheels-up from San Jose International Airport in the San Francisco south bay area. The aircraft rolled out and exited the runway quite routinely and then navigated slowly along the taxiways until it arrived at the primary general aviation terminal. The engines shut down one by one and the door was opened from the inside, folding down to make a series of steps for easy egress from the fuselage.

It had been a routine flight in all aspects except one. For the two pilots who had been flying the aircraft these last six months and the group of musicians who had been the passengers on those flights, it was the end of their last trip together. Though there were two more nights of shows to be done�both were at The Forum in Inglewood, just outside of the Los Angeles city limits�there would be no more need for flying on the tour.

For Coop, Charlie, Liz, Little Stevie, and Dexter Price, this final flight meant little to them beyond relief to finally be back in Los Angeles where all except Charlie maintained a steady home and they would be sleeping in their own beds for the first time in months. They simply shook hands with the flight crew, exchanged a few parting pleasantries (including Charlie�s sincere gratitude for the crew�s fastidious attention to the non-existent HEPA filters which had kept him safe from high altitude microbes during the tour), and then gathered up their baggage for the walk to the terminal and the limousine that was waiting for them on the other side of it. For Natalie and Mark, on the other hand, there was a little more emotion attached. The two of them had fallen in love with each other during the tour�or at least deeply into lust�and they did not know when they were going to be able to see each other again. They stood together near the nose of the aircraft, holding each other tightly and whispering things into each other�s ears, and occasionally sharing soft, loving kisses. There were tears running down Nat�s face in a steady stream.

Celia witnessed all of this because this was a bit of an emotional moment for her as well. She was about to walk away from Suzie, the woman she had developed a considerable amount of infatuation for herself. She did not know when, if ever, she was going to see her again. She lingered inside the aircraft with her after everyone else had gone.

�Well ... it�s been fun, Suzie,� Celia told the pilot now.

Suzie smiled. �It could have been funner,� she told her.

Celia gave a sad chuckle at her words. Suzie had offered her mouth and her body to her indirectly many times and, when that produced no results, quite directly, coming right out and offering to service her in any way she wanted to be serviced. That had been last week, in Portland of all places! In the same hotel where she and Jake had come together one snowy night not so terribly long before. Suzie, of course, had no way of knowing or even suspecting what had occurred between her and Jake, so the offer coming in that city, in that hotel had been nothing but a coincidence, but it had still been a little shocking. She had been tempted�very tempted�to take Suzie up on the offer. Just a little lick between the legs. That wasn�t really cheating, was it? Certainly not after what she and Jake had done, right? But, in the end, she simply could not do it. She politely declined Suzie�s offer and spent the night alone in her hotel room, performing her own maintenance yet again.

�Yeah,� Celia acknowledged now. �It could have been, but alas ... it was not. No hard feelings?�

�I would think you�d know me better than that,� Suzie told her.

�I do. Just wanted to make sure. Any idea what your next assignment might be?�

�Returning the aircraft to San Diego,� she said. �After that, I have a few weeks off. I�ll get my apartment back in order, make sure all my bills are paid.�

�No trips?� Celia asked.

�No trips,� Suzie said. �I�ve done so much traveling on this assignment that staying home will be a novelty.� She gave a hopeful smile. �Maybe we can get together sometime. San Diego is not that far. I could drive up here in a few hours.�

�I�d like that,� Celia said. �For the friendship part though. Not for anything else. I enjoy your company. I�d like you to meet Greg. And I�d like to see what you�re like after a few drinks.�

�I enjoy your company as well, C,� she told her. �Even if it doesn�t include anything else. I�ll be looking forward to the visit.�

�I�ll call you as soon as things get settled,� Celia promised�and she was quite sincere about this. �And if I don�t, you have my personal number.�

�That I do.�

�Just don�t give it to the fine people of the entertainment press,� she warned.

�I would never do that,� she said.

�I know you wouldn�t,� Celia assured her. �And don�t feel weird about calling me if you just want to chat. Remember, I�m an ordinary person. I put my pants on one leg at a time.�

Suzie gave her a lecherous grin. �Do you take them off that way too?� she asked.

�Only if I�m the one taking them off ... not someone else,� she shot back.

They had a laugh about this.

�Well ... I guess I�d better get going,� Celia said. �It looks like Nat and Markie are done playing kissy-face with each other.� She held out her arms.

Suzie stepped into them and the two women shared a warm hug. Celia enjoyed the soft feel of her body against hers, the feminine smell of her skin. She drew back a little but did not release the embrace. Instead, she took her right hand and used her fingers to lift the pilot�s face up a bit. She then leaned in and put her lips to Suzie�s, kissing her. Her lips were soft, feminine, and felt good touching hers. She let the kiss linger for a bit before sliding out the tip of her tongue and letting it flit between the lips. Suzie�s tongue shot out to meet it. She moaned a little as they twirled their tongues together on a film of saliva.

Celia broke the kiss before it could become any more passionate. �Mmm,� she said with a sigh. �You taste like cinnamon gum.�

�What was that for?� Suzie asked, breathless.

Celia smiled. �I just wanted to see what it could be like,� she told her. She then released the embrace. �Keep in touch.�

�I will,� Suzie promised.

Celia gave her one last smile and then walked out of the aircraft. She headed for the terminal without looking back.

She climbed into the limousine with the members of her band. Instead of heading to a hotel�usually near the airport somewhere�it began to head for private houses, dropping people at their actual homes, one by one. Celia was the third to be deposited at her front doorstep.

Greg was inside waiting for her. He greeted her warmly, clearly happy that she was home. He never had made it out to see her during the tour.

�Jake came by yesterday,� Greg told her. �He just got back into town from Oregon two days ago.�

�That�s nice,� Celia said. �Let�s go to the bedroom.�

Greg smiled. �Don�t you want to see what he brought you?� he asked.

�Later,� she told him. �There�s something else I need to see right now.�

�Well ... if you insist,� he said, feigning reluctance.

�I insist,� she insisted.

She wasn�t sure if she really missed him or not�she thought maybe she did, at least a little bit anyway�but she certainly missed legally sanctioned sexual relations (as Nerdly would say).

The next hour was quite pleasurable for both of them.

Both of them dozed off after the sex was over, sleeping the sleep of the finally contented. Celia was awakened by the sound of the shower running some time later. She creaked open her eyes and saw that it was just past noon. She pondered getting out of bed for a moment but then decided she was just too comfortable. She stayed there, looking up at the ceiling fan and thinking about nothing in particular.

Greg came out of the shower room, naked as the day he was born. She took a moment to admire his form on an aesthetic level. He was thirty-eight years old and still quite hot looking. His face was handsome in an all-American sort of way, his body fit and trim from the eight to twelve hours a week he spent working out in the weight room. He was a Hollywood actor, after all, and physical fitness and attractiveness were mandatory for the position.

And then she found herself remembering what Jake had looked like naked. This sent a little burst of lust through her. Though Jake�s face was not as handsome as Greg�s, his body not as toned and tight, his muscles not as well-developed, he still cut a pretty good form. And then she started wondering what Suzie might have looked like naked. This sent another burst of lust through her as she pondered this thought.

At some point she noticed that her husband was not just getting dressed, but was getting dressed up. He had put on slacks and a dress shirt, was knotting one of his ties in a double Windsor.

�Uh ... are you going somewhere, hon?� she asked him.

He looked at her, as if trying to decide whether she was joking or not. �To Merrimack Studios,� he finally told her. �To attend the meeting with Johnny and Jerry Lancing and Frank Graham. I told you about it the last time we talked on the phone.�

�Oh ... yeah,� she said, remembering that now. Johnny was John Stapleton, Greg�s longtime agent, the man who had stood beside him even after the Northern Jungle fiasco. Jerry Lancing was one of the premier film producers of the last ten years, someone Greg had never worked with before. And Frank Graham was the head of production for Merrimack Studios, one of the more powerful media companies that operated out of Hollywood. They had a new project in the works and were interested in Greg Oldfellow as the leading man for it. They were going to meet today to talk things over. �I didn�t realize that was today.�

�I told you on the phone it was the day you came back,� Greg said. �We even had a discussion about how we�d have to get our first relations out of the way before I left for the meeting.�

She did not remember that part of the conversation at all, perhaps because she had been about a bottle and a half of wine in and Suzie had been sitting in her sitting room at the time. �I guess I just forgot,� she told Greg now. �Sorry. Being on the road makes me scatterbrained sometimes.�

�Apparently so,� he said, though not without a degree of affection. �Anyway, I�ve got a good feeling about this project. And after the success we had�that we�re still having�with Others, Lancing is really hot to get me into this film. He says I�d be perfect for the part.�

�What�s this flick going to be about?� she asked, seeing (with a fair degree of amusement) him wince at that word.

�Project,� he corrected sternly, �or film. I do not undertake consideration to appear in a �flick�.�

�How about a movie?� she asked.

�Now you�re just being sardonic,� he accused.

�Perhaps,� she said. �All right. What�s this project going to be about?�

�Some kind of a cop movie,� Greg replied.

�A cop movie? Hasn�t that been quite overdone?�

�That�s what I asked, but Lancing says that this cop movie will be different. He says it will be a realistic portrayal of a long-term street cop and what he goes through. Alcoholism, divorce, family issues, psychological problems, the whole bit. And there�s only one shootout in the whole thing, and that�s supposed to be a realistic portrayal of a police shooting as well.�

�Hmmm,� Celia said, pondering. �I guess that could be interesting.�

�I agree,� he said. �But then, I said that when the Northern Jungle was suggested to me as well. We know how that turned out. I�ll reserve judgement until I actually get a chance to read the script for the project.�

You read the script for the Northern Jungle project and you still signed up for that one, she thought, but did not say. �Well, I hope it works out for you,� she said. �I�m very happy things seem to have turned around in your career.�

�Me too,� he said. �And your career as well. Did I hear your last album just cleared triple platinum?�

�You did,� Celia said with a smile. �The tour did wonders for album sales, even after we raised the prices.�

�I can�t wait to hear the numbers at the next quarterly financial,� Greg said. �You might end up pulling in as much as I do this year.�

�Or maybe even more,� she said with a smile.

�Perhaps,� he said, though he did not seem to be terribly thrilled with that idea.

�I guess that selling out and raising those ticket prices was the thing to do after all,� she said. �True, I�m accused of being a money-hungry puta by a few, I�ve had people tell me to my face that I�m nothing but a corrupt record company lackey�all of which hurts me on a fundamental level, because that�s really not what I am�but people keep listening to me on the radio, and buying my CDs, and I sold out every venue I played. Every single one.�

�Yes, you did,� he said, coming to the side of the bed. He leaned over and gave her a kiss on the lips. �I�ve got to go now. The limo should be outside any second.�

�All right,� she told him. �Good luck at the meeting.�

�I make my own luck,� he told her.

He left the room a moment later, closing the door behind him as a signal to the maid that she should not go in there just now. A few minutes later she heard the single honk of a horn that signaled the limousine was here. There was a muted beep from the alarm control box, letting her know that one of the doors had opened. He was on his way to Hollywood.

She rolled out of bed and put her bare feet on the floor. She considered taking a shower for a moment and then decided not to. True, she smelled like sex, but was that such a bad thing to smell like? Especially after so many months of never smelling that way? She thought not.

She went to the dresser and pulled out a ragged pair of sweatpants that she�d owned for years. She pulled them on over her legs without bothering to put underwear on first. She then went to the closet and pulled out a long nightshirt that was even older. It was pale blue with fluffy white clouds printed everywhere on it. There were several holes in it these days�one near the left armpit, one near the rear collar, and one tiny one just below the right breast region�but it was comfortable and familiar. She pulled it on over her head without bothering with a brassiere.

She left the room without brushing her hair or her teeth and padded downstairs to the kitchen, which was empty at the moment and sparkling clean, almost sterile. There was a pitcher of iced tea in the refrigerator. She got a large glass out of the cupboard, filled it with ice from the dispenser in the freezer door, and then poured tea until it was full. She took a sip as she walked out into the entertainment room.

There, sitting on the cabinet that held the house�s stereo system, she found a black CD case. The insert was simple, printed in normal script: BRAINWASH�MASTER CD.

She picked it up and opened it, revealing an ordinary looking compact disc that had the same words printed on it in the same style. She pulled out the insert and took a look at the track listing. There were ten songs on the CD. Jim Scanlon was credited with lyrics and vocals on three of them, Marcie Scanlon on three more, Stephanie Zool on another three. The tenth song�which was actually the first cut on the album�was listed as a duet of Jim and Marcie together, the lyrics credited to Marcie. Celia had never met any of them, but she had heard their demo tape multiple times. The tape had been crude, not of the best quality, and with no overdubs or even basic engineering. And she had still enjoyed hearing it. She couldn�t wait to hear what their music sounded like after being produced by Jake and engineered by the Nerdlys.

She turned on the stereo and popped the CD into one of the empty slots in the changer. She pushed the play button on the machine, adjusted the volume a bit, and then sat back down on the couch.

The music took her away, as good music always did and always would.

She listened to the CD twice and then turned the stereo back off. She then picked up the phone and dialed a number from memory. The phone on the other end of the line rang three times before there was a click and a familiar female voice said �Hello?� in her ear.

�Hey, Teach,� she said. �It�s Celia.�

�C!� Laura replied, delight in her voice. �I heard you were coming home today. Are you back?�

�I am,� she said. �Just flew in a few hours ago. Now I�m sitting around in my jammies and thinking about getting into a bottle of wine.�

�I was just thinking about doing that myself,� Laura said. �Are you excited about the tour finally coming to an end?�

�Well, there are still two more shows to do. Tomorrow and Saturday night at the Forum.�

�Oh, I know that,� Laura said. �They�ve been talking about it endlessly on the radio and even on TV ever since we got home. All the tickets are sold out, but it sounds like some of the radio stations still have tickets to give away. People are very excited about it.�

�I�m just happy I�ll get to go home to my own bed after the shows,� she said. �No more hotel rooms. No more flights on the airplane.�

�So ... you�ve seen the last of your pilot friend then?� Laura asked.

�Probably not,� she said. �She lives in San Diego. We�re going to try to keep in touch.�

�Really?� Laura said, interest in her voice. �And how did the ... you know ... the temptations work out?�

�The temptations were a very real thing,� she told her. �But I was a good girl. She made the offer more than once, but ... I never took her up on it.�

�That�s good ... uh ... isn�t it?�

�It is,� Celia assured her. �At least I think it is. Anyway, are you getting excited about the wedding?� Jake and Laura�s date had been set as November 4, at a secluded oceanside resort near the town of Haena, on the north shore of Kauai, Hawaii. That particular date had been chosen because Celia would be home and able to attend, but Sharon Archer would still be far enough away from her projected delivery date of November 30 that travel across the ocean was reasonably safe.

�I�m actually kind of terrified,� Laura said. �And I�m not even sure why.�

�Weddings are stressful,� Celia said, remembering her own. �At least yours is low key, and with only a few guests. No bridesmaids or groomsmen. Just the maid of honor and the best man and you and Jake. And I think me and Nerdly are only in those positions as nods to tradition, right?�

�Well ... kind of,� Laura said.

�That�s okay. It�s a lot less hassle that way.�

�That�s the way Jake and I wanted it,� she said. �That�s okay, right? Should we have...�

�It�s perfect if that�s what you want,� Celia assured her. �How is your dress? Have you picked it up yet?�

�I don�t have a dress yet!� Laura said. �We only got home two days ago! I didn�t want to buy my wedding dress in Coos Bay.�

Celia shook her head back and forth. �Girl, you�d better get on the ball. You are only three weeks out.�

�I know,� Laura said. �I need to get on it. Will you help me after your last concert?�

�Absolutely,� Celia said. �We�ll tear up Rodeo Drive again, just like the last time.�

�It�s a date,� she said. �And I�m not planning on anything too elaborate. It�s going to be a simple ceremony. A simple dress will do me.�

�Did you invite your family?� Celia asked, remembering she had been pondering that dilemma the last time they�d gotten together.

�I sent them announcements,� Laura said. �If any of them had bothered to contact me, I would have invited them. None of them did.�

�It�s their loss,� Celia told her. �If they can�t be happy for you, fuck �em.�

�My feelings exactly.�

�Anyway,� Celia said, �the reason I actually called is to talk to Jake. Is he around?�

�Yeah,� she said. �He�s in the composition room working on something. I�ll go get him.�

�Thanks,� she said.

The phone thunked down and Celia heard the faint noises of the Kingsley household. A television was playing somewhere, and there was the sound of thumping footsteps. And then, for just a few seconds, she heard the sound of a drawn-out musical note�a G major if she was not mistaken. It sounded kind of like it was coming from an electric guitar, but not quite. It cut off instantly and then, a few moments later, the thumping of footsteps could be heard again. Finally, there was a shuffling sound and Jake was speaking to her.

�Hey, C,� he greeted. �Welcome home.�

She felt a little bit of a thrill at the sound of his voice and then pretended she hadn�t. �Thanks, Jake,� she returned. �It�s good to be home. Teach said you were composing. Hope I didn�t interrupt your creativity.�

�Naw, I was just playing around with something. Gordon gave me a talk box a few months back and I�ve been practicing with it.�

�A talk box?� she asked. �Like Peter Frampton�s?�

�That�s right. It�s kind of fun to play with. I took it up to Oregon with me and whenever things got too repetitious for me with the Brainwash recordings and I needed a break I would plug it in in one of the empty isolation rooms and play around with it. I think I�ve gotten to the point that I can make something approximating music with it.�

�Think you�ll use it on your next album?� she asked.

�Maybe,� he said. �If I can fit it in somewhere. And if I can get good enough with it that I�d want to try laying it down as a track.�

�It�s good to have new challenges musically,� she opined. �Keeps us sharp.�

�I agree,� he said. �Although I really do need to start concentrating on composing some actual tunes as well.�

�You and me both,� she said. �I haven�t picked up a guitar for anything other than performing in months. After things settle down a little, I�m going to lock myself into my room and start strumming some things out.�

�No hurry really for either of us,� Jake said. �We�re both still on the top of the album charts, both still getting a ton of airplay. We still have two more songs to release for radio promotion. Not to sound like a record company suit or anything, but we�ve got at least another year or so before people will start expecting us to come out with something new.�

�True,� she said. �But still, I�ll feel better when I get a few ideas penned out.�

�Yeah, me too,� Jake said. �I have a few older tunes I could work up, and Gordon and I are still planning to put together that duet.�

�Oh yeah?�

�Yeah,� he said. �We haven�t been able to actually sit down together since that night that Laura had her little run-in with the sea lion, but...�

Celia giggled into the phone. �That is such an awesome story,� she said. �I still laugh whenever I think about it.�

�Yeah, me too to tell you the truth. That was a hell of a night. Anyway, I�ve been working on my part of the tune and G�s been working on his. We�re gonna get together on Monday night and see what we�ve accomplished.�

�That should be interesting,� Celia said.

�I�m hoping so. Fusing rock and rap together isn�t easy, but I know it can be done.�

�Well, good luck with it. I can�t wait to hear what you come up with. If it�s anything like Step Inside, I�m sure people will love it.�

�That�s the theory we�re operating under.�

�Anyway,� Celia said. �The reason I called: I just listened to the master from Brainwash.�

�Yeah?� he returned. �What did you think?�

�It�s wonderful,� she said, quite honestly. �All ten tracks are muy bien. Masterpieces of composition and engineering. Especially the first cut, the duet.�

�Together,� Jake said. �That�s going to be their breakout hit. That tune is going to put Brainwash on the map.�

�It�s got energy, power,� Celia agreed. �I found myself actually having an emotional reaction as I listened to it.�

�The Nerdlys outdid themselves on that cut,� he said. �Of course, they had good material to work with, but they polished the shit out of that one. I thought Jim and Steph were going to kill them for a little bit there�all those overdub repeats, all the re-takes, all the tweaks on the bridge section�but I got a call from Jim the other day after they all got their master copies. They are quite pleased with the end effort. He said it�s hard to believe they�re even listening to their own shit.�

�So, they�re happy with it then?�

�Ecstatic with it. They can�t wait to hear themselves on the radio, though they�re still thinking that something�s going to prevent that.�

�Why in the world would they think that at this point in the process?� she asked.

�They�ve been told for years they don�t have the right look for success,� he said. �I guess when you�ve been held down so many times you just don�t expect anything else.�

�Well, I can�t wait to show them they�re wrong. What�s the next step?�

�Pauline and I are going to meet with the suits over at Aristocrat on Monday. We�re going to give the master to them and ask them to contract with us for MD&P.�

�And you think they�ll do it?� she asked.

�I think they�ll do it,� he replied. �As my man Don Corleone likes to say: We�re going to make them an offer they can�t refuse.�

Los Angeles, California

October 17, 1994

Jake and Pauline were led into the meeting room on the top floor of the Aristocrat Records building as soon as they arrived. Both were dressed stylishly, but not formally. Jake wore a pair of slacks and a button up dress shirt without a tie. Pauline wore a blouse with a skirt, leather pumps, and no nylons. The suits they were meeting with�Joshua Flag, the head of the A&R department; Miles Crawford, the head of promotions; and James Rigger, the head of New Artist Development�were all wearing suits, of course. This did not make them look like stereotypical businessmen, however. Rigger had a gold stud in his left ear. Flag had hair longer than Jake�s. And Crawford, the oldest of the trio, had on a pair of dark sunglasses even though they were inside and the blinds had been closed.

�Welcome!� greeted Crawford, his phony, ass-kissing grin fixed firmly upon his face. He waved at the table where glasses of ice water and a small snack tray had been laid out. �Have a seat!�

Jake and Pauline took seats across from the suits. They then refused the offer of an alcoholic beverage and/or a few lines of premium cocaine. After that, they engaged in a few minutes of preliminaries, focusing heavily on the success of the Celia Valdez tour and the ongoing sales of both Celia�s and Jake�s albums. From there, they headed into a bit more delicate of a subject.

�I hear your wedding is coming up soon, Jake,� Crawford said.

Jake raised his eyebrows up a bit. God, how he hated dealing with these slimy rats on any level, but he really loathed when they tried to be personal with him. �Where did you hear that?� he asked.

�Oh, word gets around,� Crawford said, not offering any more than that.

�I guess it does,� Jake said sourly.

�I hear it�s to be in Hawaii?� Crawford said. �In early November, correct?�

�That�s right,� Jake confirmed.

�I haven�t received my invitation yet,� Crawford told him. �I�m not sure if I�m free on the date in question, but if I am, I�m always up for a little trip to the tropics.�

Jake stared at the man, fighting to keep his face neutral. Of all the fucking nerve! �I�m sorry, Crawford,� he said. �We�re only inviting friends and family to the wedding.�

Crawford�s grin slipped considerably. �I see,� he said slowly.

�Uh ... what Jake means to say,� Pauline quickly put in, �is that it�s to be a small ceremony, with limited seating, and Jake and Laura both prefer to keep business relationships separate from personal relationships. Right, Jake?�

�Right,� he said. �And speaking of business, how about we get to it? Anyone up for that?�

�Of course,� Crawford said, his little feelers quite obviously injured. Jake didn�t care. �What was it you wanted to talk about?�

�Are you already putting together your next albums?� asked Rigger.

�We have not started on our next albums as of yet,� Jake said. �But we will start on them soon. In the meantime, however, KVA Records has another project we�d like to discuss.�

�Another project?� asked Crawford. �What do you mean?�

Jake looked at him carefully. �Are you really saying you have no idea what I�m talking about?�

�I�m sure I do not,� Crawford assured him. �Should I?�

�I guess not,� Jake said. It seemed that Crawford and his boys did not keep their ears as close to the ground as they liked to imply. True, they had known about his upcoming wedding�had probably heard about it from one of the tour managers who had heard about it by overhearing Celia talk�but they had no idea that Jake and the Nerdlys had just spent the past four and a half months up in Oregon recording and mastering an album.

�KVA Records has signed a new act to our label,� Pauline said, opening her briefcase. She pulled out a copy of the master CD. �They are called Brainwash and they are an experienced touring rock band out of Providence, Rhode Island.�

�You�ve signed an act to your label?� Rigger asked incredulously. �An unknown act?�

�That is correct,� Pauline said. �And for the past five months we have been working on recording a CD from them. That CD is what I now hold in my hand.�

�They�re not exactly an unknown act,� Jake put in. �They�re quite well-known throughout the New England region. They have been doing the club scene there for a number of years and they sell out every venue they perform in.�

�But they�ve never moved beyond New England?� asked Rigger.

�They have not,� Pauline said.

�Have they tried?� he wanted to know.

�They have,� Jake said, looking at the New Artist Development �expert� sternly. �It seems that no record company exec even wants to give their music a listen because they don�t look good on camera.�

�Ahhh,� said Rigger knowingly. �They�re unattractive. That does explain things.�

�They�re not unattractive,� Jake said. �They�re just not glamorous Hollywood attractive.�

�The two amount to the same thing,� said Crawford.

Jake shook his head. �You people are so predictable,� he said.

Crawford ignored this remark. �Why are you telling us about this band?� he asked. �Why are you bringing a master CD here? Surely, you are not suggesting that we sign a band that has been passed on by others before us?�

Jake had to suppress the urge to say: �Don�t call me Shirley.� Somehow, he managed.

�We�re not suggesting you sign them,� Pauline said. �We have already signed them, have already paid to have this recording made, and are prepared to pay for the manufacturing and distribution costs. We just want the same thing we want from every other KVA project. We want you to promote the album for us.�

�Impossible,� said Rigger, shaking his head.

�I agree,� said Crawford.

�As do I,� said Flag.

Jake looked at the three of them. So far, things were going pretty much as he had expected. They were giving exactly the knee-jerk rejection of the proposal he had predicted. �You would reject this deal without even listening to the CD?� he asked them.

�We don�t need to listen to the CD,� said Flag. �You�re suggesting that I use my promotional apparatus and connections to promote an album that has no chance of succeeding. That�s absurd.�

�Absurd?� Pauline asked. She lifted the CD case and waved it before them. �How do you know that this isn�t some of the best music ever laid down on a CD? You�re seriously condemning this effort without even hearing it?�

�If they were that good, someone would have signed them by now,� Flag said confidently.

�Someone did sign them,� Pauline said. �We did.�

�You do not count,� Crawford said. �You can call yourself a record company all you want, but you don�t know the first thing about production and promotion of music.�

Jake�s eyebrows went up again. �Are you shitting me right now, Crawford?� he asked. �I don�t know the first thing about production or promotion? Me, who has produced four of the best-selling albums of the past decade over the last twenty-four months? Me, who has personally directed the promotion of all of those albums and the individual songs on them and kept at least one tune in the Top 25 at all times during that time period? Me, who has brought in millions of dollars in profit for your precious stockholders? Do you maybe want to reconsider that statement?�

�I will admit that you did a passable job on the production of those albums,� Crawford told him. �And your suggestions about promotion of the tunes did turn out advantageous, but that was because of the talent you and Celia possess and the preexisting fame each of you came into your solo careers with.�

�Preexisting fame?� Pauline asked. �Celia was considered a has-been. Those morons over at National didn�t even want to listen to her CD when it was first presented to them. And Jake went outside his genre. They only signed him because they heard how amazing Celia�s album actually was and it was a package deal.�

�That is neither here nor there,� Crawford said dismissively.

�What the fuck does that mean?� Jake barked at him.

�It means that this Brainstem thing you�re suggesting is a completely different animal.�

�Brainwash,� Jake corrected. �And it�s not a different animal at all. It�s an album that KVA Records has put together, that we have contracted with a band to get out into the world, and we want you people to promote it.�

�I�m afraid that is impossible,� Crawford said.

�Impossible?� Jake asked.

�We are not in the business of promoting unknown bands that one of our independent labels just drags in off the street,� Crawford told them. �We�re in the business of making money, not losing it.�

�How would you lose money on this deal?� Pauline asked.

�Excuse me?� Crawford asked, as if she were an idiot.

�Tell me how you would lose money,� she said again. �KVA has already paid for the production of the album and provided a master copy. KVA will pay, in advance, for the manufacturing and distribution costs. All we want you to do is use the promotional machinery that is already in place to get the music some airplay. In return, we�re prepared to offer you forty percent royalties on sales of the album.�

�Forty percent of nothing is still nothing,� Flag said.

�I would think you would have more faith in Jake�s ability to produce good music than that,� Pauline said. �But even if you don�t, even if the album doesn�t sell a single copy, how is that costing Aristocrat any money? The worst-case scenario for you is that you don�t make any money for using your promotional apparatus. Since we paid for everything else, there is simply no way you can lose so much as a penny.�

It was a good point, an indisputable point you might even say, but Crawford and company were still not buying it. �There�s more to it than just the direct profit,� Rigger said.

�Please explain,� Pauline said.

�I can�t wait to hear this one,� Jake said with a roll of the eyes and a shake of the head.

�It�s a matter of good faith,� Rigger said. �We maintain a large collection of contacts in the radio industry and they are paid�indirectly of course�to promote songs and artists that we ask them to promote. It�s a system that has worked well for years, but it has a delicate balance. The system only works when we give them quality tunes to promote, tunes that will connect with their listeners who will then want to buy the albums from us. If we start giving them crap music that nobody wants to listen to, they�re forced to go against our wishes and stop playing it. That creates a loss of good faith. Loss of good faith leads down a road to a breakdown in the very system that supports both industries.�

�Well put!� Crawford said.

�Exactly,� said Flag. �And that�s why we cannot promote these Brainwater people.�

�Brainwash,� corrected Pauline.

�Whatever,� said Crawford.

�Let me get this straight,� Jake said, slowly, calmly. �You�re suggesting that if you were to promote Brainwash for us as we request, that it could bring about the destruction of the entire music and radio industry as we know it?�

�It could be a step in that direction, yes,� Rigger said.

�But you haven�t even listened to their tunes,� Jake said. �Again, how do you know that this isn�t the best music anyone has ever put out since the Eagles and Fleetwood Mac?�

�That�s beside the point,� Rigger said.

�Exactly,� Crawford added. �We don�t need to listen to it to know that this could not be an advantageous deal for us.�

Jake looked at his sister, seeing that she was looking back at him. He gave her a little smile and a little nod of the head. It was time to play their trump card.

�An advantageous deal,� Pauline said slowly. �That�s an interesting term, Crawford. Would you say that the contract you�ve enjoyed with KVA Records for the promotion of Jake and Celia�s second solo albums has been an advantageous deal?�

�Yes, it has,� Crawford said. �Nobody is disputing that. But again, you were already established artists when we signed you. We knew you would make money for us.�

�Uh huh,� Pauline said. �And do you know that if we signed with you for Jake and Celia�s third albums, that that would be advantageous as well?�

�We have no reason to believe otherwise,� Crawford said. �Provided both Jake and Celia stick with the formula that has made them successful to this point.�

�There is no fucking formula,� Jake said with a shake of the head. �We just make music.�

Before any of the suits could respond to that, Pauline steered them back on course. �As was said earlier,� she said, �that is neither here nor there. My point is that KVA signed with Aristocrat only for those two albums. We are under no obligation to sign with you for any further albums.�

�What do you mean?� asked Crawford. �I thought we had a good working relationship with each other.�

�We had an acceptable business relationship with you,� Pauline corrected. �There are other labels who would be happy to sign Jake and Celia for their next albums. And I�m sure that any or all of them would be happy to promote Brainwash for us as a condition of that deal.�

�What are you saying?� Crawford asked. �Are you suggesting you would refuse to sign with us, even if we offered the lowest royalty rate, if this group of yours is not promoted?�

�That is exactly what we�re saying,� Pauline said. �From this point forward, KVA Records will not do business with any corporate label if that label does not agree to promote Brainwash to the best of their ability, using all means at their disposal.�

�That�s blackmail!� Rigger protested.

�No,� Jake said, �it�s business. You only call it blackmail because you�re not on the winning side of it.�

�Well, you can just forget it!� Flag said. �We do not give into threats!�

�Now wait a minute,� Crawford said, holding up a hand. �Let�s talk about this for a minute.�

�Miles!� Flag said. �There is nothing to talk about! We do not do business this way!�

�Then you do not do business with us,� Pauline said with a smile. �Shall we conclude the meeting, gentlemen?�

�Yes!� said Flag.

�Not just yet,� said Crawford. His two comrades fumed at him, but kept their mouths closed for the moment. He turned back to Pauline. �What guarantee would we have that KVA would sign with us for the next Celia Valdez and Jake Kingsley albums if we did agree to go through with this promotion?�

�We would give you a deal similar to what we gave you for releasing Coop from his contract,� she said. �There will be a competitive bid for terms of the next albums by Jake and Celia. You will have the right to match the lowest bid and be awarded that contract as long as all other things remain equal�and that would include the obligation to promote Brainwash on any further albums.�

�Although, in honesty,� Jake said, �I�m pretty sure you�re going to be falling all over yourselves to promote Brainwash after you see what their first album does. They�re a treasure trove, guys. I�m not bullshitting you about that.�

�Hmmph,� Rigger said in disgust, shaking his head.

�We should reject this ridiculous proposal on general principles, Miles,� Flag said.

�Do that,� Jake said, �and you and your stockholders will be missing out on an assload of future revenue. Even if Brainwash tanks, you�ll never again be allowed to bid for a Jake Kingsley or Celia Valdez contract. Never. Not even if you offered us five percent and to pay for all production costs. We would shun you in perpetuity on our general principles.�

�They�re bluffing,� Rigger said confidently.

�We do not bluff,� Pauline said.

Crawford looked at them thoughtfully for a moment and then said: �You�re offering forty percent royalties for these Brain people, huh?�

�Brainwash,� Pauline said. �And yes. Forty percent.�

�Well ... that is a good amount for an unknown band,� Crawford said.

�I would go so far as to say it�s more than fair,� Jake said.

Crawford nodded. �Maybe we�ll at least take a listen to their CD.�

Laura was more than a little nervous as the dinner hour approached. In the kitchen, Elsa was preparing a feast of chicken enchiladas, homemade Spanish rice, and homemade refried beans. The smells of the cooking were incredible. Jake was setting up the bar to make margaritas for their alcoholic enjoyment. And Laura sat on the couch, wondering how things were going to go when Neesh and Gordon got here.

She had not seen or spoken to Neesh since that fabled night in Malibu when the dark-skinned beauty almost seduced her out on the dark beach. Though her injuries had healed from her encounter with the sea lion�mostly anyway, her toenails were still in the process of growing back and one of her toes now had a little jig where one had not existed before�her memories of the encounter were still quite fresh, quite vivid, quite erotic, and mixed with a large dash of guilt. She had still told no one about what had happened between her and Neesh. She wondered if Neesh had kept quiet as well.

There is no way she would have told Gordon about what we did, Laura told herself. Is there?

She didn�t think so, not after all her talk about �girl time� and �a little fun between the ladies�. While it was true that she and Neesh had been quite drunk at the time, it seemed obvious that Gordon�s fianc� did not have a lot of compunction about engaging in a little lesbian fun when the opportunity presented itself. Laura was quite certain that she was not the first woman Neesh had dallied with. But she had gotten the strong impression that Neesh kept this part of her life a secret from Gordon. It would be extremely unlikely she would have told him about it.

Just like you didn�t tell Jake about it, she thought.

�That�s not the same thing,� she said, and then winced as she realized that she had spoken aloud, and to herself.

She took a deep breath and then slowly let it out. Will she bring up what happened between us? she wondered. Not in front of Jake, of course, but when we�re alone? And if she does, what will I do? What will I say?

Here, she was torn in two directions. Her head, the part she did most of her thinking with, told her that she needed to take Neesh aside at some point, talk to her plainly and matter-of-factly and tell her that what happened between them that night had been a drunken mistake, that she regretted it now, and that nothing like that would ever happen again. But her loins ... they were saying something else entirely.

Remember what those boobs felt like in your hand, in your mouth? her loins asked greedily. Remember the taste of that nipple on your tongue, the feel of those soft, sexy lips kissing their way down your body, heading for the Gates of Heaven? Do you think maybe she�d be up for a little something like that again?

�Jesus, get yourself under control, girl,� she told herself, this time not realizing she�d spoken aloud.

By the time five o�clock rolled around, she was determined that the course of action her head dictated was how it was going to be. It was the right thing to do and she would do it. She would get Neesh alone and tell her that they could remain friends�she really did enjoy Neesh�s company on that level�but that there could be no more �girl time� between them.

She felt better having made this decision; like a responsible, rational adult. But she could not help but notice that her vagina was absolutely soaked from sexual excitement. Well, that was just a byproduct of turning the memory of that night around in her head. It was a natural biological response and nothing more. She was pondering whether she should slip into the bathroom for a few minutes to relieve the pressure. It would be easy enough to do. She was wearing a white and yellow summer dress and a frilly pair of panties underneath. It would be a simple matter of pulling up the dress, pulling her panties down a bit, and going to town. The way she felt, it wouldn�t take but two minutes.

Alas, this was not to be. The doorbell rang, announcing the arrival of their guests.

Elsa opened the door for them and the couple entered the house. With another deep breath to gather her courage, Laura stood from the couch and went to greet them.

As always, the dress code at Jake�s house was informal-casual. Gordon was dressed in a pair of jeans and a simple t-shirt. He carried a portable electric piano in his hands. Neesh had adhered to the dress code as well. She had on a denim miniskirt that fell to mid-thigh and a sleeveless blouse. The top two buttons of her blouse were undone, allowing a fair amount of her cleavage to show. Nothing trashy or risqu�, but quite alluring. She carried a bottle of expensive tequila.

The two musicians greeted each other warmly, sharing a complex handshake and a bro-hug. Then Gordon came over and gave Laura a big hug. She returned it affectionately. She really did like Gordon�a healthy chunk of the guilt she felt came from the fact that it was Gordon�s fianc� she had enjoyed �girl-time� with.

Jake, meanwhile, was getting a hug and a kiss on the cheek from Neesh.

�I guess now that you�ve seen me naked, we�re on hugging terms, huh?� she asked him.

�That sounds like a good rule,� Jake agreed with a chuckle.

And then Neesh turned to Laura. She had a smile on her face and a sparkle in her eyes. �Hey, Teach,� she greeted. �Tripped over any sea animals lately?�

Laura laughed and held out her arms. �Not lately,� she told her.

They embraced. She felt Neesh�s body against hers, felt those wonderous breasts pushing against her, smelled the intoxicating smell of her skin. Neesh kissed her lightly on her cheek, patted her back a few times, and that was it. A normal, everyday hug of greeting between two female friends who hadn�t seen each other in a while.

But Laura felt herself flushing all the same. Her resolve, however, remained firm.

Neesh gave no hint whatsoever of what had occurred between them the last time they were together. The four of them sat down and drank a few margaritas before dinner, chatting about such things as the upcoming wedding.

�I�ve chartered a Gulfstream to fly us direct to Kauai the day before the wedding,� Jake told the couple. �You two are more than welcome to fly with us if you want.�

�Who is gonna be on the flight?� Gordon asked.

�Well, Laura and I, obviously,� he replied. �Greg and Celia. The Nerdlys. Coop and whoever he brings as a guest. Pauline and Obie and Tabby. And Elsa, of course.�

�What about that tranny-fucking motherfucker?� Gordon asked.

�Charlie? He�ll be at the wedding�him and his boyfriend presumably�but they�re flying in out of SFO. So are my parents, Nerdly�s parents, and Jill, our accountant, and her parents.�

�You invited your accountant to your wedding?� Neesh asked.

�She�s a good accountant,� he said with a smile.

�There is a lot to be said for a good accountant,� Gordon said seriously.

�Besides, she�s my twin. I�m pretty much obligated to invite her.�

�Your twin?� Neesh asked, confused.

�It�s a long story,� Jake told her.

Gordon turned to his fianc�. �What do you say, baby?� he asked. �You wanna fly private with all these whities and their long-sufferin� help to the hoedown?�

�Sounds good to me,� she said. �It�s not like we aren�t always the only people of color in the cabin when we fly first class.�

�That�s the truth,� Gordon agreed. �Save us a couple of seats, homey. We�ll take you up on your offer.�

�It�s gonna be a fun flight,� Jake said.

At the dinner table, the two couples sat across from each other. Elsa served the food and then retreated, as usual. Her chicken enchiladas were divine, and everyone had at least two helpings of everything, washing the food down with more of Jake�s margaritas (made with the tequila Neesh and Gordon had brought) from a pitcher on the table. Jake and Gordon spoke about the song they were going to be working on, dominating most of the conversation. Laura spent a lot of the time looking at Neesh, searching for any kind of hint in her eyes, on her face, in her mannerisms, any kind of teasing light, any kind of flirtation.

She saw nothing of the sort, just the eyes and face of a dinner guest here to visit with friends.

After dinner, while Elsa was cleaning up the dishes and putting the kitchen and dining room back to its usual immaculate self, the four of them stepped out onto the back deck, fresh margaritas in their hands. Jake fired up a fat joint he�d rolled earlier and they passed it around until it was but a roach, snubbed out in the ashtray.

�Pretty good shit, homey,� Gordon remarked, his eyes half-lidded.

�Naturally,� Jake said.

�It puts me in the perfect mood for a little composition. Shall we go in and see what we�ve come up with?�

�Let�s do it,� Jake said, standing up.

As they headed for the house, Laura, feeling her nervousness kick up a few notches, looked over at Neesh. Now would be a good time to have their conversation, to lay down the rules. �Do you want to stay out here for a while?� she asked her. �Watch the sun go down over the city?� She steeled herself a little. �Catch up on things?�

�How about we go watch the boys for a bit?� Neesh suggested instead. �I�m kind of curious to see what they came up with.�

�Oh ... sure, of course,� Laura said, feeling mixed emotions. On the one hand, she was anxious to get the serious talk over with. But on the other, she was not terribly good at confrontation and was kind of relieved to put it off for now. Maybe a few more drinks would help her along.

They went into the entertainment room. Gordon set up his electric piano on one of the tables while Jake disappeared to the composition room to retrieve his guitar. Neesh and Laura sat next to each other on the couch across from Gordon, a respectable amount of distance between them.

�Do you have any white wine?� Neesh asked politely, holding up her margarita glass. �I think I should probably quit with these things or I�m gonna have a sour stomach later on.�

�You bet,� Laura chirped brightly. She walked over to the bar and pulled a bottle of Inglenook chardonnay out of the refrigerator. By the time she had opened it and poured two glasses, Jake had returned and sat on a chair next to Gordon.

The song Jake and Gordon were working on did not have a name as of yet. Jake had apparently been working on the chorus, both melody and lyrics, and he sang out what he�d come up with so far, strumming in the key of G major. Each chorus he sang started with the same two lines but then ended with different variations of the theme for the second two lines.

�I like it, homey,� G told him after hearing him run through it twice. �Now let me show you what I got.�

Gordon then played a melody on the piano. His, however, was in the key of E major, and at an entirely different tempo than Jake had been utilizing. He sang out three verses, all of them in the theme of some malevolent and ignorant entity taking advantage of him and treating him like a possession. There was a clear analogy to slavery in his words. But he wasn�t singing about the slave trade. It was clear he was singing about record company executives and their contracts.

�Hard hitting,� Jake said, visibly impressed after hearing the first go through.

�That shit�s from the heart, brother,� G told him. �From the fuckin� heart.�

�I feel it,� Jake said, nodding. �And I have a bridge I�m working on to throw in there as well.�

�Can�t wait to hear it,� Gordon said.

�What about the different keys?� Laura suddenly spoke up, the musician in her pushing forward for the first time in a while. She hadn�t picked up her saxophone in months now�hadn�t even taken it to Oregon with her�but listening to the composition just now stirred something. �I mean, the tempo is easy to adjust once you start putting it together, but you�re both composing in different keys.�

�I like E major,� Gordon said. �It�s what most of my tunes are composed in.�

�That makes sense,� Laura said. �You have a baritone voice and the two go together. Just like Jake likes G major and F major to go with his tenor voice. But you�ll have to pick one or the other, won�t you?�

�Not necessarily,� Jake said. �We can modulate. It�s been done many times before.�

�Well ... yes,� she agreed, �but it�s very hard to pull off successfully.�

Jake simply shrugged. �The Beatles did it with Penny Lane, Genesis with Invisible Touch, Bon Jovi with Livin� on a Prayer, and Pink Floyd with pretty much all of their complex tunes.�

�Michael Jackson, Diana Ross, and Whitney Houston did that shit too,� Gordon put in. �It can be done.�

Neesh was shaking her head. �I don�t have the slightest idea what any of you are talking about,� she said.

�The key is the scale of notes the song is played in,� Laura told her. �It tends to be based on the range of the vocalist, but not always. Anyway, most songs remain in the same key throughout. To change key, or modulate, as the term goes, makes the music a lot more complex to play for one thing, but it also makes parts of the song sound different from each other. It�s hard to pull off without it jangling the listener. They may not know anything about music, but they�ll notice something off if you change key.�

�Unless you do it right,� Jake said. �And if we do this, we�ll do it right.�

�Fuckin� A,� Gordon agreed.

Neesh shook her head again. �I still don�t have any idea what you all are talking about. Can we maybe talk about the law and contracts for a bit?�

They did not. Instead, the two musicians went back to work, playing their music for each other and experimenting with ways to combine it. Neesh and Laura watched them, mostly in silence, and sipped their wine, with Laura playing proper host and getting up to refill their glasses when they were empty. Before long, they�d worked their way through a bottle and a half.

After pouring their latest, Neesh leaned over to Laura just as she sat back down. �This is a getting a little bit tedious for me,� she whispered. �How about we go kick back on that deck out there now?�

Laura was feeling the effects of the wine quite strongly. Her nervousness about speaking of such a delicate subject was still there, but had retreated considerably. �Let�s do it,� she whispered back. She stood up again and turned to Gordon and Jake. �We�re going to go sit out on the deck for a bit, guys.�

�Sounds good,� Jake said without looking up at her, without even halting the strumming he�d been doing on his guitar. Gordon didn�t acknowledge the statement at all. He was busy penciling down a few notes on his pad.

�All right then,� Neesh said with a little smile. �Shall we head out?�

�We should,� Laura agreed.

Laura opened the sliding glass door and they stepped out onto the deck. She closed the door behind her, cutting off the sound of the music being played in the entertainment room. They sat down on the reclining chairs and looked out over the city. The sun was now down and the lights of Los Angeles were shining brightly. Off in the distance, the lights of a police helicopter blinked. It was even clear enough to see the buildings downtown. The temperature was quite pleasant, in the mid-sixties.

�Nice night,� Neesh remarked.

�It is,� Laura agreed.

�Gordon tells me that the property Jake bought on the ocean closed escrow last month.�

�That�s right,� Laura said. �He�s got a contractor working on improving the road and stringing power lines right now. And he�s got meetings scheduled with an architecture firm to start designing the house.�

�That�s very exciting,� Neesh said. �What�s he going to have them build? A mansion?�

She shook her head. �It�s going to be a big house�eight thousand square feet total, plus a guest house that will be another two thousand. But it�s all going to be single story. Jake is not pretentious. He wants a house that�s comfortable and has all the room he wants and needs, but not one that�s going to say, �look how rich I am�. He wants it to be the sort of house that people will look at�although the only way they�ll be able to see it is if they�re on a boat out in the ocean or flying over in an aircraft�and hardly even notice.�

�Interesting,� Neesh said thoughtfully. �That explains a lot about the wedding you two are having. Simple, intimate, and secluded.�

�It�s what we wanted,� she said.

�Really?� she asked. �Didn�t you ever dream about a huge production with hundreds of guests, the event of the season for your wedding? Everyone focusing on you, the bride?�

�No,� she said quite honestly. �The very thought would terrify me. In truth, I would�ve been happy driving down to the Justice of the Peace in our jeans and getting married that way.�

�You�re kidding,� Neesh said.

�Not at all,� she said. �Jake insisted that we have some sort of ceremony though. He wants his family and friends to be there.� She giggled a little. �And he wants to stomp on a wine glass at the end of the ceremony.�

�Stomp on a wine glass?� she asked. �He�s not Jewish, is he?�

�No, he�s not religious at all. Nerdly did that at his wedding, however, and Jake thought it was very cool.� Another giggle. �He told me once that the real reason he asked me to marry him was so he could stomp on the glass.�

Neesh laughed. �You two are an interesting couple,� she said. �I think you�re right for each other.�

�So do I,� Laura said. She swallowed. �And that�s why ... I wanted to talk to you about something.�

Neesh looked at her. �What happened on the beach the last time we were together?� she asked.

�Yeah,� Laura said. �About that.�

�I assume you�re not talking about you tripping over the sea lion and us having to sneak in the house naked?�

�No,� she said, �although that is a great story now that the injuries have healed and my toenails are growing back. I�m talking about what happened just before that.�

The light was dim out here, provided only by the inside lights shining through the windows, but it was enough that Laura could see Neesh smiling fondly. �That was just girl-time, Teach,� she said. �And it was interrupted girl-time at that.�

�You ... uh ... you seem to think of it a lot more casually than I�m able to,� she said.

�Why shouldn�t it be?� Neesh asked her. �It�s not like it�s cheating. It�s just two girls...� a little naughty giggle, � ... sometimes three, having some fun, sharing pleasures. Nobody can get pregnant from it. Nobody can get no disease from it�at least not very easily�and the very thought of it tends to turn guys on something fierce if they know about it. So, tell me, what�s wrong with a little girl-time every now and then?�

�Does Gordon know about your girl-time encounters?� Laura asked her.

�No,� she said without hesitation. �Gordon is a good man and I love him dearly, but I don�t think we�d see eye to eye on girl-time.�

�That�s what�s wrong with it,� Laura told her. �It�s deception and lying.�

Neesh simply shrugged. �All couples deceive each other and lie to each other about something. We don�t live in a seventies TV show here.�

�True, but...�

�Did you tell Jake about what happened between us?� Neesh asked her. �I�m assuming you haven�t since he�s acting pretty normal around me.�

�I didn�t,� she said. �I didn�t tell anyone about it.�

�Is that because you�re ashamed about what we did?�

�Well ... no,� she said. �I�m not ashamed, just ... guilty. And I don�t think telling Jake about what happened would help anything.�

She nodded. �I think I agree with you there.�

�But we can never do that again,� Laura said.

�No?� Neesh asked. �You didn�t enjoy it?�

Laura sighed. �Actually, I enjoyed it quite a lot,� she admitted. �Too much.�

�No such thing as enjoying something too much,� Neesh proclaimed.

�Oh, but there is,� Laura said. �And this is one of those things. I told Jake about what I did with those women in South America and he understood. He wasn�t upset with me about it. But what you and I did was different than that.�

�In what way?�

�I know your name,� she said. �You�re not an anonymous groupie that I�ll never see again. You�re the fianc� of one of Jake�s best friends. That puts this on a completely different level.�

�I suppose,� Neesh said thoughtfully. �Tell me something though, are you sad that we didn�t get to finish what we started that night?�

Laura nodded. �Yes,� she said.

Neesh smiled. �And do you think about what would have happened if we hadn�t lost our clothes, how it would�ve been, how it would�ve felt?�

�All the time,� Laura said.

�Me too,� Neesh said. �I think back about how you told me not to tease you. I should�ve listened. If I wouldn�t have teased, I could�ve had my mouth on your pussy and you never would�ve thought about those clothes, right?�

Laura licked her lips, feeling wetness seeping into her down below despite her resolve. She resisted an urge to touch the nipple on her breast through her dress. �Most likely,� she said, in a voice that wasn�t quite steady.

�But you don�t want to have girl-time with me anymore?�

�I can�t,� Laura said. �I really can�t.�

Neesh nodded. �Well, all right then,� she said. �I guess I have to respect your wishes.�

�Thank you,� Laura said, relieved (but also disappointed?). �I hope this whole thing doesn�t alter our friendship. Because I really do enjoy having you as a friend, Neesh.�

�Don�t you worry about that,� Neesh told her. �Friendship is more important than girl-time. One should not impact the other.�

�That�s good to know,� Laura said.

They talked no more of girl-time or what had happened between them. Instead, they talked of the upcoming wedding a little more, and then of Neesh and Gordon�s wedding in April. They finished their wine and did not pour any more.

�Well,� said Neesh. �You suppose we ought to go back in and see how our menfolk are doing?�

�I guess so,� Laura said.

They went back into the house. Gordon and Jake were still strumming guitar strings, playing piano keys, and singing verses and choruses. They hardly noticed the two ladies returning.

They sat and watched for a few minutes and then Neesh stood up. �Excuse me for a few,� she said. �I have to go pee.�

�You know where it�s at,� Laura said.

�Yes, I do,� Neesh concurred. She headed out the back of the entertainment room to the half bath in the hallway that led to the living room. She disappeared inside and shut the door behind her.

A few minutes went by. Laura watched the two musicians play�it seemed they were getting the basics of a tune dialed in�and thought about how her conversation with Neesh had gone. She had spoken plainly and stuck to her guns. She was quite proud herself, actually. And Neesh said they could still be friends! Even better.

She heard the bathroom door open up again. She then heard Neesh whispering her name.

She looked up and saw her standing just outside the bathroom door, gesturing to her.

What is this about? she wondered. Did she just start her period maybe, and doesn�t have any supplies on her? That seemed the most likely possibility. Even though Neesh, like Laura, was on birth control pills and her periods should have quite predictable, things still happened.

But that was not what this was about.

�What�s up?� Laura asked her after walking over to her.

�Nothing much,� Neesh said. �Just curious about something.�

�What�s that?�

She pointed to a door near the end of the hall, the last door on the right before entering the living room. �That room right there,� she said. �I don�t remember going in there when you gave me the tour the first time I was here.�

Laura furled her brow in confusion. She seemed to remember showing her everything in the house, but then again, that had been a while ago. And that was not exactly the most memorable room in the house. �It�s just a guest room,� she told her. �And not even one of the bigger ones. We don�t even really use it.�

�Can I see it?� Neesh asked.

�The guest room? Uh ... sure, if you really want to.�

�I really want to,� Neesh told her.

Laura shrugged and led her over to the door. She opened it. It was one of the smaller rooms in the house, only twelve feet by twelve feet. There was a twin bed in here, neatly made up and with recently laundered sheets thanks to Elsa. Next to it was a small nightstand and a dresser. The air smelled fresh and clean�again thanks to Elsa.

�It�s pretty much just your basic room,� Laura said, leading Neesh inside. �Nobody has slept in here in all the time I�ve lived here, although Elsa told me that her grandson used to stay in here on the nights he would...�

There was a click as Neesh shut the door behind them.

Laura turned and looked at her, seeing the smile on her face, the hungry look in her eyes. �Neesh,� she said carefully. �What are you doing?�

Neesh locked the door and then took a step closer to her. �I�m not going to do anything you don�t want me to do,� she said softly.

�Now wait a minute,� Laura said, feeling a little jolt of adrenaline going through her�and a little jolt of lust as well. �We agreed that nothing would happen between us, remember?�

�I remember,� Neesh said. �I�m just not sure you were being truthful with me.�

�I was, Neesh,� Laura insisted, feeling herself trembling a little now. She was not sure, however, if it was from fear or arousal. �We can�t do anything.�

�I�m not going to attack you, Teach,� Neesh told her. �I would never do something like that. What I am going to do is walk up you, take your face in my hands, and then kiss you. If you don�t want me to do that, all you need to do is put your hands up to my shoulders and gently push me away before my mouth makes contact with yours. If you do that, I will turn around and walk out of this room and never try anything with you again.�

�Neesh ... I ... we ... uh...�

Neesh walked over to her until they were standing almost chest to chest. �I notice you haven�t pushed me away yet,� she whispered.

�I don�t want to ... I mean we shouldn�t ... I mean...�

But Neesh knew what she meant. She put her hands to the side of Laura�s face. They were soft hands, feminine hands. She then leaned in and put her lips to Laura�s lips. Laura brought her hands up, but she did not push Neesh away. Instead, she put them around Neesh�s waist and pulled her closer.

Neesh slid her tongue out and into Laura�s mouth. Laura, thinking my God, this just feels too good, slid her tongue out to meet it. They kissed deeply, passionately and Laura felt herself getting lost in the sensation, felt her resolve go crumbling to the ground like a building undergoing controlled demolition.

They continued to swap tongues as Neesh slid her hands down and cupped Laura�s ass, pulling her tighter against her. Neesh then broke the kiss and moved her mouth to Laura�s jaw, just below her left ear. She kissed and sucked the flesh here, occasionally nibbling on the earlobe. It was driving Laura insane with lust. Her insanity kicked up a few notches when Neesh began to whisper into her ear between kisses.

�You�ve been wanting to do this with me all night, haven�t you?� she whispered.

Laura moaned a little, and then let her own hands drop down beneath the hem of Neesh�s miniskirt, so she was touching the backs of her thighs.

�Haven�t you?� Neesh insisted.

�Yes,� Laura admitted.

�And I�ve been wanting you too,� Neesh whispered. �Ever since I first walked in the door and hugged you, my pussy has been dripping.�

�Oh God,� Laura groaned.

�I�m going to finish what I started on the beach that night,� Neesh said. �Right here and right now.�

�But ... but ... Jake and Gordon,� Laura said. �They�re right out there.�

�Yes, we�ll have to make it quick,� Neesh said. She disengaged her mouth and leaned back a little, breaking the embrace. �I need to come first though. If I don�t, I�m going to go out of my fucking mind.�

�You mean ... you want me to ... to...�

�I don�t think you�re ready for that just yet, Teach,� Neesh told her. �Maybe another night, after a girl�s night out perhaps?� She smiled naughtily. �Yes, I like the sound of that. But, for now...� She put her fingers to her blouse and undid another two buttons. She pulled it open, revealing her large breasts incased in a silky white bra. The bra was a front-loader, as evidenced by the fact that she reached between her boobs and undid the fastener. Her mammaries spilled out into the air.

This was Laura�s first truly good look at them in proper lighting. They were indeed magnificent. The nipples were hard, just begging to have a mouth upon them.

�Come here,� Neesh said. �Suck my tits. Suck them like a baby sucks on its mommy�s tits.�

She did not hesitate. She stepped forward, put her arms around Neesh�s waist, and slurped the left nipple into her mouth. It was every bit as enjoyable as she remembered.

�Yesss,� Neesh moaned. �Suck on them. Worship them. And while you�re doing that, put your hand up under my skirt and touch me.�

Oh God, Laura thought with a shudder, all doubts about this encounter now pretty much destroyed. This is so fucking hot!

She slid her right hand up the inside of Neesh�s bare right leg, trailing her fingertips upward, along the soft, sexy flesh of her inner thigh. She probed up under the skirt, going higher, higher, and soon found out that Neesh was not wearing any panties.

�Isn�t that naughty of me?� Neesh said with a chuckle. �I�ve been sitting next to you all night long with no underwear on, just letting my juices drip down.�

Laura moaned again and then switched to the other nipple, attacking it with lips and tongue.

�Now slide you fingers inside of me and start fucking me with them,� Neesh told her.

Laura did as commanded. Neesh was tight and smooth but quite wet. Her fingers slid in easily. She began to pump them in and out.

�That�s it,� Neesh panted, her own hand stroking Laura�s hair. �Now use your thumb to play with my clit while you do that. Be aggressive, Teach. I�m on a fucking hair trigger here.�

Laura began to manipulate her clit with her thumb while continuing to drive the fingers in and out. Neesh was right. It didn�t take her long at all. Within thirty seconds or so, Neesh�s pants became erratic and irregular, and her pelvis began to thrust back against the fingers.

�Yess, yesss ... Oh fuck yes,� Neesh cried through gritted teeth as her release came. �Keep it up, keep it up, let me get through the follow-through ... Oh yes.�

Laura was now completely engulfed in sapphic lust. She no longer cared that Jake and Gordon were outside the door only thirty feet away. What they were doing in here was so forbidden, so sexy, so fucking hot!

�Excellent job, Teach,� Neesh panted as she pushed Laura�s invading fingers free of her body.

�That was incredible,� Laura whispered. �I actually made you come.�

�Yes, you did,� Neesh agreed. She was still holding Laura�s wrist. She gently pulled it out from under her skirt and brought the hand up, so it was just in front of Laura�s face. Her fingers were glistening with wetness. �Now taste me,� she commanded.

�Taste you?� Laura said doubtfully.

�My juices are all over your fingers,� Neesh said. �Taste me.�

Laura hesitated for the briefest instance. She had tasted her own juices many times�sometimes on her own fingers while she played with herself, sometimes on Jake�s mouth after he�d been down below eating her, and occasionally on Jake�s dick if she sucked him after he�d been inside of her�and actually quite enjoyed them, but this was another woman�s juices they were talking about her. But then the smell reached her nose. It was a sharp, tangy smell, very similar to what her own juices smelled like, but different in a fundamental way.

�Come on, baby,� Neesh whispered. �Do it.�

Laura did it. She sucked her fingers into her mouth and tasted Neesh. It was a good taste; a sexy taste; one she would never forget. She found herself wondering what it would be like to taste it from the source.

�That�s it, you nasty girl,� Neesh said. �Now it�s your turn to come.�

�Yes,� Laura said, nodding. �I want to come. I need to come.�

�And you will,� Neesh said. �And no teasing this time. I�m going right for it. Are you wearing panties under that dress?�

�Yes,� Laura said.

Neesh seemed a little disappointed by this but shrugged it off. �All right. Take �em off and lay back on the bed. Let me show you what girl-time is all about.�

Laura reached up under her dress and slid her panties down. The crotch of them was absolutely saturated. She tossed them to the side of the bed and then lay down upon it, hardly hearing the little squeak of the springs. She spread her legs, revealing her swollen, glistening sex to Neesh�s eyes.

Neesh put her face between Laura�s legs and showed her what girl-time was all about.

It took less than two minutes.

Haena, Hawaii

November 4, 1994

Jake had not known when booking the venue for his wedding that November was the start of the rainy season in the Hawaiian Islands. Nor had he known that the north shores of the islands�which was where the Haena Resort was located�were the windward sides during the winter months. By sheer luck�or perhaps the blessing of Pele?�the day turned out to be clear and calm. The temperature was a pleasant seventy-six degrees at 1:00, when the guests were being seated in the chairs set up on the beach, and there was a pleasant trade wind blowing from the northeast at around ten knots. The sky was mostly clear, with only a few low clouds drifting by. About the only thing that kept the day from being absolutely perfect were the waves. November brought the big ones to the north shores of the islands�to the delight of the surfing community�and this day was no exception. Tremendous breakers rolled in, one after the other, crashing down on the beach with ear-hammering, rhythmic booms that were loud enough to necessitate a PA system be set up so the words spoken at the ceremony could be heard.

Jake and Nerdly, dressed in white tuxedoes, walked up the aisle and took their places before the podium, where Timmy Palakiko, the officiator of the wedding, stood in a pair of knee length shorts, a blue patterned Hawaiian shirt, and a pair of flip-flops. He had a flower lei around his neck and a pair of dark sunglasses covering his eyes. His black hair was shoulder length, but neatly combed. The strong smell of marijuana exuded from him and was carried over the audience by the wind. Despite all this (or perhaps because of it), he projected a regal presence. And the price was right too. He was not charging for his services at all as long as he got to partake in the reception food and drink and would be allowed to hang a few photos of him officiating at the celebrity wedding in his office and use those photos for advertising purposes.

The wedding photography team itself�there were six of them running around, dressed in jeans and casual shirts, snapping away with expensive-looking cameras�were also plying their trade without charge, although, in actuality, taking pictures of nuptials was not their normal business. They had been sent to the venue by People magazine, who had agreed to Jake�s terms for being given the rights to take and publish official wedding photos in their rag. The agreement was simple and did not involve the exchange of money at all�although Pauline had told Jake that he could have easily gotten them to pay twenty to thirty grand for the privilege. They would serve as the exclusive wedding photographers and give Jake and Laura copies of the negatives of all shots taken during the event. They, in turn, would have the right to publish any of their photos.

Once Jake and Nerdly were in place, they turned and looked back at the guests seated in the folding chairs. They were all dressed casually, most in shorts and Hawaiian style shirts, per instructions from Jake. The only exception was Greg Oldfellow, who would no more dress casually for a wedding ceremony than he would skydive naked. He was decked out in a custom-tailored three-piece suit, complete with jacket and polished handmade shoes. The photographers made a point to get multiple shots of the handsome actor in a variety of poses. His wife was not with him at the moment. She was with Laura, behind the door of the staging area in front of the beach, waiting her time to make her entrance.

Jake smiled as he saw his friends and family gathered in one place. His parents were seated next to Stan and Cindy, his mother and Cindy both with tissues at the ready. Pauline and Obie were just to the left of them, Paulie with little Tabby (dressed quite adorably in a Hawaiian patterned dress) sitting in her lap and sucking on a binky. Elsa sat just behind his mother, next to Charlie Meyer and a thirty-year-old woman named Sonya.

�Who is Sonya?� Jake had asked him shortly after being introduced to her earlier that day�right after the two of them had arrived at the resort from the airport.

�She�s the daughter of the guy who owns the cheese factory that supplies my restaurants,� he explained simply. �We�re going out now.�

�You�re ... going out?� Jake asked. �You mean ... like ... boyfriend/girlfriend kind of going out?�

�That�s right,� Charlie said. �She�s pretty hot, isn�t she?�

Jake nodded. Sonya was, in fact, quite attractive, an olive-skinned beauty with a nice trim body, dark, luxuriant hair, and a face that men dreamed of nutting on. �Yes ... but ... but what about Malcom?� Malcom Stone was the manager of the vegetarian restaurants Charlie owned, the business brains behind the success of the venture, and the man Charlie referred to as his �life partner� on every possible occasion. They had been living together as man and husband ever since Charlie had come out as gay almost four years before.

�Oh ... Malcolm,� Charlie said with a shrug of dismissal. �We broke up. It was one of those irreconcilable differences.�

�That�s too bad,� Jake said, though he had never actually met Malcolm. �What happened?�

�Well,� Charlie explained casually, �it turns out that I�m not really gay.�

�You�re ... not really gay?� Jake asked slowly.

�That�s right. It�s kind of a relief to stop living the lie, truth be told.�

�Living the lie?� Jake asked, astonished.

�Yeah,� Charlie said, nodding seriously. �Pretending I like sucking dicks, or having Malcolm stick his cock up my ass. It was getting old.�

�Getting old,� Jake said. �So ... you�re saying you didn�t really like doing that all those years?�

�Not really,� Charlie said with another shrug. �I guess it was a phase I was going through. In any case, having sex with a woman is a lot more hygienic when you come right down to it. It�s also easier to get in and out when you�re wearing two condoms. You know how it is.�

�I don�t think I do,� Jake said. �You�re saying that just like that...� He snapped his fingers. � ... you�re hetero again?�

�I never really wasn�t hetero,� Charlie explained. �It was just a phase I was going through.�

�A phase where you slept in a bed with another dude, sucked his dick, and let him put that dick up your ass ... all on a regular basis and for more than four years?�

�That�s right,� Charlie said. �Just one of those things.�

�I see,� Jake said, although he did not. He let it go though. This was probably the wisest course of action.

Seated on the other side of Charlie and Sonya were Gordon and Neesh, both dressed in matching shorts and Hawaiian shirts, G with his signature clenched fist medallion dangling around his neck and a four-carat diamond stud in his left ear. Neesh was wearing similar diamond earrings in both ears and had her hair down around her shoulders. The two of them held hands as they waited for the bride to make her appearance. Jake had been a little worried about whether or not G and Neesh were even going to make the trip. For some reason, Laura had been avoiding Neesh ever since that night the couple had come over for dinner. Neesh called her up every few days trying to arrange a girls-night with her, but Laura always found an excuse (most of them, Jake knew, patently untrue) not to go with her. Laura had also found excuses to not go on the two occasions that Jake had gone over to G�s house to work on their song.

�Is something up between you and Neesh?� he asked her on the second occasion, after she told him that she wasn�t feeling well and would skip the trip to G�s house that night.

�What do you mean by that?� she asked, her voice perhaps just a bit too casual.

�Well ... it seems like you keep trying to find a way to avoid being in her company,� he said. �She seems to like hanging out with you. Do you not like her?�

�She�s a wonderful person and one of my few friends,� Laura explained. �I�m not trying to avoid her, I�m just kind of stressed out ... the wedding and everything.�

�I see,� Jake said. �Well, we�ll miss you tonight.�

�It�s nothing personal,� Laura said. �Be sure Neesh knows that.�

But Jake wasn�t so sure. There had been a look in Laura�s eye when she�d said that�a look that had seemed to have a little bit of fear and ... and a little bit of something else he couldn�t quite identify.

Still, Neesh and G had been on the Gulfstream with them for the flight to Hawaii and the relationship between his soon-to-be wife and G�s fianc� had been as it always had. The girls had sat together with Celia for most of the trip, laughing and giggling and drinking glasses of wine. Maybe the wedding stress had been getting to him? Putting odd ideas in his head? It was possible.

Just behind G and Neesh, Coop sat next to Dexter Price and Bobby Z. None of the three had brought a date with them, and Jake had been a little worried about having Dex and Z in the same place together given their tumultuous past with each other, but they seemed to be getting along quite well with each other. Perhaps even romantically well? It was hard not to notice the looks and smiles the two jazz musicians were giving each other. Homer, Sally, Groove, and Squiggle�Laura�s bandmates on the Bobby Z tour�had all been invited, but all had politely declined. Jake was actually sort of glad about this. Laura had told him about her feelings for Squiggle out on the road, and the fact that Squiggle would have acted on them had the offer been made. This was drama he just did not want to deal with at his wedding and he was glad that he wouldn�t have to.

Next to the drummer, the sax player, and the smooth jazz singer, sat Sharon Archer, Nerdly�s wife. Her Hawaiian shirt was of the loose-fitting maternity variety and it hung loosely over her tremendous pregnant belly. Across the aisle from her sat Ted Duncan, the drummer they had used for the first two KVA albums. Ben Ping had been invited but had been unable to attend due to work. Phil, Laura�s best friend and roommate�and the singer in the band that Ted and Ben had formed�was present at the wedding but not currently seated. He would be standing in for Laura�s father and would walk the bride down the aisle. None of Laura�s family were present. None of them had even sent so much as a nasty note in response to the wedding announcement. Laura had not seemed terribly upset or surprised by this.

Beyond the seating area, just to the right of the covered table with the wedding cake and all the guest tables, was a small bandstand. A five-piece group of musicians�reputed to be the best wedding band on Kauai�were standing by. Their name was Hibiscus Dreams and their resume was impressive enough, assuming that any of it was true. Jake certainly hoped so. He was paying them five grand for this gig.

At a cue from Timmy the officiator, the band struck up a version of Bach�s Joy of Man�s Desiring using acoustic guitars and an electric piano. They were actually all playing in the same key and in reasonable harmony with each other. So far, so good.

A door opened in the building that led onto the beach and out stepped Celia, the maid of honor. She was wearing a maroon formal dress that fell to just above her knees and showed a respectable amount of her cleavage. She walked slowly down the aisle�Jake unable to help feeling a considerable tug of lust as he took in her form�and took up position on the other side of the officiator. She offered Jake a sweet smile of encouragement and then blew him a kiss.

The band then switched over to the Wedding March, this time using distorted electric guitars to play the melody.

�And now, friends and family of our happy couple,� said Timmy with a smile, �will you all please rise in honor of the bride.�

Everyone arose and turned toward the back. The door opened again and out stepped Laura Best�soon to be Laura Kingsley�accompanied by Phil. Phil was dressed in a tuxedo like Jake and Nerdly�s. Laura was in her wedding dress. It was a relatively simple frock, traditional white, that had been custom fit to her body. It outlined her trim waist and fell to mid-calf. Her breasts, not the largest in the world by any means, had somehow been made to look bigger than they actually were. She wore no veil, but her hair had been professionally styled by a man reputed to be the best hairdresser on Kauai. Jake thought she was breathtakingly beautiful. Based on the murmured comments he heard from the crowd, most of the guests did too.

The photographers snapped away and the band continued to play the Wedding March as Laura and Phil made their way to the pedestal. Laura looked a little nervous, but she steeled herself forward and took her position next to Jake on one side and Celia on the other. Phil, after answering Timmy�s question about who giveth this woman, peeled off and headed for a seat in the front, next to Jake�s father.

�You�re beautiful,� Jake whispered to her.

She blushed and gave him a smile.

The ceremony, at the request of both Jake and Laura, was brief. Timmy made a short speech about the sanctity of marriage and the bonds of love. Jake and Laura then recited the vows they�d composed for the occasion. They were your basic vows, touching but not earth-shattering. And they were brief.

�Now, if we can have the rings?� Timmy said next.

Nerdly produced the gold band that Jake had bought to go with Laura�s engagement ring. He handed it to Jake. Celia produced the diamond studded gold band that Laura had picked out for Jake�s ring. She handed it to Laura.

Timmy spoke a bit about the symbolism of the wedding rings, about the circle of love that could not be broken, about the nearly indestructible nature of the gold that made up the rings. Jake then placed Laura�s new ring on her finger, nestling it against the engagement ring.

�With this ring, I thee wed,� he told her.

She did the same with his, sliding it onto his bare ring finger.

�With this ring, I thee wed.�

Timmy then placed a wine glass before them. He reached into the podium and pulled out an opened bottle of Napa Valley Merlot that had been pressed in 1991, the same year the two of them had met. He poured wine into the glass until it was about half full and then picked up the glass and handed it to Jake.

�Drink now,� he said, �and seal the pact of your love.�

Jake put the glass to his lips and took a drink. The wine was excellent and went down quite smoothly. He passed the glass to Laura and she drank as well. They continued passing the glass back and forth until the wine was gone.

�And now for the fun part,� Timmy said with a smile. He took the glass from Jake�s hand and wrapped it in a large handkerchief. This, he then placed on the ground at Jake�s feet.

Jake smiled. �I�ve been looking forward to this part for months,� he said.

He stomped on the glass, shattering it.

�Mazaltov!� Timmy and the crowd hailed.

�By the power vested in me by the State of Hawaii,� said Timmy, �I now pronounce you husband and wife.� He patted Jake on the shoulder. �Feel free to kiss the bride.�

He took Laura in his arms and put his lips to hers, kissing her for the first time as his wife.

The guests cheered enthusiastically at the sight.

The reception began immediately on the large lawn adjacent to the beach. An open bar with two bartenders went into operation and the band started to play some lively music. Jake, Laura, Celia, and Nerdly, however, were not able to join the festivities right away. They spent the better part of forty-five minutes posing for pictures in every combination.

By the time they made it to the bar for their first rounds, many of the guests were already edging into the land of intoxication.

�Captain and Coke,� Jake told the male bartender, a dark-skinned mixture of Hawaiian and Chinese whose name was Tony. �Tall, and double on the Captain.�

�You got it, Mr. Kingsley,� Tony told him.

�Call me Jake,� Jake said. �My dad over there is Mr. Kingsley.�

�As you wish, Jake,� Tony said. He then turned to Laura. �And you, Mrs. Kingsley?�

Laura flushed a little at being called this for the first time. �That sounds so weird,� she said. �But so cool too. I�ll have a glass of chardonnay.�

�Coming right up.� Tony pulled down a wine glass and a water glass and went to work. As he put their drinks together, he nodded in the direction of the band. �You know, I�ve worked with Hibiscus Dreams at quite a few weddings, and they�re a good band, but today, they really seem to be outdoing themselves.�

�Is that right?� Jake asked. He had never heard them before today, but they did sound pretty good for a band that did nothing but wedding gigs.

�That�s because Sharon and I helped them with their sound check,� said Nerdly, who was waiting on an appletini from the female bartender.

Jake looked at his best man and laughed, shaking his head. �I wish I could have seen that,� he said. �Did they want to kill you?�

�I�m sure they did,� Nerdly said, �at least, until they heard the end-results of our interference in their preparations.�

�I would like to think they�ve learned something from the experience,� said Sharon, who had just waddled over to join her husband. She was sipping from a glass of sparkling water.

�I�m sure they have,� Laura said, remembering the endless sound checks they had all endured when rehearsing and recording the first two KVA albums.

Sharon became the first to hug Laura as a married woman. She put her arms around her and pulled her tight, having to twist a bit to keep her pregnant belly out of the way.

�It was such a beautiful ceremony,� she told Laura. �Very simple, very dignified.�

�And very brief,� Jake said, accepting a hug from her as well. �Just what we asked for.�

�And just think,� said Celia brightly, a mischievous look in her eyes. �Now that you two are married, you finally get to have sex.�

Jake, Laura, and Sharon all had a laugh at this. Nerdly only scowled. �I can all but guarantee that Jake and Laura have been engaging in unsanctioned sexual relations almost the entire time they�ve known each other,� he told Celia.

Sharon shook her head and chuckled a little more. �It�s a joke, Bill,� she told him.

He looked at her. �It is?� He thought it over for a moment and then shook his head. �I don�t get it.�

Greg wandered over, glass of Scotch in hand, and shook Jake�s hand warmly. �Good wedding,� he said. �Very short and succinct. I particularly enjoyed the Jewish touch there at the end.�

�I was inspired by the Nerdly wedding,� Jake said.

�You should have followed my example and had us wear Star Trek uniforms as well,� Nerdly said sourly. He had, in fact, made that suggestion several times.

�Naw,� Jake said. �That�s been done. I told you that you and Sharon were free to wear your uniforms here.�

�Sharon�s doesn�t fit her in her current state of uterine protrusion,� he said. �And it�s no fun if I�m the only one doing it.�

�Well ... maybe you can talk G and Neesh into the Star Trek theme,� Jake suggested.

Nerdly brightened at this thought. �Maybe I can,� he said happily. �I�m going to go over and suggest that to him right now.�

Jake smiled as he pondered the thought of the notorious rapper dressed as Captain Picard. �You do that, Nerdly,� he told him.

Now that their drinks were secured, the newlyweds waded into the crowd of guests to make their rounds. Thankfully, it was a small crowd. They started with Jake�s parents and Nerdly�s parents. Mary broke into fresh tears when he hugged her, and Cindy did the same when it was her turn. Even Tom seemed a little choked up.

�I never thought I�d see this day, son,� he told him.

Jake patted him on the back. �It took me a bit of searching around, Dad, but I finally found the right girl.�

�That you did,� Tom agreed. He then took Laura into his arms and gave her a big hug. �You�re a beautiful bride, Laura.�

�Thank you,� she said. �I still can�t believe this is all really happening.�

From the parents, they moved on to Elsa, who was sitting at one of the tables with Gordon, Neesh, Charlie, and Sonya. Gordon didn�t notice their approach because he was looking at Charlie with an expression that was half disgust and half morbid curiosity.

�So, you�re telling me,� Gordon said to the bass player, �that when you accidentally got it on with that tranny that one time, that�s what made you think you were gay?�

�That�s right,� Charlie told him. �I figured it was fate that put Roberto in my path, that it was written in the halls of the universe, or perhaps in my subconscious, that I should pick him when I decided to go get a simple blowjob that night. I thought it was something that was designed to tell me that I really was gay. Happily, as it turns out, I�m not.�

�But you went to MacArthur Park, homey,� Gordon said. �You tryin� to tell me that you didn�t know that�s where the fuckin� buffalos roam?�

�Well ... I know that now,� Charlie said. �I didn�t know that then.�

�But what about...� Gordon started.

�Look!� interrupted Elsa, who had an expression of extreme discomfort on her face at the current topic of conversation. �It�s the happy couple!� She practically shot to her feet and opened her arms for a hug.

Jake provided it to her.

�Lovely ceremony, Jake,� she said. She released him and then turned to Laura. �And you! You are an absolutely stunning bride!�

The housekeeper and the new Mrs. Kingsley shared a hug. Gordon and Neesh stood next, the former engaging Jake in a complex handshake, the latter hugging him and kissing him soundly on the cheek.

�I dug the glass-smashing bit,� Gordon told him. �Classy shit, homey.�

�It was a lot of fun,� Jake said. �Did ... uh ... Nerdly come over and offer his suggestion for your own wedding?�

Gordon chuckled. �The Star Trek thing? He was dead-ass serious about that shit.�

�Are you going to do it?� Laura asked him with a smile.

�Yeah ... that�d give my street cred a serious boost, wouldn�t it?� Another chuckle. �I couldn�t bring myself to hurt his feelings though. I told him I�d think about it.�

�And that�s true,� said Neesh. �We�re going to be thinking about that a lot.�

�Anyway, how long you gonna be gone down there in that New Zealand?� Gordon asked.

�Just two weeks,� Jake said.

�That�s what you said the last time you went down there,� Elsa said. �And you didn�t come home for more than six months.�

Jake smiled at her. �The circumstances are a little different this time,� he said. �I actually have commitments in LA. And I don�t have anything to hide from.�

�Thank the Lord for that,� Elsa said.

�Did you update all of your shots?� Charlie asked. �I hear they have some nasty microbes down there south of the equator.�

�Of course, Charlie,� Jake told him. �We�d never cross the equator without updating our shots.�

At the next table, Jill and her parents were sitting with Coop, Pauline, and Obie. Jill was playing with Tabby, bouncing her up and down in her lap and making her giggle, while Coop and the elder Yamashito were having a political discussion.

�So, I figure it�s like this, dude,� Coop was explaining. �If your people would�ve just had some good ganja back in the day, there would�ve been some mellowed-out motherfuckers in the head office instead of those aggressive-ass warlords you had running things. They would�ve been able to get their minds right, you know? Think shit through and see where the path would lead. If you�d have had stoners in charge of things, they would�ve seen that fucking with America and bombing our shit over here in Hawaii was a bad idea. If they wouldn�t have done that shit, we never would�ve had to drop the goddamn bomb on your asses. All of history would�ve been different! Ain�t that some shit?�

�So ... you�re suggesting,� said the elder Yamashito, �that if the ruling class of Japan, back in the early 1940s, would have just smoked some marijuana, all of World War II would have turned out differently?�

�You�re feeling me!� Coop said, delighted.

�And my parents and I and my future wife and her parents ... we never would have ended up in that internment camp?�

�Fuck no,� Coop said. �There would�ve been no reason for that shit!�

�Hmm,� Yamashito said. �An interesting viewpoint on world history, Mr. Cooper.�

�Ain�t it though?� Coop said. He looked and saw Jake and Laura. �Hey, guys! How�s it feel to be married and shit?�

�Still getting used to it,� Jake said.

�That�s right,� Laura said. �It still hasn�t quite sunk in.�

Hugs and handshakes were exchanged.

�I must say, Jake,� Mr. Yamashito told him, �that the relative frugality of this wedding is a refreshing change from your normal spending habits.�

�I agree,� said Mrs. Yamashito. �Although flying the three of us here first class was a trivial waste of your net worth.�

�You didn�t like the first class travel?� Pauline asked them.

�Don�t get me wrong,� Mrs. Yamashito said. �It was enjoyable. It�s just one of those things that makes accountants cringe. Paying outrageously extra just for a little bigger of a seat and some free drinks.�

�And a less crowded toilet,� Jake said. �Don�t forget that part.�

�And speaking of unnecessary expenses,� Mr. Yamashito put in, �Jill tells us that they�re getting ready to break ground on construction of your new home.�

�That�s right,� Jake said. �The road in has been finished, the power lines have been strung...�

�One thousand, six hundred dollars per hundred feet, or fraction thereof,� Jill said with a shake of her head. �And it was two thousand, six hundred, and fifty-five feet from the power lines on the road to the house site.�

�Great Jehoshaphat!� Mr. Yamashito cried, imagining the horror. �That�s more than forty-two thousand dollars!�

�Just for power lines alone?� Mrs. Yamashito said.

�Well ... I can deduct it as a construction cost, can�t I?� Jake said weakly.

�That�s not the point!� Mr. Yamashito told him. �You did all this for a house with a view?� He turned to his daughter. �Jill, haven�t you explained to Jake about how paying extra for property with a view is never in the best interests of the investor?�

�I explained it to him, Dad,� Jill said sadly. �Jake doesn�t listen.�

�He certainly does not,� Mrs. Yamashito said, shaking her head once again.

He endured a few more minutes of financial lectures from his accounting firm before breaking free and making his way over to the next table. Here, Phil and Ted were sitting with Dexter Price and Bobby Z, the former two seemingly in awe that they were hanging with the latter two.

As they approached, Ted was in the midst of one of his paramedic stories.

� ... and so, the dude finally gets around to telling us that he�s got something stuck up his ass and that�s why he called us. I ask him what�s up there and he says it�s an apple.�

�An apple?� Dexter asked, raising his eyebrows.

�A motherfuckin� apple,� Ted confirms. �So, naturally, I ask him how an apple managed to find its way up his ass.�

�A fair question,� said Bobby Z with a chuckle.

�Right!� Ted said. �He tells us that the apple had been sitting on the edge of the tub while he was taking a shower and he sat down on it and up it went. And he seriously expected us to believe that shit. Of course! We all bring our fruit into the shower with us, don�t we? And then suddenly find a need to sit down on the edge of the tub while we�re showering with our fruit. So ... anyway, we get to the hospital and they x-ray his abdomen, and, sure enough, there�s a goddamn apple up his ass. You could see the seeds and everything.�

�I wouldn�t even think you could fit something as big as an apple up there,� said Phil.

�Somehow he managed it,� Ted said with a shake of the head. �And that�s not the weirdest thing I�ve heard of people sticking up there. My friend Booger Breath�he works the southside, and they call him Booger Breath because he�s always picking his nose and putting it in his mouth�he had a guy that stuck a fuckin� light bulb up their once. And Rennie, one of the nurses at St. Francis, she told me a guy came in once with a three-cell mag light jammed in there.�

�Big end first or little end?� asked Phil.

Ted did not answer the question. �Anyway,� he said, �there�s one thing I don�t understand about all this; maybe y�all can help me with it since you�re all gay. What�s up with the compulsion to put things up the ass? I don�t get it. I can�t even deal with the doc putting his fuckin� finger up there for the old prostate handshake. Why would anyone want to stick something as big as an apple up there? Or a fuckin� mag-light?�

Bobby Z gave a shrug. �I don�t think it�s a gay thing. I�ve known quite a few gay men in my time, as you might imagine, and none of them have ever wanted anything but a dick stuck up the back door. A lot of them don�t even like that up there.�

�I concur,� said Dexter. �And if someone I was with did suggest putting something up there besides a dick�either my ass or his�I�d find myself heading for the door as quick as possible.�

�Definitely a deal breaker,� Phil agreed.

�Even if you�re a bottom boy?� Laura asked him.

Phil looked at her and smiled warmly. �Especially if you�re a bottom boy,� he said. �You don�t want to stretch things out, after all.�

Jake, who still did not know what a bottom boy was (or if there was a corresponding thing known as a top boy) smiled politely but kept his mouth closed. It seemed safer.

The four men all gave Laura hugs and shook hands warmly with Jake, offering their congratulations on the marriage and complimenting the ceremony.

�And we definitely appreciate the accommodations and the first-class travel,� Ted said.

�Agreed,� Phil said. �I was happy enough that you paid for our airfare and room, but you went all out and paid for the deluxe.�

�I like my friends to have a good time,� Jake told them. �And I owe both of you a significant debt. Ted, we couldn�t have done our first albums without you and Ben. And Phil, aside from being a badass backup singer for us, you helped Laura with her little dental problem that one time. Things would�ve turned out a lot differently if you weren�t there, I think.�

�Ah yes, Dr. Dave,� Phil said with a smile. �Punching his face in was actually one of the high points of my life.�

�This sounds like an interesting story,� Dexter said.

�It�s also a bit personal,� Laura said. �I�d prefer it not be passed around.�

�Right,� Phil said. �Sorry, Dex. It�ll have to remain a mystery.�

�Understood,� Dexter said with a shrug. He then looked at the happy couple. �So, what�s the word on the next albums from you and Celia?�

�We�re still in the composition stage, and early in it at that,� Jake said. �Right now, we�re both still getting a lot of airplay from the last albums and sales are still high. There�s no real hurry to start putting the next albums together.�

�I understand that,� Dexter said. �What I was wondering was if you�re going to be needing me for the sax tracks on the next go-around or is Mrs. Kingsley here gonna be the one to do them?�

�Oh...� Jake said, glancing at his wife for a minute. She was flushing a little, although if it was because of the question or because of being called �Mrs. Kingsley� again, he couldn�t be sure. �We really haven�t thought that far ahead yet, to tell you the truth. What do you think, hon?�

�I�m not sure,� she said. �I haven�t played much of anything since we came off tour. I�ve been thinking a little about going back to the studio and doing some sessions, but ... well ... I haven�t really taken any initiative in that direction.�

Z and Dex looked at each other. Z then said: �Well, truth be known, I�m ready to start putting together some tunes for my next album. I need a sax player, naturally. I love working with you, Teach�you know that, right?�but Dex here was just telling me that he doesn�t have anything going right now unless you and Celia will be needing him, and ... well ... Dex and I always did work well together, as long as we could keep our personal lives separate.�

�Hey,� Jake said. �Nobody owes anybody anything here, right, hon?�

�Right,� Laura said quickly.

�If you and Dex want to hook up and start laying down your tunes, you don�t need to ask our permission. Go for it. If Laura isn�t up for playing sax for us when it�s our turn, we�ll find someone else. As popular as we are now, I don�t think we�ll have any trouble attracting a decent horn blower.�

Z looked at the two of them meaningfully. �You ain�t gonna find anyone better than Teach here.�

�No, I don�t think we will,� Jake agreed.

�You won�t have to,� Laura said. �I�ll be ready to play for the next albums.�

Jake nodded. �All right then,� he said. �Issue resolved, right?�

�Right,� Z and Dex said in unison.

They looked very happy about this. Jake couldn�t help but feel that one of the suites the two men had been assigned to was going to be empty tonight.

The reception went on. Dinner was served�roast pork luau-style was the main course�and then the wedding cake was cut. There were no presents to open since Jake and Laura had insisted that they did not expect or want any wedding gifts. Jake removed the garter from her left leg and slingshot it out into the gathering of single men. Coop was the one who caught it, snatching it out of the air instinctively and then looking at it in horror. Laura then tossed the bouquet over her shoulder to the collection of single women. It landed neatly in Pauline�s arms like a Steve Young pass to Jerry Rice. She smiled sweetly over at Obie and held it up to him in salute. Obie had himself a good chuckle over that. He had already offered three times to marry her and she had turned him down all three times.

After dinner and cake, the dancing began. Jake and Laura shared the traditional first dance and then Phil danced with Laura while Jake danced with his mother. Soon, open dancing was declared and the lawn came alive with couples moving and grooving to the sounds of Hibiscus Dreams belting out classic rock and pop tunes from the sixties to the eighties. They really were a pretty good band and Jake made a mental note to give them a healthy bonus.

About an hour after the dancing began, Laura found herself sitting at one of the tables across from Neesh. She was still wearing her wedding dress and was a little sweaty from the muggy air and the dancing (and her lack of recent aerobic exercise). Jake was out on the dance floor, moving his hips and shoulders with Elsa while the band played their version of Twist and Shout. Elsa, it turned out, was a surprisingly good dancer.

�Hey, girlfriend,� Neesh greeted her. She herself was a little sweaty as well, she had been out dancing with G just a few minutes before. �How are you feeling?�

�A little drunk,� Laura confessed. �And kind of tired. It�s been a long day.�

�A day you�ll remember forever though, right?�

�Right,� she agreed.

Neesh looked out at her fianc�, who was displaying his own dancing skills with Pauline. She then turned back to Laura. �This is the first time we�ve been alone together ... you know ... since that night.�

�Yeah,� Laura agreed, taking a sip of her wine and wishing she had a joint to puff on. �It is.�

�By design, I�m assuming?� Neesh asked her.

Laura nodded. �It�s nothing personal, Neesh,� she said. �I really like having you as a friend. It�s just ... I find it difficult to resist you when ... you know...�

�When I want to have a little girl-time?�

�Right,� Laura said. �I can�t look at girl-time as casually as you do, not when Jake doesn�t know about it.�

�You think it�s cheating?�

�When Jake and Gordon don�t know about it, yes, I think it�s cheating. And I don�t like being a cheater, Neesh. I felt so incredibly guilty after that night, after ... after you put your mouth on me, after what I did to you.�

�I�m sorry,� she said. �I enjoyed what we did, and yes, I had high hopes of doing it some more, perhaps in a hotel room we rented for the day, but I got the message when you kept turning down my offers of us getting together.�

�I didn�t do it to hurt your feelings,� she said. �I really do enjoy your friendship, I just ... just didn�t want to do that anymore.�

�You could have just told me that,� Neesh said.

�I did tell you that,� Laura said. �The night you came over. I told you out on the deck that I didn�t want to do those things with you.�

�You did,� Neesh agreed. �But when the two of us went in that room together, you did want to do those things. I didn�t force myself on you, you�ll remember. I told you that all you had to do to make me stop was push me away.� She smiled. �You didn�t push me away, Teach. You put your arms around me and pulled me closer.�

�Yes,� Laura sighed. �I did.� She looked at her face, at her lips. �I wanted to do what we did ... I still do. That�s the problem, Neesh. I can�t. And if you and I get together again and you offer yourself to me like that again, I�m afraid I will. I have a hard time resisting the temptation you represent.�

Neesh sighed. �Listen, Teach,� she said. �I don�t agree with your point of view on this matter. Girl-time is just that, it�s girl-time; a pleasant little diversion from the day to days that should be embraced. I don�t think it�s cheating any more than I think G or Jake looking at a porno magazine and whipping their weasels is cheating. But I respect your feelings. And I don�t want to lose you as a friend. I don�t want you to have to avoid me because you�re afraid I�m going to lead you into temptation.�

�So, what�s the answer?� Laura asked.

�I promise not to try to seduce you anymore,� she said. �After you get back from New Zealand, we hang out like girlfriends should hang out. We�ll go out shopping. We�ll go out and have ourselves some drinks together, maybe catch a movie. And I will not attempt to get you into bed. I won�t kiss you. I won�t touch you in the places you like to be touched. I will not do anything sexual to you unless you beg me to.�

�Beg you to?�

�Beg me, girlfriend,� Neesh said. �And I�m here to tell you that, from this moment forward, you will have to seriously beg if you want me. I�m talking down on your knees. You dig?�

�I ... I dig,� Laura said.

�All right then,� Neesh said. She held out her right hand, the little finger sticking up in the air. �Pinky swear on it?�

Laura smiled and then hooked the little finger of her right hand around Neesh�s. �Pinky swear,� she said.

Jake and Laura retired to their suite just after nine o�clock that night. Both showered separately, Jake going first and then retiring to the bedroom in his birthday suit. Laura cleansed herself and then emerged from the shower room wearing a flimsy negligee she had bought (with Celia�s help) just for the occasion.

�That�s a nice outfit,� Jake said appreciably.

�Thank you,� she said. �And now, I think I�d like to fuck my husband.�

�All right then,� he said, patting the bed next to him. �Let�s consummate this thing.�

They consummated for the next hour or so. Both agreed it was among the best they had ever had.

They did it again the next morning, a little slower, a little more like lovemaking as opposed to fucking. And then they showered and packed their things.

They had said their goodbyes to everyone last night before retiring so when the limousine arrived, they simply loaded their things into it and climbed into the back. They were driven to Lihue Airport where they boarded a Hawaiian Airlines 737 for the twenty-five-minute flight to Honolulu International Airport. There, they went to the international terminal and, after a two-hour layover (during which they enjoyed custom-made omelets and a few bloody Marys in the first-class lounge) they boarded an Air New Zealand Boeing 767-ER and settled into the extra-wide seats in the front of the plane.

�Congratulations, you two,� their flight attendant, a mid-thirties blonde with tremendous breasts, told them as she asked for their preflight drink orders. �I saw a report of your wedding on the telly in the hotel last night.�

�Thank you,� Laura said, smiling at her. �Can I get a bloody Mary, extra pale perhaps?�

�Coming right up,� she promised. �And you, Mr. Kingsley?�

�I�ll have the same,� he told her.

The plane roared into the tropical sky just after eleven o�clock Honolulu time. It turned to the southwest and leveled off at thirty-seven thousand feet. It landed nine hours and fifteen minutes later at Auckland International Airport on the North Island. Jake and Laura had both stayed awake for most of the flight, reading books, watching a movie, having a few drinks, eating dinner when it was served, and only occasionally nodding off for a light nap when the boredom got to be too much.

There wasn�t much of a jet lag issue. The time when they landed was just past 6:30 PM, Auckland time. Only two hours behind what it would have been had they been in Hawaii all the time they had been flying. But since they had crossed the International Date Line en route, it was now the next day. They would get that day back when they returned home, actually landing in Los Angeles before the time they would take off in Auckland.

They stayed overnight in Auckland, in the Presidential suite of the Auckland Hilton Hotel which stood out at the end of Prince�s Wharf in the harbor. The hotel had just been built the previous year and their window looked out on an impressive view of the harbor and the city lights.

Before going to bed, they fucked on the balcony of the suite, Laura leaning over the railing and Jake sliding into her from behind.

�Does it feel different now?� Laura asked, after they finished up and went back inside. �Now that we�re married?�

�It does somehow,� Jake had to admit. �It feels ... I don�t know ... more legitimate I guess.�

�And that�s good, right?�

�Right,� he assured her. �It�s very good.�

At 8:30 the next morning they boarded another Air New Zealand aircraft, this one an Airbus A320. Less than two hours after planting their butts in the first-class seats, they were stepping back off the aircraft at Christchurch International on the South Island. After collecting their baggage, and being momentarily mobbed by a few people wanting autographs, they walked out of the terminal to the parking area. The air was clear and the temperature was pleasant. It was a typical South Island spring day.

Jake�s 1991 Toyota pickup truck, which he had purchased from a Christchurch dealer on his second day living here and that had been in storage ever since he�d left, was sitting in the short-term lot, just as he�d instructed. The door was unlocked. The keys, including the key to his house, were underneath the floormat. He loaded the baggage into the back and then he and Laura climbed into the cab.

�I missed this truck,� Jake said nostalgically as he pushed in the clutch and fired up the engine. It started at once. A glance at the odometer showed he had only put a little more than eight thousand miles on the vehicle.

�I like it,� Laura said. �It seems rugged.�

He drove out of the parking lot and headed for the main road. Laura was astounded, as had been Pauline and Jill during their visit here, by the fact that there was no fee for parking in the airport. It seemed so ... un-American not to gouge someone when you enjoyed a monopoly.

Jake drove slowly through the streets of Christchurch, pointing out the various sites to his new wife as they went. She seemed impressed by what she saw, particularly the cathedral that had given the town its name. He did not make any mention of some of his own familiar landmarks as they went: the bank where Samantha had worked (and perhaps still did), the library where he had checked out more than books from Julie Anne, the corner grocery where he had bought more than canned goods from Carrie, the grocer�s daughter. He made a mental note to avoid all of those places while he was here with Laura. Not that he was ashamed of his past, or that she did not know what kind of man he had been before meeting her, but because it would just be awkward.

He entered the tunnel and drove under the Port Hills, emerging in the small town of Lyttleton, where the fishing fleet and the harbor were located. He drove her around this town as well, showing her the wharf and the waterfront bars he used to frequent.

�This is where I used to do my drinking when I was here,� he told her. �Well ... my away from home drinking anyway.�

�You did that a lot, huh?� she asked softly.

�I did,� he confirmed. �That bar right there.� He pointed to a place called The Shark�s Tooth. �That�s where I was the night I had them wake up old Ian Blackworth so he could put this tat on my arm. Proof of how much I love the South Island.�

Laura reached out and slid her fingers under the right sleeve of his shirt, pushing it up a bit so the tat in question came into view. �I really do like this ink,� she said. �I�ll always remember when we were in the hot tub together that first time ... not the time we kissed and ... you know ... but the very first time, when you suggested that contest of us listening to each other�s music. You pointed out your house to me on this tattoo. That was the night I first started really ... you know ... getting into you. I never thought I�d actually get to see the house.�

He smiled at her and caressed her hand for a moment. �How about we get ourselves on up there now?� he suggested. �Hopefully my maintenance people have it nice and clean for you.�

�Let�s do it,� she said.

He drove past the fish market where Elizabeth and Kate, the mother and daughter team of fishmongers, plied their trade by day before heading to the waterfront bars by night. Jake did not point this location out to Laura.

He turned onto the Summit Road, which had been the only way to get from Lyttleton to Christchurch in the days before the tunnel was built. He twisted and turned his way up the road until they were nearly at the top and then turned off on a small access road. He drove a bit along this road until he was finally looking at the house he�d commissioned, had built, and had then lived in during six of the worst months of his life.

�This is the place?� Laura asked.

�This is the place,� he confirmed.

�I like the way it looks,� she said. �Especially the view.�

�Yeah,� Jake said. �Let�s go see if there are any ghosts in it, huh?�

She looked at him seriously. �You really were in a bad place the last time you were here, weren�t you?�

�Yeah,� he said softly. �But I�m in a good place now. I think it�s time to make some happy memories here.�

The next morning, seven thousand air miles away and one day earlier, Matt Tisdale had just finished a jam session with his band. They had been working fairly steadily on new material for Matt�s next album. They had six solid tunes in the late stages of development and two others in the beginning stages. He hoped to get into the studio and start recording them by February 1, and to have master CDs in hand by mid-May.

Matt climbed into the back of the limousine that had been parked outside of the rehearsal warehouse since 4:00 PM. It was now 5:30, but Matt always had the limo show up at four because sometimes they (meaning he) decided to call an end to a jam session that early and, if he did, he wanted his ride waiting for him. Today had not been one of those days. Corey, the driver of the limo today, did not mind. He was paid by the hour and if Matt wanted him to sit there for two or three (or sometimes even four) hours doing nothing, it was easy money.

�Home, Matt?� Corey asked him politely. On many occasions, Matt did not want to go home immediately after the session. Sometimes he wanted to go out and drink and pick up a groupie or two. Other times he wanted to go out to eat.

�Yeah, I think I�ll call it an early night,� Matt told him. �I already called up my man Chuckie and told him to have Louisa fix up some grub for me.�

�Home it is,� Corey said amicably, dropping the gearshift into drive and pulling smoothly away.

Matt quickly mixed himself a stiff Jack and Coke, the ratio quite close to fifty-fifty. He then pulled his cocaine kit from his pocket and assembled a few lines on the mirror. He snorted these up, thought things over for a minute or two, and then crunched up and snorted two more.

�Oh yeah,� he said happily as he felt the familiar rush of cocaine intoxication coursing through him. �That hit the fuckin� spot.�

His heart hammered in his chest a little faster than he really liked it to, but he did his best to ignore this. Dumping a good portion of his Jack and Coke on it helped�not the actual heart rate of course, but his anxiety about it. And the combination of the two intoxicants together made him feel peace on Earth and goodwill toward men. He became talkative.

�What�s been going on with you, Corey?� he asked the driver. �I haven�t seen you in a while.�

�I�m just doing this gig part time these days,� Corey said. �I finished my degree in August, and I got a job working on some projects for LA County.�

Corey, he remembered, wanted to be a civil engineer and had been working his way through school for several years now.

�Does it pay well?� Matt asked him.

�Not really,� he said with a shrug. �It�s mostly research and math checking. But it�s a foot in the door. Hopefully, it�ll lead to a full-time gig at some point.�

�That�s cool,� Matt said nodding. �Engineers don�t score a lot of gash, do they?�

�Well ... it�s not exactly a profession that makes women throw open their legs for you,� he confirmed. �I actually score a lot more pussy doing this gig.�

�Oh yeah?�

�Yeah,� Corey said. �There�s nothing like driving a group of girls having a bachelorette party around all night. You really have to be a geek not to get laid when that happens.�

Matt patted him on the shoulder companionably. �That�s all fuckin� right,� he said. �A bunch of drunk bachelorettes. Kind of hot. You ever nail the bride herself?�

�Uh ... no, I�ve never been able to pull that one off.�

�What a rip,� Matt said. �How about scoring with two of the bachelorettes at once?�

�Uh ... no, I�ve never done that either.�

�Oh,� Matt said, disappointed. Why tell a fucking sex story if it only involved one bitch who you had every right in the world to fuck? �Well ... to each their own, I guess.�

�Hey,� Corey said, changing the subject, �the last time I drove you somewhere you were telling me you were thinking about buying a boat. Did you ever end up doing that?�

This brightened Matt right back up again. �Fuck yeah I did!� he said excitedly. �I scored me a seventy-nine-foot motor yacht with twin diesels. Just closed escrow on it last month.�

�Oh yeah?� Corey asked. �Sounds sweet.�

�As sweet as eighteen-year-old pussy,� Matt assured him. �It�s got five full bedrooms, a fuckin� hot tub, a dining room, and a complete kitchen. Down below it�s got cabins for the crew, its own icemaker, and lots of storage for fish. I got the entire back of it set up for deep sea fishing, with four chairs and a fish cleaning station.�

�Sounds awesome,� Corey said. �What does something like that cost?�

�Four and a half million bones, dude,� Matt said solemnly.

�Damn,� Corey said, impressed. �That ain�t chump change.�

�Nope,� Matt agreed. �It�s more than I paid for my fuckin� house. And I have to hire a crew before I can take it out.� He shook his head. �I really need to start working on that shit.�

�Did you pay cash for it?� Corey wanted to know.

�Fuck yeah,� Matt said. �The only way to do business if you have the means. And between that Greatest Hits bullshit that National put out and my last album selling like wildfire and my profits from the tour, I had the fuckin� means. Especially since my accountants figured out a way to keep me from being butt-raped by taxes.�

�That�s really cool, Matt.�

�Yeah, it is, isn�t it?�

�Where are you keeping it?�

�Marina Del Ray for now,� he said. �Although I�m going to have to move it around every now and then.�

�Why is that?�

�Tax reasons,� he said. �Apparently California has this property tax thing on yachts. One and a half percent of the fucking value every year. Can you believe that shit?�

�That�s fucked up,� Corey said.

�It is. Anyway, since I bought the thing in Mexico�at least that�s where the Franchise Tax Board thinks I bought it�I didn�t have to pay sales tax on it. But my accountant has it registered in Mexico as well, connected to my home in Cabo. So, officially, the yacht is just up here because I�m visiting. And if I�m visiting, the state of commie-fucking-fornia doesn�t have any right to tax me on it. That shit all starts to fall apart, however, if I keep it in one place too long. So, every six months or so I�m going to have to move it somewhere else.�

�Wow,� Corey said. �And that�s legal?�

�That�s what my accountants tell me. And they should know about that shit, right?�

�I suppose so,� Corey agreed.

They talked of inconsequential things for the rest of the forty-minute ride. Matt crunched up two more lines of cocaine and made them disappear. He mixed and drank two more Jack and Cokes, each more potent than the last. By the time he walked in the front door of his house, he was feeling quite fine indeed.

Louisa had prepared a couple of New York steaks, saut�ed mushrooms, baked potatoes, and steamed asparagus for dinner. Kim was at the house tonight and they ate in front of the television set, watching Wheel of Fortune and then Jeopardy while swilling down a few bottles of Corona beer.

Louisa had just cleared their plates from the coffee table when Jeopardy ended. The show following it was Entertainment Report, one of the celebrity gossip rags. Matt picked up the remote to change the channel but stopped when he saw a picture of Jake Kingsley flash up on the screen. Jake was smiling and dressed in a white tuxedo, the red-headed saxophone bitch he was boning on his arm and wearing a white dress.

�We�ve received confirmation,� the skinny bitch host of the show told him and the rest of the viewing audience, �that musician Jake Kingsley, former member of the death metal band Intemperance and current solo artist with one of the best-selling alternative rock albums of the year, married his girlfriend Laura Best, saxophonist for Celia Valdez, in a private ceremony in Hawaii yesterday. It is a first marriage for both of them, although Kingsley does have a rather notorious past, including accusations of abuse and of snorting cocaine out of the butt crack of a young woman in New York City some years ago.�

�Motherfucker,� Matt said, looking at the picture in amazement. �He actually went and married that bitch. Fucking married!�

�Does that surprise you?� asked Kim.

�That Jake Kingsley would marry someone? Fuck yeah, it surprises me. I can�t stand the motherfucker and he�s nothing but a sellout prick, but he�s a man who loves pussy almost as much as I do. I never thought I�d see the day he�d settle down with one bitch.�

�He dated Helen for quite some time,� Kim said.

�Yeah, and look how well that shit worked out for him.� He shook his head in consternation. �There must be some fuckin� tax reason he did it.�

The host of ER, in the meantime, was talking while a series of pictures from the wedding were flashed on the screen.

�The ceremony,� she said, �was small and intimate, with only close friends and family attending. People magazine was granted exclusive photography rights to the ceremony and the reception, it has been reported, but these shots we�re showing you now were taken by long-time celebrity photographer Paul Peterson, who managed to infiltrate the venue and snap some photos with a telephoto lens.

�Guests included smooth jazz great Bobby Z, saxophonist Dexter Price, notorious rap musician Bigg G and his fianc�, Celia Valdez and Greg Oldfellow�Celia Valdez, as you can see from this shot, served as Laura Best�s maid of honor�and all the former members of Intemperance except for Darren Appleman, the original bass player who died of a heroin overdose four years ago, and Matt Tisdale, the iconic guitarist who vowed shortly after Appleman�s death that he would never play with any of the members of Intemperance again.�

�Motherfuck!� Matt said as he watched the screen. As she had been naming off the guests, shots of that particular guest had appeared on the screen. He saw the Valdez bitch standing next to Jake�s now-official snatch, he saw Greg Oldfellow in a suit, he saw that nigger rapper in a Hawaiian shirt, and then he saw shots of Coop, Nerdly (who was apparently Jake�s best man�no fuckin� surprise there) and then that dick smoker Charlie (who was actually sitting next to a fucking woman! What was up with that shit?). And now, as they mentioned that he, Matt, had not been there, there was a brief shot of him with his guitar in hand, one of the publicity shots from the last tour.

�What�s the matter, Mattie?� Kim asked. �Why do you give a shit about Kingsley getting married?�

�I don�t give a shit,� he said. �He wants to fuck up his life, that�s his business.�

�Then what�s the problem?�

�I wasn�t invited to the fucking wedding,� he said.

�What?�

�All the other members of Intemperance were there,� he said. �Even that fucking dick smoker. But he didn�t invite me.�

�Would you have gone?� she asked, wide-eyed.

�Fuck no!� he barked. �I don�t even want to be in the same fucking zip code as that asshole, let alone at his wedding. But he still should�ve fucking invited me!�

Though Jake and Laura had left for New Zealand the day following the wedding, most of the rest of the wedding party had stayed behind at the resort to enjoy a little rest and recreation. Jake had paid for everyone to have a full week there, and a full week is what everyone took.

Jill, Celia, Gordon and Neesh tried their hands at surfing on most of the days. The elder Yamashitos booked a cheap flight over to Oahu and did all the tourist things there�including visiting Pearl Harbor, where they mixed in quite nicely with a whole trove of mainland Japanese tourists visiting the memorial. Charlie and Sonya looked into the possibility of opening a vegetarian restaurant on one of the islands and received some good vibes. Greg ended up hanging out with Jake�s and Nerdly�s parents as they drove around and explored the island. Nerdly and Sharon mostly just stayed in the resort and surfed the internet, marveling over how much less the bandwidth was there. Pauline and Obie looked into the possibility of buying a winter house in the islands, and they received some favorable vibes as well. Ted, Phil, Z, and Dexter just hung around the resort bar most of the time, swilling up the booze and listening to Ted�s paramedic stories.

Finally, however, it was time to go home. The Yamashitos, the Archers, the elder Kingsleys, and Charlie all hopped on a plane to Honolulu and then another plane back to San Francisco�all flying first-class, of course. Ted, Phil, Z, and Dex all made a similar trip, but they flew back to LAX instead. The rest of them: Pauline and Obie, G and Neesh, Nerdly and Sharon, Greg and Celia, climbed back aboard a chartered Gulfstream for their trip home.

As such, they beat everyone else there since they did not have to stop in Honolulu for a layover first.

They parted ways at Van Nuys airport, each of the couples climbing into a separate limousine for their respective trips home.

Celia and Greg arrived at their Los Angeles house just after five o�clock in the afternoon. They trudged inside while the driver and the house staff unloaded their luggage and worked on getting it inside.

�Aww, home sweet home,� Celia said as they entered the living room.

�I suppose,� Greg said. �I�d really like to move our action over to the Palm Springs house in the next week or so though.�

Celia shrugged. �I�m up for that,� she said. �I can have some alone time now that the wedding is over. Maybe start doing some composing.�

�I�ll start working on the arrangements tomorrow,� Greg said.

�What about your project?� she asked. Greg had accepted the role in the upcoming cop film he had been offered. Us and Them was to be the title. They were still working on casting currently, but preproduction would start in earnest as soon as that was done.

�I�ll deal with that when it�s time,� he said. �For now, I just want to get out of LA for a bit.�

�I feel you,� she said.

They walked over into the office area. There were two phone extensions here, both connected to answering machines. One line was for Greg�s business calls, the other was for Celia�s business calls. When they had left for Hawaii, they left their cell phones behind and had not given anyone they did business with the number where they could be reached. The wedding was meant to be a vacation for them in every sense of the word.

Now, however, it was time to pay the piper. Both machines were blinking rapidly, their digital counters showing dozens of messages waiting.

�Ugg,� Celia said sourly. �I am not going to deal with this right now. I�m going to pour myself a nice glass of wine and go take a bath.�

�Enjoy,� Greg said with a sigh. �I might be up in a bit. I�m going to at least listen to some of these first.�

�You do that,� Celia said, giving him a quick kiss. �I�d suggest you get yourself a drink first.�

�I think I will,� he said.

She went to the bar area and pulled herself a bottle of Merlot out of the rack and opened it. She then pulled down a wine glass. She carried both upstairs to the master bedroom and shut the door behind her. She set the wine and the glass down on a small table next to the large tub in the master bathroom. She turned on the water to hot, stopped the drain, and then poured some scented bubble bath into the flowing stream.

While the tub filled, she took off her clothes and dropped them into the laundry hamper. She looked down at her vaginal area for a moment, debating whether she needed to shave. She had done so only two days ago in their suite in Hawaii and there was no real stubble to be seen. She then ran her hand over the calf of her left leg. It too was smooth. She nodded. No shaving necessary. If Greg wanted a piece of the action tonight, he would find that the maintenance was within specifications.

She lit a few candles and placed them on the edge of the tub. She then found a paperback book from her collection�it was Delores Claiborne by Stephen King�and carried it to the tub. She checked the temperature with her foot and found it was just a tad hot but nothing she could not live with. She climbed into the water and made herself comfortable.

It took the better part of five more minutes before the tub was full and she turned off the water. Silence descended in the room except for the occasional drip of water. She took a few sips of wine and then settled into her book, feeling the heat soothing her body, soothing her soul.

She was well into her second glass of wine when the door opened and Greg entered the room. He had a strange look on his face.

�What�s up?� she asked.

�A couple of things,� he said. �I just got off the phone with Johnny.�

�Oh yeah? About Us and Them?�

�That�s right,� he said. �There have been some ... uh ... developments while we�ve been gone.�

She really didn�t like the look on his face. �Such as?�

�They�ve nailed down the principal photography location,� he said. �Since the story takes place in Chicago, they managed a deal for filming there. They�re even getting a certain amount of cooperation from Chicago PD�use of their patches and logos and even some of their police cars and buildings.�

�Okay,� she said slowly. �So, it�ll be another out-of-town shoot then?�

�Most of it,� he confirmed. �We�ll likely do some scenes here in LA, but I�ll probably be gone quite a bit.�

�Well ... it is what it is, right?�

�Yeah,� he said softly.

�It�s not a big deal, Greg,� she told him. �I think you learned your lesson from what happened in Alaska, didn�t you?�

�I did,� he agreed. �There ... uh ... there is something else though.�

�What�s that?�

�Well, remember when I was telling you about the story in the script. The main character�Frank Haverty�is a burned-out cop that ends up ... you know ... having an affair with a reporter that�s assigned to ride along with him.�

�Yeah,� she said. �I remember. You said there�s going to be a couple of sex scenes with her, right?�

�Right,� he said.

�Is that what you�re worried about?� she scoffed. �That�s just your job, hon. I know you�re not really going to have sex with whoever they get to play her.�

�Uh ... yeah, but ... well ... the thing is, they�ve just casted the part of Lyndsay Brown�the reporter that Frank is going to have the affair with.�

�Yeah? Who�d they get?�

He swallowed and took a deep breath. �Mindy Snow has been cast in that part.�

Los Angeles, California

December 8, 1994

The Ohr HaTorah Synagogue was on Venice Boulevard in the west LA neighborhood of Mar Vista, a middle class and working-class section of the city where Sharon Archer, formerly Cohen, had been born and raised. Sharon and Nerdly, along with Rob and Jill, her parents, were all regular attendees of the Saturday morning Shabbat services conducted by Rabbi Levenstein, the man who had donned a Star Trek the Next Generation admiral�s uniform in order to marry the Nerdlys in a Heritage city park on Halloween day of 1989. Nerdly and Sharon were among the top ten most generous philanthropists to Levenstein and his house of worship, particularly these last two years as KVA Records increased their personal income quite nicely.

Rabbi Levenstein was dressed much more traditionally on this day. He wore a neatly pressed three-piece suit and jacket with a pale pink tie. His black and white robe, open in the front, was draped over this. On his head was a yarmulke, as there was one on every male in attendance, be he Jew or Gentile. He recited from the Torah to the assembled group of special guests who had joined him in the main hall of the synagogue this day. The parental Cohens were there, Rob in his own suit, Jill in a very expensive dress that Sharon had bought for her. Stanley and Cynthia Archer were seated near the front row, the two of them looking quite snazzy as well. Greg and Celia were just behind them, Greg having to fight to keep from fussing with his head cover, Celia in a modest blue dress that covered her shoulders and displayed not so much as a millimeter of cleavage. Jake and Laura were seated directly in the front, as they would play a part in the ceremony that was to take place. Jake was wearing his best double-breasted suit and a conservative red tie. Laura was in a pretty green dress she had bought just for the occasion. Pauline and Obie sat just behind the newlyweds. Obie looked quite resplendent in his custom-tailored suit�the likes of which Jake had never seen the country musician wear before. Even the yarmulke looked good on Obie.

And on Jake�s left, sitting together, were Nerdly and Sharon. In Sharon�s arms was the reason for the gathering here today. Born on December 1, at 3:33 PM, forced out of Sharon�s womb by an intravenous oxytocin drip after her doctor got tired of waiting for her to go into labor on her own, was a seven-pound, nine ounce baby boy named Kelvin Stanley Archer, his namesakes the international base scale for temperature measurement in science (this name was selected after a compromise between Nerdly and Sharon�Nerdly�s first choice for a boy name had been Quantum) and his paternal grandfather. He was snoozing contentedly at the moment, dressed in a white gown, a blue head hat, and a disposable size small diaper. He was thankfully quite oblivious to what was about to happen to him. Since, on the day of his birth, he had been evicted from Sharon�s body prior to sunset, today was the day of his brit milah, the Jewish ritualized removal of his foreskin to seal his covenant with God.

The rabbi finished his prayers and blessings, and then introduced Dr. Fredrick Rosenberg, who was not only Kelvin�s pediatrician, but was also a practicing Jew who earned beer money by serving as a mohel for members of the Ohr HaTorah congregation. He was in his mid-fifties, had two children in college, and had performed more than fifteen thousand circumcisions in his career as both a medical and religious provider. He, like every other male except Kelvin, was wearing a suit and tie, but covering his was a robe even more elaborate than Rabbi Levenstein�s. His closed over his stomach area, nearly touched the floor on the bottom, and had a hood that came up over his yarmulke.

Dr. Rosenburg, carrying an old wooden box that contained his instruments, went to a table that had been set up just in front of the rabbi�s podium. He said a brief prayer and then asked that the child be brought to him. This was Jake and Laura�s cue. They were to serve as the kvater, their responsibility to take the child from his mother and give him to the father so he could then be brought to the mohel for the procedure. It was traditional, Nerdly had told them, that a childless couple be chosen for this role as performing it would instill an automatic blessing from God that they themselves would soon be fruitful and multiply.

�Now wait a minute here,� Jake had joked when told about this part. �I�m all about being fruitful, but I�m not sure we�re ready to multiply just yet.�

�I think God will understand that,� Nerdly assured him, �and not override your contraceptive measures.�

�Oh, well I suppose we can do it then,� Jake said. �You know something? Your Jewish God is all right.�

�Yeah,� Nerdly said with a sigh. �I only wish I actually believed in Him.� Thus, was Nerdly�s dilemma. He enjoyed the rituals and covenants of being a Jew, and he deeply respected the message and culture of the world�s oldest monotheist organized religion, but his scientific and logical mind just could not quite make the leap of actually accepting the reality of an invisible, all-powerful superior being.

Jake and Laura stood and walked over to Sharon. Sharon kissed the bundled infant on the forehead and handed him to Laura, who took him in her arms, kissed him herself, and then handed him to Jake. Little Kelvin was now awake and not looking very happy about it. Soon he was going to be a lot less happy. Jake took two steps to the right and then leaned down and kissed the baby on the forehead as well. He handed him off to Nerdly just as he started to cry.

The ceremony was brief, and Jake did not really want to see it. He listened to the prayers by both Levenstein and Rosenburg, watched the doc put some wine in Kelvin�s mouth, watched him take out his instruments, even watched him apply a topical anesthetic to the baby�s little schlong (tradition dictated that no anesthesia should be used, as the ritual was supposed to be painful, but Nerdly and Sharon were not that orthodox), but when he broke out the scalpel, Jake found himself perusing the artwork on the walls and the vault where the holy scrolls were kept.

Little Kelvin�s cries of unhappiness suddenly changed pitch and became screams of pain. Jake continued not to watch. He knew that after the foreskin was removed there was some kind of a deal that involved a suction device and the drawing of blood. He didn�t want to see that shit either.

Soon enough, the deed was done and Kelvin�s little schwanz was wrapped up in some kind of dressing. While Sharon carried him off to nurse him, the rest of the crowd filed out of the actual synagogue and into the gymnasium of the religious school on the grounds, where a Seudat Mitzvah, or celebratory meal, had been set up. There were tables full of bread, meat (but no cheese), and vegetables, pots full of simmering soups, a salad bar, and, also in the tradition of Judaism, an abundance of alcoholic beverages even though it was only eleven o�clock in the morning.

Jake and Laura made themselves a couple of sandwiches, poured bowls of soup, and then, after setting these down, went to the bar and got themselves some properly chilled white wine.

�Mazaltov,� they told Nerdly and the Cohens as they passed. They then sat down and put some food and wine in their stomachs.

Greg and Celia, carrying plates and wine glasses of their own, came to their table and sat down across from them. This was the first time the four of them had been together since the wedding. Jake and Laura had come home from their honeymoon in New Zealand two weeks before, but Greg and Celia had been staying in their Palm Springs home and had only driven back to LA for today�s occasion.

�That was an interesting ceremony,� Celia whispered.

�Yeah,� Jake agreed. �You gotta hand it to the Jews. They can turn anything into a party.�

�So, how was New Zealand?� Greg asked them.

�It was beautiful,� Laura gushed. �The most beautiful place I�ve ever been in my life, really.�

�Oh yeah?� Celia asked.

�It�s gorgeous there,� she said. �Jake took me up in his airplane and we flew along the coast of the island. Huge, snowcapped mountains with glaciers that come right down to the water. It was incredible. And we even saw the southern lights from the hot tub at night.�

�That does sound beautiful,� Celia said. �Greg, we have to go there some time.�

�I�d love to show you two around the place,� Jake told them. �But if you want to go sometime when I�m not there, that�s cool too. You�re more than welcome to stay in my house up in the hills.�

�That sounds very intriguing,� Greg said. �Unfortunately, we�re starting preproduction of my new project next week and I�ll be quite busy from that point until filming is complete.�

�Oh yeah,� Jake said. �The cop flick, right?� He rather enjoyed seeing Greg wince painfully at that term.

�Yes,� Greg said through gritted teeth. �The cop flick.�

�What�s the name of it going to be?� asked Laura.

�Us and Them,� Greg said. �It�s a reference to the siege mentality that career police officers develop after working the streets for any length of time. Us being the cops themselves, Them being anyone who is not also a street cop.�

�That�s deep,� Jake said with a nod.

�It�s to be a very deep film,� Greg said. �Part of my preparation for production is going to be that I go to Chicago and do two weeks of ride-a-longs with some actual Chicago PD patrol units on the south side.�

�The south side of Chicago?� Jake asked.

�That�s right,� Greg said.

�I hear that�s the baddest part of town,� Jake told him.

Celia chuckled but Laura and Greg both missed the Jim Croce reference.

�That�s what they say,� Greg said. �I�m looking forward to the experience. As a method actor, such preparation is invaluable to getting into character.�

�Aren�t you worried about him, C?� Laura asked. �Riding around in a police car in one of the worst neighborhoods in the country?�

�I�m not really worried about that part,� Celia said. �After all, is there a safer way to explore the baddest part of town?�

�I suppose not,� Laura allowed.

�I am a little worried about Greg�s costar in the project, however,� she said.

�His costar?� Jake asked.

Greg sighed the sigh of a man who had been over a particular subject more than he cared to but was being called on to do it again. �It hasn�t been officially announced yet,� he said, �but Mindy Snow is going to be my costar in Us and Them.�

Jake, who had been taking a sip of his wine, sucked some down the wrong pipe as he heard this. He went into a brief coughing fit. Laura pounded him on the back a few times before he was able to get himself back under control.

�That was kind of my reaction as well,� Celia said sourly.

�Mindy Snow?� Jake said. �Jesus fucking Christ!� He then remembered where they were and blushed a little at his last swear. �Uh ... I mean oy fucking vey.�

�It was a casting director decision,� Greg said. �Her demographic appeal and draw compliments mine, I was told. This decision was not overridden by the producer or the director, even though I asked them to use those override powers once I was told she was being cast for the role. I was given the choice to withdraw from the project myself if I could not work with her.�

�That chick is very bad news,� Jake told him. �Maybe you should think about doing that?�

�I have thought a lot about doing just that,� Greg said. �But they�re offering me nine million dollars for the role, plus a percentage of video sales.�

�That is a nice chunk of change,� Jake had to admit.

�And the money is not even the important part,� Greg said. �I need another successful film role to finish out the restoration of my reputation after the Northern Jungle fiasco. This is the best role that�s been offered, the only one that will put me back on the A-list.�

�That�s right,� Celia said with a sigh. �And as much as that woman creeps me out, I have to agree with Greg. He�ll get through it.�

�Have you ever met Mindy Snow before?� Laura asked.

�Of course,� Greg said. �She dated my friend, Mike Stinson, for a month or so.�

�You know Mike Stinson?� Laura asked, amazed.

�He used to be my best friend,� Greg said. �He was the best man at our wedding. And he was one of my supporting actors in the Northern Jungle. He and Mindy hooked up right after she filed for divorce from her first husband, Scott Adams Winslow.�

�Right,� Celia scoffed. �And she dropped him like a hot potato as soon as the reviews for the film started to come out.�

�Whatever happened to him?� asked Jake.

�Who? Winslow?� asked Greg.

�No, Mike Stinson. He was a likable enough guy�for an actor anyway.�

�Be nice,� Greg said. �He�s still living up in Beverly Hills ... for now anyway. He never recovered from the Northern Jungle. Hasn�t been offered any roles since then. Last I talked to him he was drinking a lot and thinking about running for treasurer of the SAG. His money is running out, you see, and he might have to sell his place and get something down in the city. He�s actually quite depressing to talk to these days, truth be told.�

�He did play the cheesiest character in that flick,� Jake pointed out. He looked at Laura. �Remember, he was the bad guy, the one they went all over the top with?�

�I�ve never actually seen that movie,� Laura said.

�Really?� Greg asked. �Then how do you know Mike Stinson? Northern Jungle was his most famous role.�

�I know him because he dated Mindy Snow,� she said. �I used to be a big fan of hers, from all the way back in the Slow Lane days.� She giggled a little. �I remember liking him a lot better than I liked Jake when she was dating him, but not as much as Scott Adams Winslow.�

�Oh yeah?� Celia asked.

�Well ... you remember what I thought about Jake when we first met each other?�

�That he was a scumbag, girlfriend beating, ass-crack sniffing degenerate?� Celia said.

�Don�t forget Satanist,� Jake offered.

�Oh ... right,� Laura said. �Satanist too. But then I got to know Jake better and realized that I had he and Mindy reversed in my mind from who they actually were.�

�Reversed?� asked Celia.

�Well ... Jake turned out to be the nice guy and Mindy turned out to be ... you know ... the bitch.�

�That term does not even come close to covering her personality,� Jake said.

�Jake told me the stories about his involvement with her,� Laura said. �That was the day we took the flight to get the soprano sax from Portland.� She smiled at her husband. �Later that night we had our first kiss. And then ... well ... some other firsts too.�

�Yes,� said Celia sourly. �We all heard those firsts.�

�The impetus behind Rule 17,� Greg said with a smile.

Laura looked at Jake and pointed her finger at him. �I told you they came up with that rule because of us!� she barked at him. �You kept saying it was because of the Nerdlys and their modem noise!�

�I was trying to protect your delicate sensibilities,� Jake said. �Of course they made that rule for us. You damn near broke a wine glass when you...�

�All right,� she hissed. �I get the picture.� She turned back to Greg. �Anyway, my point is you should be very careful with that woman. She�s nasty. I�ve never even met her before, but I know she�s trouble.�

�I�m aware of what she�s like,� Greg said. �Jake�s relationship with her aside, she is very well known in the inner circles as being a manipulative user, one who will do anything to shape her reputation, or get the role she wants, or get anything else she is after. I even heard that she somehow got Winslow to waive the prenup when she divorced him. How the hell do you pull something like that off?�

Laura and Jake shared a look with each other but said nothing. Nevertheless, just saying this seemed to spark a memory in Greg. �I seem to remember your name being tossed around a little when they were divorcing. Something about a New Year�s Eve party and her going to one of your concerts?�

�Uh ... yeah,� Jake said. �That was just the media spinning stories out of thin air.� This was true enough. The media had not possessed any facts about what had actually happened. He then told a blatant lie. �I had nothing to do with any of it.�

�Well, you can be assured that I will watch my ass around her,� Greg said.

�We�ve talked about this extensively,� Celia said. �Greg promises me that his interaction with Mindy will be professional and nothing more.� She patted her husband�s leg affectionately. �I believe him ... and I trust him.�

�Of course,� Jake said, thinking about the makeup girl in Alaska. The one who Greg had been unable to resist. The one who had undoubtedly been nowhere near as attractive or seductive as Mindy Snow.

�Oh look!� Laura said, pointing across the room. �Sharon and Kelvin are back.�

Everyone looked over to where the new mother, with new child in arms, were making their way into the celebration. Kelvin was no longer crying�at least not audibly.

�Come on,� Celia said to Laura. �She�ll need someone to hold the baby for her while she gets her food. I need a baby fix.�

�Right,� Laura said, standing up. �You two coming?� she asked.

�I�m going to finish my wine,� Greg said. �There will be plenty of time for baby holding later.�

�Me too,� Jake said. �Babies aren�t all that interesting at that age anyway, right?�

That earned him a few scowls of displeasure before the women trotted off, making a beeline for Sharon. Jake and Greg were now alone at the table.

Greg looked around a little bit and then leaned closer to Jake. �Listen,� he said softly. �You�ve dealt with Mindy on a much more ... oh ... intimate scale than I have.�

�Yeah,� Jake agreed. �That is a true statement of fact.�

�Tell me what you think about this then,� he said. �There�s something I didn�t tell C about this whole Mindy being my costar thing.�

�Oh yeah?� Jake asked carefully.

�Yes,� Greg said. �You see, when Us and Them was first accepted as a project for Merrimack and Jerry Lancing agreed to produce it�this was months before my name was suggested as the lead role�the role of Lyndsay, the reporter, was offered to Mindy Snow. She read the script over and gave Lancing a polite �no thank you�, telling him that it was not the sort of project she was looking for at this time. She turned down eleven million and video royalties without even coming in for an audition.�

�Interesting,� Jake said, failing to see what this information had to do with anything. �How do you know this?�

�Johnny, my agent, is tight with Frank Graham, who is in charge of production at Merrimack. That was how I ended up being offered the role eventually. Johnny and Frank are drinking buddies.�

�Okay,� Jake said. �So ... Mindy changed her mind at some point, obviously.�

�Yes, she did,� Greg said. �That �some point� was right after I was named as the leading man for the project. The very next day, in fact.�

�Really?� Jake said, raising his eyebrows.

�Johnny tells me that Mindy called up Jerry Lancing that very morning and told him that she�d reconsidered and would love to accept the role of Lyndsay if it was still available. He said that she called him personally to tell him this, did not involve her agent in any way. And that furthermore, she continued to call and lobby herself for the role until they officially offered it to her.�

�That is very interesting indeed,� Jake said slowly. She�s up to something, his mind insisted.

�I know I have a bit of an ego,� Greg said.

�You? An ego?� Jake said with a smile. �Get the hell out of town with that shit, Greg!�

Greg shook his head and smiled. �I suppose I deserve that,� he said. He then turned serious again. �Anyway, even if my ego is taken out of the equation, I cannot help but feel that Mindy suddenly changing her mind about the role has something to do with me being named as the lead. True, I�ve only met her a few times in my life, but still ... this cannot be a coincidence, right?�

�It could be,� Jake said, �but I think you�re correct. It�s not. She�s up to something.�

�What could she possibly be up to?� Greg asked. �We hardly know each other. The times we have met I�ve never sensed any kind of ... you know ... connection between her and I. You know her, Jake. What do you suppose her game is?�

Jake shook his head. �I can�t even begin to imagine,� he said. �But I can assure you, there is a game afoot. Mindy doesn�t fart unless there is an ulterior motive for it.�

Greg blinked. �A rather crude but highly expressive analogy,� he said. �In any case, it doesn�t matter what her game is, I won�t be playing it.�

Jake sighed and took a sip of his wine. �Tell me, Greg ... will there be any ... you know ... sex scenes in this flick you�re going to be doing with her?�

�In this film,� Greg said, emphasizing the word, �there are several nude scenes and two sex scenes between my character and the Lyndsay character scripted, one of them quite provocative.�

�I see,� Jake said.

�A sex scene is nothing,� Greg scoffed. �True, it can be a bit awkward, particularly when full nudity is involved, but it�s far from a romantic or even alluring situation. There is a complete film crew surrounding you, for one thing. There�s a director shouting instructions and judging your acting. There are lights shining down on you. And every move that is made between the two actors is carefully choreographed.�

�Uh huh,� Jake said. �Yet, despite all that, you�ll be pressing your naked body against Mindy Snow�s naked body, feeling those magnificent titties of hers pressing into your flesh, maybe having her put her hands on your ass while she�s sticking her tongue in your mouth?�

�Well ... yeah ... that is all quite likely,� Greg admitted.

�Have you seen those titties?�

�Well ... not in person, of course,� he said, �but she has displayed them quite shamelessly in her last few films. I might have had occasion to take a glance at them in that context. They�re quite attractive, I will admit, but when you come right down to it, Celia�s are much more appealing.�

That is true, Jake thought to himself, but of course he could not say this. Greg did not know that Jake had seen them in the flesh�and he never would. �That�s not the point,� Jake said.

�What is the point?� Greg asked.

�They�re still nice titties. Believe me, I know. And Mindy is a hot piece of ass. Are you seriously telling me that if she is pressed naked against you and sucking on your tongue and feeling your ass and you�re supposed to be thrusting yourself against her to simulate fucking her, Little Greg isn�t going to want to poke his head up and take a look around?�

�Little Greg? What does...� He flushed as it cleared his circuits and then shook his head sternly. �No, it doesn�t work that way. A sex scene is just another take of the action. A little more awkward than some, but still just a take. �Little Greg� will keep his head down where it belongs.�

�If you say so,� Jake said doubtfully.

�I say so,� Greg assured him.

�Forget the sex scenes then,� Jake said. �I just want you to understand how devious, how conniving, and how ... well ... seductive she can be.�

�None of that can have any effect on me if I don�t allow it to,� Greg insisted.

�That is true,� Jake allowed. �But ... all the same ... I think I should tell you a little story about her, just so you can appreciate the depth of her scheming and the sheer complexity of her planning.�

�Okay,� Greg said.

Jake looked around again, saw no one within earshot. He then turned back to the actor. �A few minutes ago, when we were talking about my involvement with Mindy and Winslow�s divorce and his decision to waive the prenup ... well ... I wasn�t being truthful.�

�You weren�t?� Greg asked. �You�re saying that you did have something to do with their divorce?�

�I had nothing to do with why they got divorced,� Jake said. �I�m sure Mindy had been planning that long before I came back into her life. But I had everything in the world to do with why Winslow waived that prenup.�

�Explain,� Greg said.

�This needs to stay between us,� Jake admonished. �Laura knows this story, and the principals involved here know it, but no one else does. I want to keep it that way, for reasons which will become obvious.�

�You have my word,� Greg promised.

�Fair enough,� Jake said with a nod. He trusted Greg. �This happened when I was younger, and dumber, and ... quite frankly, drunker than I am these days. Still, I wasn�t a na�ve person even then, and I fell into Mindy�s trap as neatly as could be. It started when I was flying back from New Zealand after I�d been there to take care of some business regarding my property and the house I was having built. There were no direct flights back to LA, only flights that stopped in Fiji, so I decided to spend a day there and relax on the beach a little, enjoy a little tropical sun.�

�Fiji,� Greg said. �That was part of the story, I remember. You and Mindy met up there by chance, right?�

�Right,� Jake said. �That part was true. It was a complete coincidence that we met up there. But we did. And that�s when the game started. We had some drinks together on the beach and ... well ... my better judgement sometimes takes a vacation when I�ve been drinking and, when that happens, Little Jake starts to make my decisions for me.�

�And Little Jake made a decision that day?� Greg asked.

�He did. I went up to Mindy�s hotel room with her and we spent all night getting reacquainted with each other�s bodies.�

Greg�s expression darkened a bit. �You were ... uh ... still with Helen at that point, weren�t you?�

Jake nodded. �I was,� he confirmed. �That was after the Jenny Johansen deal, after they arrested her skulking around Helen�s property with a gun, handcuffs, and a freaking blowtorch, so Helen was in the midst of her going nutty stage and we were having problems and we were well down the road to the breakup, but ... yeah, we were still together at that point.�

�I see,� Greg said.

Jake told him the rest of the story, omitting nothing. He told of how, after the breakup with Helen, Mindy had quite literally shown up on his doorstep one afternoon and he stupidly invited her in. A hot, torrid sexual affair developed in earnest at that point. Jake knew Mindy was married to Scott Adams Winslow, of course, but that did not stop him. Mindy displayed nothing but contempt for her husband. She openly mocked him on every occasion, deriding his skills in the bedroom, the size of Little Scott Adams Winslow, even his skills as a director. On one occasion, a New Year�s Eve party at the Winslow mansion, Mindy had even enticed him up into her very bedroom and fucked him on their marital bed while Winslow was downstairs entertaining the other guests. She then told Jake she was going to get Winslow to eat her pussy out while Jake�s spend was still marinating inside of her.

�That is disgusting,� Greg said, appalled.

�Yeah,� Jake agreed. �I�m certainly not proud of that.�

He continued with the story, explaining how the climax (as it were) of the affair took place one night at the home of Darla O�Banion, Winslow�s personal makeup artist and the woman Winslow had been having an affair with for six months. Mindy had known about the affair and hadn�t given a shit. What Winslow had not known was that Mindy and Darla had been having a little affair of their own. Mindy had a touch of the bisexuality bug in her. She would not let women kiss her, or put their mouths on her in any way, and she would not do this for them, but she was not averse to having a woman touch her in a sexual way. And the word touch, as Jake found out on the night in question, covered a lot of territory. He and Darla had ended up double penetrating Mindy on Darla�s bed�Jake using Little Jake for his part, Darla using an eight-inch strap-on dildo for her part. At one point, Winslow had called Mindy on her cellular phone and she actually answered and had a conversation with him, all while instructing her partners to keep on fucking her.

�That is so incredibly depraved,� Greg said in awe as he heard this part of the tale.

�Yeah,� Jake said with a nod. �It was quite the experience.�

As it turned out, however, many of the private sex sessions between Jake and Mindy, and between Jake, Mindy, and Darla, were not really private. On multiple occasions, virtually every time they got it on anywhere besides Jake�s house, Paul Peterson, the sleazy paparazzi who had been hounding Jake ever since his first official relationship with Mindy, had been sequestered in a closet or some other place of hiding, snapping away with his Nikon.

�He took pictures of you and Mindy having sex?� Greg asked, horrified at the thought.

�Hundreds upon hundreds of them, I�m told,� Jake said. �Mindy had been planning this all along. She had been boning Peterson off and on for years, usually when she needed him to take some of his sleazy shots. For all I know, she�s still boning him. Anyway, he printed up the shots and gave them to Mindy. She gave them to Winslow when she told him she wanted a divorce.�

�She gave the shots to Winslow? For what purpose?�

�Blackmail, of course,� Jake said. �Why else?�

�How did she blackmail him by using evidence of her own infidelity?�

�That�s the whole point of the story,� Jake said. �This is how conniving she can be, how ruthless. She told him to waive the prenup and follow standard California divorce laws or she would release the pictures publicly and freely admit to the affair with me. She would tell the media about how inadequate in bed he was, about his small dick, about how he�d never given her an orgasm.�

�Humiliation,� Greg whispered, shaking his head. �My God. He never would�ve worked again. They wouldn�t let him sweep up the studio parking lot after something like that.�

�That�s right,� Jake said. �And it wouldn�t have hurt her reputation a bit. If anything, it would�ve made her more alluring, sexier to the public. Especially when you throw in the whole playing around with bisexuality thing. Winslow caved to her. What choice did he really have? He knew her well enough to know that she would have gone through with it. He gave her half his shit and she gave him the negatives for the shots.�

�How does he know that Mindy doesn�t have another set of negatives, or that Peterson doesn�t?�

�He doesn�t,� Jake said. �And neither do I. In fact, I�m quite certain that Peterson, at the very least, has his own set of negatives. Something like that is simply too juicy to give away. But none of those shots have seen the light of day and it�s been almost five years now. She must have paid Peterson a good amount of money to keep his trap shut and those pictures to himself.�

�Incredible,� Greg said. �And what happened to you and Mindy after this?�

�I�ve only seen her one time since this went down,� Jake said. �That was at your gig, the premier of Northern Jungle, remember?�

�I prefer to forget everything about that film, but yes, I remember. That was the night she and Mike came out publicly as a couple.�

�The same night that Pauline agreed to manage Celia,� Jake agreed. �I was actually shocked to see Mindy there. We hadn�t officially broken up or anything, but it was clear to me that I�d served my purpose and had been discarded. She made no mention of what had happened between us, make no allusions to it, acted like none of it had ever happened.�

�And you�ve not seen her since?� Greg asked.

�I�ve neither seen her, nor talked to her,� Jake confirmed. �I did write a song about her though. It�s on my first solo album.�

�Nothing is Different Now,� Greg said, naming that tune without even having to think about it.

�That�s right,� Jake said. �Take that title to heart, Greg. Take it to heart.�

The next day, Jake and Laura traveled in Jake�s BMW to the rehearsal studio that Gordon maintained in Compton.

�Are we safe in this neighborhood, sweetie?� Laura asked nervously as she took in the passing scenery of liquor stores with bars on the windows, dilapidated public housing apartments with homeys hanging out in front in trench coats drinking forties, homeless people pushing overloaded shopping carts, and their own faces the only white ones in view.

�As long as we stay in the car and keep moving, we should be fine,� Jake said with a shrug.

�Very comforting,� she said, seeing that a particularly dangerous looking young black man was staring at her intensely as they waited for the light to change at the intersection of Alameda Street West and East Compton Boulevard. She averted her gaze from him as quickly as possible and felt great relief when the green light allowed Jake to start driving again.

G�s studio was located just off Alameda Street, on a small lot just before the residential neighborhood began. The building was small and nondescript, and completely surrounded by an eight-foot chain link fence topped with razor wire. The building and the fence were both unmarred by gang graffiti, which was remarkable because virtually nothing else in sight could say the same. Jake had had been here a few times before, back when they had been working on Step Inside, and G had told him that the neighborhood gang all knew that the building was owned by Bigg G and that he rehearsed here, thus they had put out the word that the building was hallowed ground, not to be touched, and that no one who entered or left the building was to be fucked with in any way. This was mostly because the gang in question�it was a branch of the Crips in this part of the hood�respected G and the voice he provided the inner city, but it also helped that G made a point to spread some money around the neighborhood with generous donations to the youth clubs, the library, the community center, and the local high school music and sports programs.

As Jake pulled up to the gate that guarded the entrance, two such gang members came sauntering over in his direction. Both were dressed in jeans and long, baggy shirts that fell well below their waistbands to conceal the pistols they undoubtedly carried. Both had blue shoelaces in their Air Jordon sneakers and blue bandanas on their heads. They approached within ten feet of Jake�s car and then stopped, looking at the two whities who had invaded their hood. The one in front then seemed to recognize Jake. He smiled and gave him a nod of greeting.

Jake smiled back and returned the nod. He then punched in the four-digit code G had given him to open the gate. The control box beeped three times and the gate swung upon. With a final nod at the two bangers, Jake drove into the parking lot and parked in front of the main doorway.

�That was a little bit scary, wasn�t it?� Laura asked.

�Naw,� Jake said. �I�m sure they�re just G�s unofficial security force, keeping an eye on things. As long as we have the code to get in, they won�t fuck with us.�

�Again, comforting,� Laura said.

By the time they stepped out of the car, the bangers were nowhere to be seen. Jake opened the trunk and pulled out a guitar case. He slung it over his shoulder with the carrying strap and then pulled out a box that contained a few effects pedals, a pre-amp, and various cords for attaching everything together.

�Do you want me to carry something?� Laura asked.

�No, just close the trunk and then go push the intercom button on the door.�

Laura did this. G�s voice came on the intercom after a few seconds. �Who is it?� he asked, though there was a security camera pointed at the door and he undoubtedly knew who was there.

�A couple of tighty whities,� Laura told him.

�You got that shit right,� G�s voice replied with a chuckle. �Hang on, Teach. I�ll let y�all in.�

The door buzzed and Laura turned the handle, allowing them entrance into a large single room with a high ceiling. Near the back of the room was a desk where G sat next to Neesh, who, other than Laura, was the only female present. On the desk was a computer and a video monitor, the latter showing the view from the front door camera and the gate camera. In the center of the room the instruments had been set up. There were the two drum sets, the table where the turntables sat, and an electric piano. Surrounding the instrument area were the amps and the speakers, all connected together with black cables. Three microphone stands were arrayed in the front of all this. About ten feet away from the mics was a sound board, where everything could be adjusted.

G�s band were all sitting in chairs near their respective instruments: Ricky Mack at the turntables, James Whitlock and Fro Allen on the two bass guitars, Lucky Powell and Evan Jackson on the drum sets. At the sound board were High Top Biggins and Stinky Stewart, G�s primary sound men, both of whom were graduates of the same program at the same university where Sharon Archer had gotten her masters.

�Fuckin� newlyweds in the house, homies!� G cried out as they made their way into the room. He and Neesh got up to greet them. �How�s it feel to be all official and shit?�

�It�s cool,� Jake said. �We finally get to have sex now.�

That generated a good laugh from everyone but the two sound guys. They did not seem to get it.

Jake put the box and the guitar case down and then did some of those elaborate handshakes with G and all the other guys. He then got a hug and a kiss on the cheek from Neesh. Laura hugged G and Neesh both, shook hands with everyone else�a normal, tighty whitey handshake consisting of a grasp and two pumps.

�All right then,� G said once the greeting ritual was complete. �How about we get Jake here plugged in and sound checked and try to accomplish something?�

�Sounds good,� Jake said. �You said you had an amp for me to plug into?�

�Right over here,� said Stinky, pointing at a Marshall that sat on the floor next to a chair and one of the microphone stands.

While Jake opened his guitar case and pulled out his black Les Paul, Neesh spoke up. �I think this is the cue for me and Teach to ease on down the road for a bit.�

�Yeah yeah,� G said. �You two go out and have yourselves a good time.�

�Sounds like a plan,� Neesh said, casting a smile in Laura�s direction.

Jake noted that Laura looked a little uncomfortable with this statement and only gave a weak smile. �You okay, hon?� he asked her.

�Yeah, of course,� she said, her smile getting bigger now. �Let�s do this thing, Neesh. Shall we take Jake�s car?�

�Let�s take G�s,� she suggested. �I�ll drive. I�m more familiar with the hood.�

�Okay,� Laura said, and then, nervously. �Are we going to be doing our shopping and lunch ... you know ... around here?�

Ricky the DJ chuckled. �Girl, I would not recommend that shit.�

�No way, girlfriend,� Neesh said. �This neighborhood scares the shit out of me too. Let�s go do our thing in Redondo Beach. It�s not too far a drive from here. They have some bitchin� shops and restaurants there. And after we eat, we can maybe take a walk out to the end of the pier.�

�Sounds like fun,� Laura said.

Neesh kissed G and Laura kissed Jake.

�Have fun,� Jake told her.

�I will,� she said. �The trick will be not to have too much fun.�

�How�s that?� Jake asked her.

She giggled a little. �It�s nothing,� she told him. �I have my cell phone on me. We�ll see you later.�

And with that, the two ladies headed out the door. It latched solidly shut behind them.

�All right,� Jake said. �Let�s get it on.�

�Let�s get it on,� G agreed.

Jake plugged in his pedals and pre-amp and then plugged that into the amplifier, which was, in turn, plugged into the speakers. He started out clean, with just the acoustic sound coming out of the speakers, making sure the guitar was still in tune (it was, he had tuned it the night before) and then followed the instructions of Stinky and High Top while they dialed in the volume to match the other instruments. From there, Jake began to play with the distortion levels, as the plan was to play his part of the tune with classic rock guitar sound. Even though the sound guys and the band itself were not familiar with distorted guitar, it still did not take as long to get dialed in as it would have had the Nerdlys been in charge.

�That sounds sweet, homey,� Ricky commented after Jake ground out a complex riff and solo once the check was deemed complete.

�Fuckin� A,� said Fro. �I can kinda understand why you people like that shit.�

�My man Jake here can shred,� G said. �Have no doubt about that shit.� He walked over to his piano and picked up a pipe and a bag of buds. �All right now. Let�s get in the proper frame of mind for a jam session.�

They passed the pipe around, getting into that proper frame of mind. Everyone but the sound team took three or four hits apiece. It was pretty good shit.

�Let me and Jake show y�all what we got going here,� G told the band. �After that, we�ll start working on how to make it a full-on tune.�

Everyone nodded their understanding and settled in.

�The tricky thing about this tune,� Jake explained as he stomped on pedals and flipped switches to get his guitar back to the clean output, �is that we�ll be modulating keys throughout it.�

�Modulating keys?� asked Ricky, who, as the DJ, would have the hardest time with this. �I ain�t never done no shit like that before.�

�That�s why we rehearsin� the shit, homey,� G told him.

�G�s going to be singing the verses,� Jake said. �His part will be in E major. I�m going to be singing the choruses, the bridge, and the outro. Those will all be in G major.�

�They�ll be at different tempos too,� G said. �My part will be at a hundred, Jake�s probably at around one-twenty.�

�This is some pretty complex shit you�re talkin�,� said Lucky, who would be the one to set those tempos.

�Don�t think you can handle it, homey?� G asked him with a grin.

�I didn�t say that, G,� Lucky said.

�Let�s do this shit, Jake,� G said. He turned back to the band. �We�ll probably come up with some kind of intro later, but for now, I�m just going to play and the sing the verse. Jake will then play the choruses clean. Watch how we integrate the modulations. It took us a while to work that shit out.�

With that, G began to play out the melody on his piano. He ran through it twice, getting the feel of it and letting everyone hear what he had. He then sang out the first verse. It would, of course, be converted into hip-hop later, but the underlying melody would remain the same. As he finished up the last line, he drew the final syllable out, modulating his own voice up into the higher range that mixed well with G major. That was Jake�s cue. He began to strum out his own melody, one markedly different than Gordon�s, at a faster tempo, and in the key of G major. He belted out the chorus flawlessly, his foot tapping the floor to keep time, his fingers pushing and releasing on the fret board. Once the last line of the chorus was complete, Jake did the opposite of what G had done. He drew out the last syllable while modulating his own voice into the low end of his range, bringing them neatly back into the key of E major.

�Nice,� Ricky said, nodding his head in approval.

They ran through the entire thing without making a mistake. This was unremarkable as they had worked on it, both separately and together, multiple times now.

�Well ... what do you think?� G asked when they were done.

�It�s tight, homey,� Fro said. �Complex, but fuckin� tight.�

�Agreed,� said Lucky. �The way y�all modulated the key was smooth.�

�I�ll tell you something that�s gonna need to happen though,� said Ricky.

�What�s that?� G asked.

�I assuming you�re gonna want me to set the primary melody for the verses, right?�

�Fuckin� A,� said G. �That�s what makes it hip-hop. I ain�t gonna be playing the goddamn piano on the recording.�

�That�s what I figured,� Ricky said. �I�m gonna need another turntable in front of me for the modulation.�

�You�ll need four turntables?� Jake asked. Even though he was a professional musician with working knowledge of how most standard instruments worked, he actually had no idea how Ricky and other DJs managed to do what they did, which was to produce actual musical notes by manually moving records back and forth beneath an analog needle.

�One-two-three-four,� Ricky confirmed. �It takes a minimum of two of the motherfuckers for me to produce the notes for a tune and both of them need to have some vinyl on them with tunes in the same key as the tune I�m producing for. Does that make sense?�

�It does,� Jake said, nodding. It made perfect sense, in fact.

�If y�all want to be changing key in the same tune, I�m gonna need two vinyls with E major tunes cued up and two with G major tunes cued up. And I won�t have an extra turntable for variations in the tone like I normally have, so the melodies are all gonna have to be pretty much the same throughout.�

�Actually, that shit won�t be necessary,� G said.

�What you mean?� Ricky asked. �There ain�t no other way for me to modulate.�

�You won�t be modulating,� G said. �You�ll only need the E major set up for the verses. There ain�t gonna be no DJ sound in Jake�s parts. He�s gonna grind that shit out on his Les Paul.�

�No shit?� Ricky asked.

�No shit,� G told him. �That�s the whole point of this tune. It�s a fusion of hip-hop and hard rock.�

�Damn,� Ricky said in wonder.

�Let�s go through it again,� Jake suggested. �Everyone try to feel the melodies, particularly the rhythm section. Once you start to feel it, we�ll switch up and I�ll show you what my part sounds like with distortion.�

�All right,� Ricky said. �Fire it up.�

They fired it up. The second rendition was even smoother than the first.

Since it was a winter weekday, Neesh had no problem finding parking near the pier at Redondo Beach. The weather was pleasant enough for December, fifty-eight degrees with a steady onshore breeze blowing, the sun out and shining. Just barely sweater weather and both the ladies were wearing jeans and sweaters.

They had chatted freely with each other on the drive over, as two women who were friends would, and the subjects had stayed well away from girl-time or anything related to it. Laura was more than a little nervous about this outing with Neesh�it was to be the first test of Neesh�s promise to not try to seduce her unless she was begged�but as they got out of the car and started checking out the shops on the large, seemingly endless pier, she gradually started to become more comfortable. After all, even if Neesh did not keep her promise, it took two to tango, didn�t it? And she was a married woman now, with all the responsibilities that went along with such a relationship. Even if Neesh did try to seduce her again, she had the willpower to resist her. Didn�t she?

She thought she did. True, she could not deny that she was still attracted to Neesh, quite powerfully, in fact. She felt a little flushed every time she saw those full lips and remembered what they had felt like kissing her on her lips, on her nipples, down below. And when she saw the shape of Neesh�s breasts beneath her sweater, when she saw the jiggling of them as she walked, she could not help but remember what they had felt like in her hands, in her mouth.

Steady, Teach, she told herself. Attraction and fantasy are fine. You can rape Jake all you want as soon as the two of you get home. You just can�t act on anything that Neesh does.

They shopped for almost two hours without ever leaving the pier, both of them burning holes in their virtually limitless credit cards. Neesh bought a new dress and several pairs of shoes. Laura bought a couple of sweaters that Neesh had declared would look good on her (Laura knew she had little to no fashion sense and relied upon her friends to make her shopping decisions for her) and a few pairs of designer jeans. The two of them even went into the dressing rooms together and stripped down to bras and panties (and what a mouth-watering sight that was, Laura thought helplessly), but Neesh made no move, not even inuendo.

When their parcels started to border on too much to carry, they strolled a little further down the pier and found an intimate little seafood restaurant. There, they shared a bottle of wine and a shrimp appetizer plate. Neesh then had grilled halibut with rice pilaf while Laura enjoyed a seared scallops plate with grilled vegetables. The wine made them giggly and their talk turned a little risqu�, but the innuendo remained confined to heterosexual matters.

Since Neesh had driven, Laura picked up the check and left a generous tip. After securing her credit card back in her purse, they left the restaurant and walked further down the pier, going further out over the ocean. The smell of the sea was strong and the onshore breeze had picked up a bit, bringing a little more chill with it. A couple of sea lions were playing in the water below and Neesh smiled as she saw them.

�Anybody down there you recognize?� she asked Laura.

�Very funny,� Laura said good naturedly, but also realizing that this was the first indirect reference to girl-time that Neesh had made.

They reached the end of the pier and stood side by side, looking out at the ocean. The sun was sinking in the sky but still had a few hours to go before sunset.

�Definitely a better view than anything we could�ve found in Compton,� Neesh remarked.

�That is a scary place,� Laura said. �The drive in made me very uncomfortable.�

�It makes me nervous too,� Neesh said. �And I�m a sister ... well, kind of anyway.�

�Why does G keep his rehearsal studio there?� she asked. �I�m sure he could afford to rehearse in Beverly Hills if he wanted to, right?�

�It�s for street cred,� she said. �For a rapper, street cred is everything, almost more important than the music. As long as he maintains that cred and keeps putting out good tunes and isn�t perceived as a sellout, he�s perfectly safe there, as are all of us.�

�Does that mean that Jake has street cred with the black community as well?� Laura asked.

�I don�t think the community thought too much about him one way or the other until Step Inside came out. Now he has some tentative cred since he played guitar for G and it�s known that he hangs out with him and they appeared at the awards ceremony together. Once this new tune they�re working on comes out, and if it�s as good as G and Jake seem to think it�s going to be, I think Jake will be made an honorary member of the community, with all the rights and privileges.�

�All the rights and privileges?� she asked.

�Girlfriend, the two of you will be able to walk into a bar in South Central or Watts and order drinks and nobody will kill you. In fact, they�ll probably buy those drinks for you; especially if it becomes known that Jake is paying college tuition for Elsa�s grandkids, or that you used to teach in the ghetto.�

�Wow,� Laura whispered, imagining that. �I don�t think I�d ever be comfortable doing something like that.�

Neesh chuckled. �I�m not suggesting you should,� she said. �I�m just saying that you could if you wanted to. And the street cred has more practical applications as well. Run into a couple of hard-hitting niggers while you�re walking the streets down in Hollywood and they�ll leave you alone instead of robbing you. Walk into one of those soul food joints downtown and you�ll get premium service, extra portions, and they won�t spit in your food.�

�Are you making all this up?� Laura asked.

�No way, Teach,� she said. �This is the gospel. Look at me. I�m from an upper-middle class family and didn�t even know where the ghetto was until I met G. Now I�m a sister that other black women look up to. G is considered quite the catch, you know. As is Jake. Rich and powerful men who didn�t sell out to get what they have.�

Laura nodded as she thought this over. �Very interesting,� she said.

�Isn�t it?� Neesh asked.

They stared out at the ocean again for a few minutes.

�How�s the married life treating you so far?� Neesh finally asked.

�I like it,� she said. �I know it shouldn�t feel that different than before; after all, we�d been living together and sleeping in the same bed and all that before we were married; but somehow, it is different.�

�Hell yeah, it�s different,� Neesh said. �You�re married now. It�s legal. He can�t just break up with you if he gets it into his head to do so. There�s paperwork involved now, and division of assets.� She shook her head in admiration. �I still can�t believe he didn�t ask you to sign a prenup before you said, �I do�.�

�I�m not interested in taking Jake�s money,� she said. �I love him. I really do. I mean, don�t get me wrong, I like being rich. It�s nice to go out and buy whatever I want and not have to worry about whether or not I�ll be able to pay the rent, or my electricity bill, or my car payment, but I would�ve married Jake even if he�d been poor.�

�You think so?� Neesh asked. It was obvious that she found this very hard to believe.

�I know so,� Laura insisted.

Neesh smiled at her. �That�s what makes you so damn cute, Teach,� she said. �That wholesome, Pollyanna thing you got going. It�s charming as hell.�

Laura felt herself flush a little. �Are you saying you wouldn�t have gotten involved with G if he wasn�t rich?�

�No way in hell,� Neesh said without hesitation. �Don�t get me wrong now, I really do love the man. I love his personality, I love how he treats me, and I wouldn�t have gotten involved with just any old rich guy who showed interest just because he was rich, but G wouldn�t have had a shot in hell at even getting a kiss-off from me if he hadn�t been G.�

Laura nodded thoughtfully. �At least you�re honest about it.�

�To thy own self be true,� she quoted.

�I suppose,� Laura said.

�And how about you?� Neesh asked. �Are you being true to yourself?�

�What do you mean?� she asked carefully.

�I�ve seen you checking out my boobs ever since we got in the car,� she said. �Are you telling yourself you don�t want me?�

�No,� Laura said quietly. �I�m not telling myself that at all.�

�I kept my promise,� Neesh said. �And I intend to keep keeping it. Are you planning to do any begging, Teach?�

�I�m not,� Laura said.

�You sure?� Neesh prompted. �It wouldn�t even have to be serious begging, because I been looking at them boobs of yours all day too.�

Laura shook her head. �Sorry, Neesh. It�s not going to happen.�

�A pity,� Neesh said with a sigh. �Well, how about we start making our way back to the car then? I guess we should go see how those men of ours are doing.�

�Sounds good,� Laura said.

They walked slowly and companionly back to the car for the drive back to Compton.

Jake, G, and the boys managed to get a lot accomplished while Neesh and Laura were gone. They worked their way from playing out the melody on piano and clean electric without distortion, to having Ricky lay down the basic melody for G�s verses while the drummers and the bass players kept the beat and the time. The key modulations for the changeovers between verse and chorus were still a little rough and, quite plainly, needed a lot of work in order to sound smooth. Jake�s choruses, however, were coming along better than anything. The two hip-hop drummers and the two hip-hop bass players found they rather enjoyed the hard rock beat that was required to accompany Jake�s distorted electric guitar and strong, melodic tenor voice.

�I�ll make heavy metal musicians out of you four yet,� Jake told them at one point, after a particularly fine representation of the form.

�Shit, that�ll be the fuckin� day,� James chuckled.

It was close to four-thirty in the afternoon when the computer buzzed and flashed, indicating that someone had entered the main gate with the code. Gordon stepped away from his microphone and checked the video display, seeing that it was his car coming in.

�The bitches be back,� he told Jake, without bothering to wait for the buzz of the intercom so he could open the front door. Neesh had a key card that would let her in.

�Cool,� Jake said, making an adjustment to the tone on his Les Paul. �Let�s see what they think of it.�

�Sounds good to me,� Gordon said.

The door opened and the ladies came in, Laura carrying a couple of shopping bags in addition to her purse.

�Uh oh,� G said as he saw this. �It looks like they been spendin� some money, Jake.�

�And probably not at Walmart,� Jake said with a chuckle.

�Definitely not at Walmart,� Neesh agreed. �How�s it going in here?�

�We�re making some headway,� Gordon replied. �Wanna see how we�re doing?�

�Sure,� Laura said.

�All right, homies,� G said. �Let�s run through what we got.�

Naturally, now that they had their first audience, they screwed up the beginning and had to start over. But once they got rolling, they all seemed to give it their best and, perhaps because of the small audience, it was their best rendition yet.

Ricky spun his turntables in E major, putting out the verse melody while the bass players and the drummers kept time. Gordon sang his verses in classic rap style, belting them out in harmony with the beat. And then came the switchover to G major. Again, it was slightly rough as the rhythm section was still getting used to it, but Gordon�s voice carried off the change in key long enough for Jake to kick in with his distorted electric and lay down the rock and roll riff. The drummers and the bass players began to pound out the beat in rock and roll rhythm now, all of them grinning and nodding their heads as they got into it. Jake sang out the chorus, belting it out much more powerfully and angrily than he�d done in the acoustic version.

They played all the way to the bridge and then stopped before mounting it. They still were pretty weak on that part and they all knew it. There was no sense disillusioning their audience.

�Well?� Gordon asked the ladies once all the instruments were silenced.

�That�s impressive,� Neesh said, clapping her hands. �I think people are going to love it.�

Laura, the musician (and the one who was really only fond of jazz) was a bit more critical, but she was kind about it.

�I like the overall feel of the piece,� she said. �It needs a lot more work though. Very rough on the modulation from E major to G major and back.�

�Yeah,� Jake said. �We�re going to need to work to smooth those changeovers out. But not bad for the first go around, huh?�

She smiled at her husband. �Not bad at all,� she agreed.

The band decided to call it a day. They would be meeting again three days from now for another session. In the meantime, G and the band had nine other tunes they were currently working on. They wanted to be in the recording studio in Oakland by the end of February.

�Anyone up for a few drinks?� asked Gordon.

The band were all up for this, and Jake wasn�t opposed to it, but Laura asked him if he minded if they just headed home.

�Uh ... sure,� he said a little regretfully. �Sorry, guys. Boss lady wants to go home.�

�I�m a little tired too,� Neesh said to Gordon. �Do you mind terribly?�

Gordon simply shrugged. �Naw, baby. I got to get up early in the morning anyway.�

And so, the rest of the band packed up and headed for a local watering hole while G, Neesh, Jake and Laura climbed into their cars for the trip home.

�Did you have a good time?� Jake asked Laura as they headed for the freeway.

�We had a blast,� she told him. �She�s really fun to hang out with.� She gave him a look he recognized well. �Listen, do you mind if I suck your dick while we drive?�

�Uh ... no, go for it,� Jake told her. �I�ve never had a blowjob in Compton before.�

She undid her seatbelt and leaned over him, undoing his belt and unsnapping his jeans. As she fished his already stiffening manhood out, she looked up at him. �And when we get home,� she said, �I want you to eat my pussy out.�

�I can do that,� Jake agreed.

�And then fuck me,� she added.

�Naturally,� Jake said.

She smiled at him one last time and then went to work. He enjoyed the experience greatly. It had been a while since she had blown him in the car.

Just before he shot off in her mouth, it occurred to him that she was almost always in an extremely randy mood after visiting Neesh.

Wasn�t that interesting?

Warwick, Rhode Island

January 3, 1995

Jim and Marcie Scanlon lived in a thirty-year-old single-story tract home in the suburban city of Warwick, Rhode Island, just south of the city of Providence. They had purchased the house six years before, just after the birth of Meghan, their oldest child. It was a four bedroom, seventeen hundred square foot structure that sat on a non-premium lot and it had cost them one hundred and thirty-six thousand dollars, which, of course, they had to take out a mortgage to cover. At seven and a half percent interest on their thirty-year fixed rate, their mortgage payments were $1157 per month. With a combined family income of only sixty-nine thousand a year, two growing children, a car payment, the normal utility bills, and nearly twelve thousand dollars in high interest credit card debt, the Scanlons struggled constantly just to live paycheck to paycheck. They had very little savings to their name�certainly nowhere near the �three months living expenses� the so-called financial experts recommended that every American working family maintain perpetually�and any unexpected expense like a car repair, an appliance failure, or a medical bill, usually sent them into a months-long spiral of late bills and phone calls from creditors.

However, on this cold New England winter morning�the first day back to school after the Christmas break�as Jim and Marcie awoke to the alarm clock at 6:00 AM and pulled themselves out of bed, their crappy credit score, the fact that their checking and savings accounts combined had only ninety-six dollars total, and the fact that they were already ten days late on the electric bill and still a week from the next payday were the furthest thing from either of their minds. Today was the day they had been anticipating for months. According to Jake Kingsley, who had called them last week with the happy news, the local alternative rock station, WKRO, would be debuting Together, the first Brainwash song from their self-titled debut album, sometime during the early morning commute hours. They would then play it at least once every two hours throughout the rest of the day. And that was just the Providence alternative rock station. The two hard rocks would be playing the song as well. And that was just Providence. Stations from Boston, Portland, Montpelier, Hartford, even New York and Philadelphia would be debuting the tune today as well. It was go-time. Time to see if the experiment was valid.

�Turn on the radio,� Marcie told her husband as she yawned and stretched. Her long brunette hair was mussed up from sleep and she was dressed only in a pajama top because Jim had pulled off the bottoms and her panties the night before so he could access her nether regions for a nice, sedate round of marital sex.

Jim, who was completely naked and still smelling strongly of his wife�s sexual musk, scratched at his balls for a second and then farted. �Jake said the song won�t be on until at least 6:30.�

�I don�t care,� Marcie said, walking over to the toilet in the attached bath area and sitting down on it. �People are wrong sometimes.�

�He seemed pretty sure about that,� Jim said, opening a drawer on the dresser and pulling out a clean pair of underwear.

�Just turn the goddamn radio on,� Marcie ordered as she began to pee.

�All right,� Jim said with a sigh. �Since you gave it up last night, I�ll be nice to you.�

�That is the deal,� Marcie told him with a smile.

Marcie finished up her business and then turned on the shower so it could warm up. Since the master bathroom shower tap was as far as it was possible to be from the hot water heater in the garage, she had time to brush her teeth before the water was warm enough for her to step in.

The Collective Soul song, Shine, was playing as she soaped herself up and as Jim shaved and brushed his teeth. As she stepped out of the shower to blow dry her hair and start getting dressed, Jim stepped in to start his own shower. Shine gave way to Stay, by Lisa Loeb. This was followed by a long series of commercials that played until Jim was out of the shower and fully dressed in a pair of slacks and a button-up long-sleeved shirt�his standard high school English teacher uniform.

By the time 6:30 AM rolled around, the official beginning of the commute hour for radio programming purposes, both Jim and Marcie were downstairs, eating breakfast and drinking coffee. Since they had only ninety-seven dollars to their names until payday, and since the cereal in the pantry and the milk in the refrigerator was earmarked for Meghan and Alex, their breakfast consisted of scrambled eggs with hot dogs cut up into them and a dusting of cheddar cheese on top. As they ate, they continued to listen to WKRO on the kitchen radio. Another set of songs rolled by without any of them being Together. Another set of commercials started. The clock ticked onward toward 7:00 AM, when Meghan, who had a longer commute, would need to hit the road and Margaret Scanlon, Jim�s mother, would arrive to take charge of the children.

Jim made the two of them lunch sandwiches from generic wheat bread, Walmart pre-packaged lunch meat, and individually wrapped slices of Walmart brand American cheese. He wrapped the sandwiches in generic Saran wrap and then packed them into their lunch bags along with reusable ice packs and a single serving bag of potato chips pulled from a huge bag of such in the pantry.

�Thanks, hon,� Marcie told him as he dropped her lunch bag on the shelf next to her car keys and purse.

�No problem,� he said. �When we go big shopping on Friday, let�s get some better lunch meat, huh?� Though they did not get paid until Tuesday, they could go shopping at Walmart on Friday afternoon and write a check for the groceries with the knowledge the check would not clear until usually the following Wednesday or Thursday. The Friday-before-payday shopping trips were a bimonthly ritual for the Scanlons.

�You mean the stuff from the actual deli?� Marcie asked doubtfully. �You know it�s a lot more expensive.�

�True,� Jim agreed.

�And it doesn�t last until the next shopping trip. You can only keep deli meat in the fridge for a week, tops, before it starts to go bad.�

�Again, true,� Jim said. �Let�s get a pound of it anyway.�

�Live a little?� she asked with a smile.

�Exactly,� Jim said. �Life is too short for crappy lunchmeat.�

Marcie smiled at him. �I always knew we�d be high-class someday.�

On the radio, the latest set of commercials ended and the morning DJ, who called himself Justin Case, made the announcement they had been waiting for.

�New music here on the Crow to get your morning drive rolling along,� Case told the audience. �At least it�s new music for the rest of the world. Here in the Prov, however, lots of you out there might already be familiar with this group. They�re called Brainwash and they�re a group of teachers who work for the Providence Public School District and have been laying down the tunes at the local clubs in New England for the better part of ten years now. Well, they finally got themselves a record deal and this is their debut song from their first CD, which I�m told will be released on January 23. The CD is just called Brainwash, and the tune is called Together. And remember, you heard it first here on WKRO, the Crow.�

�This is it!� Marcie said excitedly.

�Shh,� Jim hushed her. �It�s starting.�

The piano and Marcie�s vocals started simultaneously, laying down the intro to the tune. She marveled at the sound of her own voice coming out of the radio speakers, her emotions a mixture of pride and awe. And then the tempo picked up as Jim and Steph�s guitars started to play. The drums and the bass began to pound. And then Jim�s voice issued out as well, belting out his part of the chorus. The song was so familiar to them, yet it was almost as if they were hearing it for the first time.

�It�s really true,� Marcie whispered when the tune ended and the next one�I�m the Only One by Melissa Etheridge�began to play.

�What�s really true?� asked Jim, who was still basking in the awe of hearing himself on the radio.

�They really are going to release a CD of us,� she said. �They really are going to play us on the radio.�

�You didn�t think that was true?� Jim asked. �After the three months we spent recording that CD?�

�Well ... most of me knew it was true, but there was a part of me that thought this was all just ... you know ... a pipe dream. That something would happen that would keep them from releasing it, or that this was all some kind of a scam. But now ... now I know it�s real. I�ve heard us on the radio! That really happened, didn�t it?�

�Yes, it really happened,� he said.

The doorbell rang, signaling the arrival of Jim�s mother, who, though she had been coming over on school mornings for years and had her own key, absolutely refused to just enter the house on her own when she knew Jim and Marcie were there.

�Mom�s here,� Jim said. �You better hit the road or you�ll be late for school.�

�Right,� Marcie said, picking up her purse, lunch bag, and keys. She gave Jim a quick kiss and a quick �I love you.� She started for the living room to let her mother-in-law in while simultaneously letting herself out. She then paused for a moment and looked back at her husband. �When will we start seeing money from this do you think?�

�The first royalty check will be sent out in April,� Jim reminded her. �But Jake said not to get our hopes up too high for that one. We have to pay back the advance money before we start seeing income and debut albums generally don�t start to sell in big numbers until there are two heavy airplay tunes in circulation.�

�But Jake really thinks we�re going to make some money from this?� she asked, though she already knew the answer.

�He really does,� Jim assured her. �He thinks that by the tail end of the second quarter we�ll go Gold and be heading toward Platinum.�

She nodded. �I hope Jake is right.�

�Me too,� Jim said.

As it turned out, however, Jake could not have been more wrong.

No one mentioned having heard a song by Brainwash to Jim or Marcie that day, though the tune had been played an even dozen times throughout the day on WKRO and another dozen on the two Providence hard rock stations. Jim himself heard the tune twice on his drive home from work.

The next day, however, after hearing the tune again on his commute in along I-95, two students from Jim�s fourth period English Lit class�Steve Branford and Donny Landis (members of the stoner clique, but intelligent ones who managed at least passing grades) encountered him in the hall as he was heading into the office from the parking lot.

�Yo, Mr. S!� hailed Steve, a grin on his face. �I heard your band on the radio this morning!�

�Did you?� asked Jim, feeling gratitude that someone had been listening.

�Yeah, dude!� Steve said. �It was tight! Was that really you singing?�

�Well,� Jim said, feeling absurdly prideful that this teenage stoner had appreciated the tune, �it was mostly Mrs. Scanlon on the vocals, but yeah, that was me in the choruses.�

�No kidding?� Steve said. �She�s got an awesome voice. And yours ain�t too bad either.�

�Yeah,� agreed Donny. �The tune was badass, Mr. S! Is it true that Ms. Zool was the one laying down the licks?�

�That was her on the lead guitar,� Jim confirmed. �She can shred, can�t she?�

�Who woulda thought?� Steve said.

In the administration office two of his colleagues�Kyle Bremen, who taught History, and Lynda Cole, who taught Biological Sciences�let him know that they had heard the tune played as well.

�Solid alt-rock,� Kyle, who fancied himself a music connoisseur, proclaimed. �Good guitar work from Steph and your wife�s voice is incredible.�

Lynda�s opinion was similar, though she was not as musically inclined. �It had energy and a strong beat,� she told him. �You guys really are talented.�

�We try,� Jim said humbly, feeling good about himself as he retrieved his mail from his cubicle.

It turned out that many of the students had heard Together on the radio that day, and, since Jake had given specific instructions to the music promotors that the band�s name be mentioned with each playing for the first two weeks, and since the student body had long been aware (to the chagrin of the school administrators, the PPSD board members, and the PTA movers and shakers) that Mr. Scanlon the English teacher and Miss Zool the lesbo gym teacher were both members of a rock band named Brainwash, most of them knew Jim was the male singer in the tune and Steph was the guitarist. In every class that day a group of students would make their way to his desk before the bell to tell him they had heard the tune and what they thought about it. Most were very impressed with the tune. No one told him they did not like it. He thanked all of his admirers humbly and then, once the bell rang signaling the start of class, he did his job and taught them the vagaries of the English language. Steph, he heard later, was experiencing much the same phenomenon, as was Marcie at the junior high she taught at, and Jeremy and Rick at the high schools they taught at.

By the next day, with Together airplay picking up in frequency and stretching all throughout the day on four separate Providence stations, pretty much everyone in all five band members� schools knew about the song and the coming release of the CD. And this led to a bit of unwanted attention.

During period five, the second to last period of the school day, the black phone began to ring in Jim�s classroom. He looked at it in annoyance, as it was interrupting his lecture on the symbolism to be found in To Kill a Mockingbird. It was the phone that communicated with the administration office and was generally used to have a student report to the office for an early dismissal or something of that nature. Usually, the student in question would let him know when an early dismissal was in the works, but no one had claimed a get out of jail free status to him for this class.

�Excuse me for a minute,� he sighed, leaving the lectern and walking over to the ringing device. He picked it up and put it to his ear. �Room 237,� he said.

�Hi, Jim,� said a female voice. �Lynn here.� Lynn was the administration secretary, a woman of indeterminate age who gave the impression she had been sitting behind that desk since the days when Rhode Island had renounced its allegiance to the British Crown. The students (and more than a few of the faculty) called her Broom-Hilda, after the comic book witch, though never to her face.

�Hey, Lynn,� Jim said, carefully keeping the annoyance out of his voice (in truth, he was a little bit afraid of Broom Hilda himself). �What�s up?�

�Jeffery and Anne are requesting a meeting with you today after final period,� she said.

Jeffery Jonas was the principal of the school. Anne Borden was the assistant principal. Jim made a point to avoid dealing with them as much as possible. �They want me to stay after school?� he asked.

�They do,� she confirmed.

�Did they say what this is about?�

�They did not,� she said dryly. �They have requested you meet them in Jeffery�s office immediately after the period six bell.�

�Very well,� Jim said with a sigh. �I�ll be there.�

And he was. He made the walk from room 237 to the admin building while students were still filtering through the halls to the exits. He arrived at the door at the same time as Stephanie Zool. Understanding suddenly filled him.

�Let me guess,� he said to his educational colleague and bandmate, �Jeffrey and Anne requested your presence at a meeting?�

She smiled. �You must be psychic,� she told him.

Broom Hilda, who was wearing a black dress on this day and actually looked like a witch, sent them immediately into the principal�s office upon arrival. The office was modest, with a cheap, district supplied desk with an in and out box and a large blotter on it. Jeffrey Jonas was in his early fifties, balding, and had been the principal of Hope High School for the past fifteen years. He made it clear that he planned to stay in the position until retirement. He tried to project an image of benevolent leader to both the students and the staff, but in actuality, he just hated being seen as a bad guy or making tough decisions. He sat behind the desk in his signature sport jacket and tie, his glasses perched on his nose. Sitting next to him was Anne Bordon, known as the hatchet woman by students and faculty alike. She was in her late thirties and full of ambition to rise to the very top of the PPSD food chain. She was marginally attractive physically, tall and thin with an aristocratic face, but quite unpleasant on a personal level.

�Jim, Stephanie, please, close the door and have a seat,� Jeffery told them with a phony smile that both distrusted immediately. He waved at the two seats that had been set up in front of the desk.

�Sure,� Jim said softly, shutting the door and making sure it latched.

Steph made no move to sit down. �What is this about?� she asked the two bosses.

�We just want to have a little discussion about some recent developments,� Jefferey said.

�A little discussion, huh?� Steph said. �Is this the sort of discussion we should be getting a union representative to sit in on?�

�No, no,� Jefferey said dismissively. �It�s nothing like that. This is just an informal talk about ... well ... about this music thing the two of you are involved in.�

�The music thing, huh?� Steph said. �Haven�t we talked about the music thing enough over the years? We understand. You don�t like that we are in a band and play the sort of music you think is offensive. And there is nothing you can do about it. End of discussion.�

Jeffery opened his mouth to say something, but Anne beat him to it. �It is not the end of the discussion,� she said, �but the beginning. Please sit down, both of you.�

Jim and Steph looked at each other for a moment, passing a look back and forth. They were certainly within their rights to have union representation here�they had invoked that right before�but Steph finally shrugged, seeming to say: �Let�s hear what they have to say.�

They sat down, Steph closer to Anne.

�It has come to our understanding,� Anne said, �that this musical group you two are a part of has recorded an album and they are now playing one of your songs on the radio locally.� She said musical group the way other people said venereal disease.

�That is correct,� Jim said.

�Why did you not inform us in advance that this was going to occur?� Anne asked.

�Uh ... because it�s not really any of your business,� Steph said.

A flash of anger appeared on Anne�s face. �Don�t be impertinent with me, Ms. Zool,� she said. �The fact that two of our instructors are playing rock and roll music on the local radio stations is very much our business.�

�Actually, it�s not,� Jim said. �What we do on our own time, as long as it is legal and does not affect our job duties, is our business and our business alone.�

�This does affect your job duties,� Anne said. �You are creating a large distraction to the educational process in this facility.�

Steph rolled her eyes. �You and the board members and the PTA have been telling us that for years,� she said. �We�ve gone to the wall on this issue more than once. We are not causing a distraction to anyone by playing music.�

�That is where you are wrong,� Anne said. �Things have changed now that your so-called music is being played on the radio.�

�How does that make things different?� Jim asked.

�I would think that would be obvious,� Anne told him. �When you were simply playing in clubs during the summer, the children did not have access to your music. Everywhere you played was a place where you had to be twenty-one to gain admission, correct?�

�Correct,� Jim agreed.

�Now they are playing your songs on the public radio waves,� she said. �On stations that the children of this school listen to. They are now being subjected to the offensive lyrics and radical causes that your group is well-known for.�

�Offensive lyrics and radical causes,� Jim said softly, as if pondering that. He looked back up at Anne. �Have you ever actually listened to one of our tunes?�

�Certainly not!� she said firmly, as if he had asked her if she had ever snorted cocaine from an ass-crack.

�Then how do you know our lyrics are offensive?� Steph asked.

�The type of music you play is well known for being offensive and supporting the left-wing cause,� she said.

�The song they�re playing on the radio right now is called Together,� Jim said. �It�s a song about the sanctity of a long-term relationship between two people, about how you have to face the tough times together so you can enjoy the good times. It is, in fact, a moving and quite touching declaration of love and commitment that my wife wrote for me. How is that offensive?�

�Or left-wing?� added Steph.

�We�re not here to discuss semantics or to interpret song lyrics,� Anne said. �We�re here to talk about how we�re going to deal with the distraction the release of this music of yours is causing to the children of this school.�

�What makes you think there is a distraction?� Jim asked. �All of my classes were pretty much distraction free today, except when my lecture was interrupted by Lynn calling me on the phone to tell me to come to this meeting.�

�My classes all went pretty much normally as well,� Steph said.

�Nevertheless, the distraction exists,� Anne insisted. �I�ve been getting calls all day long from parents, from members of the school board, from prominent members of the PTA, all demanding to know what we�re going to do about this situation.�

�It sounds like the admin and the parents and the PTA are the ones being distracted,� Jim suggested. �Not the students.�

�The children are being distracted as well,� Anne barked. �I�ve been out in those halls today, listening to them. They�re all talking about the song on the radio.�

�But they�re paying attention in the classroom,� Jim said. �At least as much as they normally do.�

�Again, I�m not going to argue semantics with you two,� she said. �The distraction exists because the children are being exposed to your so-called music. We need to do something about this situation.�

Jim and Steph shared another look. Here it comes, the look said.

�And what exactly do you propose we do about it?� Steph enquired.

�We are requesting that the two of you take a voluntary leave of absence for the remainder of this semester,� Anne said.

�A voluntary leave of absence?� Jim said.

�We think that is the best solution to the problem,� Anne said. �That would keep the campus distraction-free until the start of the fall semester in September. By that time, I�m sure your little album will have faded into obscurity and will no longer be able to distract the children in the manner it is now doing.�

Jim felt his anger rising and he fought to keep it down. It was a struggle. �Correct me if I�m wrong,� he said, �but a voluntary leave of absence would be unpaid, wouldn�t it?�

�Well, naturally,� Anne said. �But surely you will be collecting income from the release of this CD.�

�Not until April at least,� Jim said. �And only if it sells enough to cover the advance money we have already been paid.�

�Oh ... well that is unfortunate,� Anne said, �but I�m afraid we�re still going to have to insist that...�

�Hold the fort here a minute,� Steph interrupted. �I have another question about this voluntary leave of absence.�

�What is that?� Anne asked.

�Thanks to all the previous attempts of you and the board and the PTA to try to get us fired or suspended for being musicians, I�ve gotten to know our collective bargaining agreement pretty well.�

�What does that have to do with anything?� Anne asked.

�A voluntary LOA is something that the admin is not required to grant. Whether or not to do it is a case-by-case basis.�

�I assure you that we will grant the LOA,� Jeffery said. �That is why we�re having this meeting.�

�Uh huh,� Steph said. �The contract also says that if the LOA is for more than a sixty-day period, the employer�that�s you two�have the option of not retaining the employee when they request to come back from the leave.�

�You don�t say?� Jim asked, shaking his head.

�We would allow you to return to your positions without loss of seniority or pay rate,� Anne said. �You have my word on that.�

�Your word?� Steph said. �You, who has tried to have us fired or suspended multiple times in the past? Who arranges to have us randomly selected to pee in a cup every September when we come off tour? We�re supposed to take your word that you�ll give us back our jobs?�

�My word is my bond,� Anne said, as if offended by the very suggestion that it wasn�t.

�Yeah,� Steph said. �I�m sure it is. All the same, however, I�m afraid I�m going to have to say no to your suggestion.�

�Me as well,� Jim said.

Anne�s face was now turning red. �You cannot say no to this,� she said. �We�re going to have to insist.�

�Oh, so then you�re not really talking about a voluntary LOA then, are you?� Jim asked. �You�re talking about a suspension without pay.�

�We would prefer to keep this thing on an informal, voluntary basis,� Anne said.

�I�m sure you would,� said Steph. �That�s because you know you don�t have a leg to stand on by trying to do this officially. You can suspend us if you want. You can do it right now, right this minute in fact. But you know that we have the right to union representation if you go official. You know that you have to have a legitimate reason for suspending us. You know that we�ll take this thing all the way to binding arbitration and that when the judge hears why we were suspended, you�ll lose and have to reinstate us with back pay for all the time we missed.�

�I know no such thing,� Anne said. �I�m asking you to think of the children and do the right thing.�

�The children, huh?� Jim said, shaking his head sadly. �Don�t you think that trying to suspend a couple of popular teachers because they put out a music CD would be more of a distraction than just leaving things be?�

�No, I do not think that at all,� she said.

�Well, I guess we aren�t going to be seeing eye to eye on this issue then,� Steph said. �In any case, my answer is no. I will not go on a voluntary LOA. If you want to suspend me, you�re going to have to do it officially.�

�My answer is no as well,� Jim said.

�You two are making a serious mistake,� Anne hissed.

Jim simply shrugged. �I�ve made them before,� he said. �Are we done here?�

�We are not done here!� Anne said. �We need to resolve this issue before you leave.�

�Then I�m afraid,� Steph told her, �that at this point I�m going to refuse to speak anymore to either of you without a union representative present.�

�Me as well,� Jim said.

The vice principal and the principal fumed a little, and blustered a little bit more, but it turned out that the meeting was over after all.

By the third week in January, Together was the most-requested song at radio stations coast to coast in the United States and Canada. The tune resonated with fans of alternative rock and traditional hard rock alike, dominating the 18-35 demographic for both males and females. The song debuted at 67 on the Billboard Hot 100 before the CD was even available for sale. And it began a rapid climb upward from there.

On January 24, the eponymous CD was released for sale across the US and Canada. Jake Kingsley, who was in charge of the Brainwash project and was monitoring things closely�as well as directing every detail of the promotion campaign that Aristocrat Records had put into play�was not expecting much in the way of CD sales at first. That would come, he figured, after the second track to be released�Steph�s What Can I Do?�started to get airplay. He figured that in the first quarter of the year they might sell fifty thousand or so if they were lucky. He was, therefore, quite surprised when Brainwash, the CD, sold more than forty thousand copies in the first week of release. It sold another twenty thousand or so by the time January turned to February.

A little research gave him a partial explanation. More than ninety percent of the first two weeks� worth of sales were in the New England region. Brainwash had been popular in New England for years and their fans were snatching up the CD once they became aware of its availability. A little further research clarified things a bit more. Well over a third of the purchases were made by the 15 to 25-year-old demographic with the heaviest sales in the Providence region. In other words, younger people in Brainwash�s hometown were snatching up the majority of these early sales. The members of Brainwash were junior high and high school teachers at four different schools in the city�s district and had been teaching new crops of kids there for years. Their students and former students were the people who were buying the CD more than anyone.

�Out of fucking sight,� Jake muttered when he saw the market research documents and figured out what they meant.

Together, meanwhile, continued its way up the Billboard chart with a bullet and broke into the Top 10 on February 12. By the following Sunday, it was at number one, neatly booting TLC�s Creep out of the position it had held for the previous four weeks. It would stay at the top for three weeks straight before Madonna�s Take a Bow was able to displace it.

As the song became a nationwide phenomenon, album sales outside the New England region began to show the sort of upward trend that Jake had initially predicted even while the New England sales slacked off a bit. By the time Together began its slow trip back down the chart in mid-March, Brainwash had sold two hundred and ten thousand copies, almost halfway to Gold status in only two months. It was then that Jake decided to give the band he had discovered a little present. He arranged for a meeting with Miles Crawford, the head of promotions at Aristocrat.

Miles was all smiles and glad-handed cheer when Jake walked into his office that Monday morning. He could not stop gushing about the unexpected success of the Brainwash release and the CD sales they were currently enjoying. Of course, he took full credit for the success of the project, exclaiming about the professionalism, courage, and skill of his web of promoters.

�Yeah,� Jake said, fighting not to roll his eyes. �They�re doing a great job. Now it�s time to bring things to the next level and start generating some more CD sales.�

�What do you mean?� Miles asked.

�We need to release the next single for airplay,� Jake said.

�So soon?� Miles asked. �Jake, Together is still getting tremendous airplay all across the country. They�re even starting to play it in the UK and Australia.�

�I understand,� Jake said. �But if we get What Can I Do? out on the waves with it, and make sure that people understand it is also a Brainwash tune, the album sales will start to climb like a rocket.�

�I don�t think this is a good idea, Jake,� Miles told him. �You should know that the formula in promotion is to wait until the first hit has pretty much de-charted before releasing subsequent hits.�

�I do know that,� Jake said, �but Brainwash is not an ordinary band. They have multiple singers instead of a single vocalist. They have multiple genres of rock. Releasing What right now while everyone is still enjoying Together is the right move to make. It�s Steph�s song and it�s of a completely different style and composition than Together. It�ll resonate in a favorable way and make people start to get curious about what else is on that CD.�

�I don�t think this is prudent,� Miles said. �It�s too early for a second release. We must be patient and not get greedy for album sales right now. They�ll come in time.�

�They�ll come as soon as we start getting airplay for What,� Jake insisted. �I want to start hearing the tune on the radio by Wednesday.�

�I must protest this,� Miles said firmly. �It�s too early.�

�It�s not,� Jake said.

�And not only that, but I strongly recommend that What, as well as all of that lesbian woman�s tracks, be kept as deep cuts. They�re too controversial. In this political climate, no one wants to hear the rantings of an oppressed lesbian.�

�It�s a solid tune that has nothing to do with being a lesbian,� Jake said. �It�s a female empowerment song, an anthem if you will. And, perhaps you�re not aware of this, women make up more than fifty percent of the human race. Tapping into that market will generate sales.�

�I�m sorry, Jake,� Miles said, shaking his head. �I just don�t think this will work out.�

�I don�t really care what you think, Miles,� Jake told him. �I have a contract with you that says all promotional decisions are the exclusive right of KVA Records. I am exercising that right. Now, unless you want to be in breach of contract and forfeit your organization�s royalties on what I suspect is going to be one of the best-selling CDs of the decade, you will do what I say, exactly as I tell you how to do it.�

Miles did what he said, exactly how he told him to do it, and by Wednesday morning, Steph�s song, What Can I Do? was being played for listeners nationwide during the morning and afternoon commute hours, always at the beginning of a set so the DJs could announce that this was the new song from Brainwash.

By the following Wednesday, What Can I Do? was being requested for airplay across the country. And, as Jake predicted, album sales of Brainwash, the CD, began to tick steadily upward, not just in New England this time, but everywhere that CDs were sold.

By the close of west coast business hours on March 31, 1995, the end of the first quarter of the year, Brainwash had sold three hundred and eighteen thousand, four hundred and sixteen CDs and was climbing up the Billboard Hot 100 album chart.

Warwick, Rhode Island

April 14, 1995

For Jim and Marcie Scanlon, the ride that Brainwash was taking seemed almost surreal, as if it were all an illusion and not really happening. For them, life went on pretty much normally. They were aware that their CD was selling like hotcakes, that their two singles were extremely popular�hell, they heard one or the other of the songs pretty much every day during their commutes or while listening to music at home. But otherwise, things pretty much remained the same as they had always been. They struggled from paycheck to paycheck, finding it increasingly difficult to pay all their bills, their credit card debt (they barely managed to make the minimum payments each month and the balances never seemed to get any lower) and still have enough money left over to keep themselves and their children in gas, food, and household staples.

All they were seeing at this point in the game were the downsides of fame. The PTA, for instance, was outraged that members of a rock and roll band who had written and performed songs advocating lesbianism (there were members of the group who had gotten their hands on a copy of the CD and correctly analyzed Steph�s song Wrong Tree), communism (Jim�s song Up in the Tower, which was about the rich exploiting the poor had been interpreted by the same group in this manner) and underage sex (Marcie�s ballad about growing up in rural Louisiana, On the Water�s Edge, mentioned her high school boyfriend nostalgically and had been interpreted as being about this subject) were allowed to have daily access to Providence�s vulnerable children. They had protested in front of the school several times. They had petitioned the school board and even the state legislature several times trying to have the band members forcibly removed from teaching. When none of that worked, many of them demanded that their children not be assigned to classrooms where one of the communist pervert devils was teaching.

All five of the Brainwash members tried the best they could to take all of this in stride, but it was tough sometimes to turn the other cheek and keep showing up for work each day. Anne had all but begged them on multiple occasions to reconsider her offer of a voluntary leave of absence, even going so far to offer to put into writing her guarantee that they would be allowed back to work at the start of the following fall semester.

�It�s for the good of the school,� she insisted. �The good of the children.�

Neither Jim nor Steph took her up on the offer. Nor did Marcie or Jeremy or Rick when similar offers were made to them from their respective schools� versions of Anne.

And now, the first quarter was over and Jim and Marcie were desperately awaiting their royalty check. Tax Day had been delayed by two days this year thanks to April 15 falling on a Saturday, but come Monday the 17^th, they were going to owe a whopper to both the State of Rhode Island and the United States Internal Revenue Service. And the reason they were in tax trouble this year was because of the Brainwash project. They had been given a twenty-thousand-dollar advance by KVA Records back in May of 1994, their share of the fifty thousand dollars in advance money fronted to the band against future royalties. They had failed to take that money into consideration when figuring out their tax withholding. And now the bill was due. They owed Uncle Sam more than nine thousand dollars in taxes and Aunt Rhode Island nine hundred and fifty-five. And currently, their checking and savings accounts combined had a total of fifty-three dollars and seventy-four cents. Their three credit cards were all maxed out. They were, in short, in big trouble if their royalty checks were not enough to cover what they owed.

�You called Jake, right?� asked Marcie, who had been chewing her fingernails obsessively for the past two weeks, ever since Jim had figured out their taxes using a computer program a friend of his had loaned him. Not believing the result at first, he had then painstakingly figured out the taxes by hand and came to the exact same figures.

�I called him,� he assured her. �He said the check should be here any time.�

�But he didn�t tell you how much it was?� she asked.

�He said he did not have the figure in front of him,� Jim told his wife. �He did say he thought we would be pleased.�

Marcie shook her head in consternation. �Do you really think he doesn�t know?� she asked. �He�s one of the owners of KVA! How can he not know how much money he�s sending us? How can he not know how many albums we�ve sold?�

�What are you suggesting?� Jim asked, looking at her carefully.

�Maybe he�s trying to screw us,� she said.

�I don�t think Jake would do that,� Jim said. �He�s a good man. We lived with him and Laura for three months, remember?�

�I remember,� she said.

�Did he give you the impression that he was someone who was going to screw us?�

�Well ... no, not really ... but he�s from Hollywood, Jim! How do we know what he�s really all about?�

�He�s not from Hollywood,� Jim reminded her. �He�s from Heritage; a little podunk town in northern California.�

�It�s still California,� she insisted.

�Listen,� he said. �We�re worrying about things that are out of our control right now. Let�s just go about our day and see what happens. Mom will be here any minute and we�ve got children we need to corrupt at school.�

She sighed. �I suppose,� she said.

Margaret arrived a few minutes later and Marcie headed for work. Jim helped his mother get the kids up and around and then told his mother they were expecting a very important correspondence that would be arriving by UPS at some point.

�What is it?� his mother asked.

�Our royalty checks from the Brainwash album,� he told her.

His mother wrinkled her nose a bit. She had never particularly understood her son�s music compulsion�it certainly had not come from her side of the family�nor did she particularly approve of it. She had heard his music before�both when he had been with Courage back in the early eighties and with his coworkers back when they had first started performing. She loved her son but thought his music was incomprehensible noise, nothing at all like the sixties and seventies easy-listening staples that her ear enjoyed. Still, he was finally going to be getting paid for his efforts, so that was a good thing, she supposed. �How much are they paying you?� she asked him.

�We won�t know until the check arrives,� he said.

�It sounds like those little songs you have on the radio are popular,� she suggested. �Hopefully, it�s a good amount.�

�Hopefully,� he told her.

He kissed his children goodbye as they ate their cereal at the table and then headed off to work. He spent the day as usual, teaching fifteen to eighteen year olds about the English language.

He had to stop for fuel on the way home from work, putting only eight dollars worth in the tank in light of their dwindling funds. He hoped it would be enough to carry him through until payday but suspected that it would not.

Because of the delay, he arrived at the same time as Marcie, both of them pulling in the garage one after the other.

�Another meeting with the dragon?� asked Marcie as the garage door closed behind them and they stepped into the house.

�No, but I needed some gas.�

She frowned. �I�m going to need some pretty soon too,� she said. �How much did you put in?�

�Just eight dollars.�

�I�ll need at least ten,� she said. �My commute is longer than yours.�

He nodded. �Do you what you gotta do.�

Meghan and Alex both ran to greet them as they entered the house, both of them talking excitedly about their days. They kissed and hugged their children, listened to their tales, and then walked into the living room, where Margaret was sitting on the couch, sipping from a glass of iced tea and watching the People�s Court on the television.

�We�re home, Mom,� Jim told her.

�So I hear,� she said. �Good day?�

�Nothing to complain about,� he told her with a shrug.

�How were the kids?� Marcie asked.

�They were good,� she said. �Meggie and I worked on her reading for a little bit and Alex and I practiced our letters.�

�He�s getting pretty good at them,� Marcie commented. �We really appreciate you coming over every day to help out.�

�What are grandmas for?� she asked. �Oh ... by the way, the UPS guy came today.�

�He did?� Jim asked.

�He brought a big envelope from California,� she said. �I had to sign for it and everything.�

�Where is it?� Marcie asked.

�I put it on the TV,� she said.

Jim and Marcie both rushed into the living room and found an eight and a half by eleven manila envelope sitting on the television set. It was sealed shut. Their names and address were on the front and a return address sticker was in the corner. It was headed KVA Records LLC.

Jim picked up the envelope and practically ripped it open. He reached inside and pulled out a moderately thick sheaf of paperwork, upon which were itemized tallies of CD sales, expenses, cost breakdowns, and other data. Stuck to the front of this was a yellow post-it note. Jim peeled off the note and read it.

Sorry to keep you in suspense,

but I wanted your first checks to be a surprise.

Are you surprised??

Jake

Jim handed the note to Marcie and then dug further in the envelope. Inside were two checks, one made out to Jim, one made out to Marcie, each representing one fifth of the total royalties from first quarter sales of Brainwash minus one fifth of the fifty-thousand-dollar advance money. Jim looked at the amount, at first sure that he was seeing it incorrectly.

$47,314.88 was written in the number box.

And in the longer box: Forty-seven thousand, three hundred fourteen and 88/100 DOLLARS.

This was for real. And there were two checks in this amount, two checks for a total of ... he could not do the math in his head, but roughly ninety-four thousand six hundred dollars. Ninety-four fucking thousand! That was considerably more than the two of them combined made in an entire year.

�Fuck me!� Jim said aloud, lapsing into an expression he had picked up from Jake when they had been staying together in the Coos Bay house.

�Jim!� his mother admonished harshly. �Your language! The children are present.�

�How much is it?� Marcie asked, her eyes showing nervousness. �Did he screw us?�

He handed her check over. She took it and looked at the amount, her eyes growing wide. �Is ... is this right?� she asked.

�It�s right,� Jim told her.

�But ... it�s made out just to me. Does that mean...�

�There are two of them,� Jim said. �One for me and one for you.�

�Yours is ... is the same amount?� she asked.

He nodded slowly. �The checks are identical except for the names.�

His mother�s curiosity was quite aroused now. �How much is it?� she asked.

He slowly handed her the check in his hand. She looked at it and her eyes widened as well. �Forty-seven thousand dollars?� she whispered in awe. �And you both got one of these?�

�That�s right,� Jim said.

�My God,� she said. �And this is only for the first quarter?�

�Yep,� Jim said. �We�ll be getting royalty checks every three months now from here on out.�

�And will they all be this much?� Margaret asked.

�They�ll probably be even more for a while,� Jim said. �The CD sales are just now starting to take off.�

�My God,� Margaret said again.

�Well ... I guess we don�t have to worry about how we�re going to pay our tax bill now,� Marcie said.

�No, I think we�ll be able to cover it,� Jim agreed.

�What about taxes?� Margaret said.

�Oh, we got hit pretty hard this year,� Jim told her. �Mostly because of that advance money KVA gave us. We were kind of worried about how we were going to pay it.�

�How much?� she asked.

�About ten grand,� Jim said.

�Ten thousand dollars?� she said, horrified. �Jim, why didn�t you tell us? You know we would have helped you out.�

�We don�t want to take money from you and Dad, Mom,� he told her. �We dug our hole; we can crawl out of it without help.�

�That�s just your pride talking,� she admonished. �We�re family. When you need help, you just ask.�

He nodded. They had taken their share of help from his parents over the years, and every time they had to, it had gnawed at him for months. Not that his parents had ever held it over his head or even so much as made mention of it ever again, but because it made him feel like he was a failure, that he couldn�t support his family. �We don�t need help now, Mom,� he told her. �I think our ship just came in.�

�The taxes!� Marcie said suddenly.

�I told you, they�re covered,� Jim told her. �We�ll deposit this thing on Monday morning and send out the checks for our tax bills at the same time. These checks will clear long before the IRS and the RIDT deposit our checks.�

�That�s not what I�m talking about,� Marcie said. �Jake told us that we�re responsible for figuring out and paying the taxes on our royalties. We don�t get to keep all of this money.�

�Oh ... yeah, I guess you�re right,� Jim said.

�How much are they going to take in taxes?� Margaret asked.

�I don�t know,� Jim said. �Thirty or forty percent of it maybe?�

�I think you�re going to need to figure that out,� Margaret said.

�Yeah,� Jim agreed. �I�m thinking that another one of our projects for next week will be to find ourselves an accountant.�

Los Angeles, California

April 19, 1995

The dinner party that night was at Jake and Laura�s house; its purpose to serve as a going-away gathering of sorts for Greg Oldfellow, who was leaving on a chartered flight the next morning for Chicago, where principal photography for Us and Them was scheduled to begin on Thursday morning. The mood at the dinner was a bit somber, however, and the conversation mostly dominated by the topic that everyone in the nation was talking about on this day: the bombing of the Federal Building in Oklahoma City that had taken place that morning. This act of terrorism, it was being reported, had cost hundreds of people, many of them children, their lives.

�Fuckin� ragheads did it,� Greg opined as they ate bacon wrapped filet mignon and sipped Merlot from the Napa Valley. �When they catch those scrotes I hope they just take �em out behind the building and bust a fuckin� cap in their skulls.� Greg said this roughly, with a Midwest drawl, using crude terms he had picked up during his two weeks of ride-a-longs with Chicago PD. He had learned how to talk and carry himself like a hardened street cop and was already working on getting into character for the upcoming project, much to the amusement and sometimes annoyance of his friends and family.

�They have that sketch of the suspect,� Jake pointed out. �Haven�t you seen it? It�s definitely a white guy.�

No one knew at the moment, including the police and FBI agents investigating the incident, that the man in the sketch was already in police custody on a firearms charge. And Greg was advancing the most common theory being floated by most Americans. �I�m sure that dude in the sketch is not the actor,� Greg said assuredly. �He�s probably some tweaker that just happened to be making himself scarce after the bomb blew so he didn�t get jacked up. This has Muslim terrorism written all over it. Just you wait and see.�

�I guess we�ll have to,� Jake said. �I just can�t conceive of anyone blowing up a building with regular office workers and their children inside. It�s horrible.�

�And in Oklahoma City,� said Celia, shaking her head sadly. �Not New York, or Los Angeles, but Oklahoma City. If they will hit there, they�ll hit anywhere.�

�That was undoubtedly their point,� said Laura. �Nobody is safe.�

Finally, they tired of talking of it and switched to other topics. Everyone had long since gotten bored with the endlessly ongoing OJ Simpson murder trial, so they talked instead of the ongoing success of the Brainwash project.

�I must admit,� Greg said. �When Celia first told me about this band of teachers, I had my doubts, but you made the call, Jake. They�re selling like wildfire.�

�I am actually kind of surprised by how right I was about them,� Jake said. �I knew they would be popular, but this thing is turning into a monster.�

�I like this kind of monster,� Celia said with a smile.

�What�s the next move with them?� Greg asked. �Are you going to send them out on tour? Are they going to make any music videos?�

�We�re not in a position to finance a Brainwash tour at this point in time,� Jake said. �And, truthfully, we don�t really need one. The album is selling quite well without the tour. And, as for music videos, we don�t really do that at KVA, as you might have noticed.�

�Yes, I know that you and C don�t believe in them,� Greg said. �But maybe it would help Brainwash to get their music out in that format?�

Jake shook his head. �I can�t see that being cost-effective, as Jill would say. The money we would spend producing a video would not increase sales enough to justify the expense. Besides, we kind of like to keep the Brainwash members somewhat of a mystery. So far, they�ve not given a single interview or appeared on any media. A few rags did some stories about their background as teachers in Providence and their popularity in the New England clubs, but we don�t even have pictures of them or basic biographies on the CD insert. Just their names and the instruments they play.�

�Do you think the mystery adds to their popularity?� asked Laura.

�To some degree, yes,� Jake said. �But that�s not the only reason. They�re camera shy. They know they�re not glamorous-looking and they would just as soon keep in the shadows for now.�

�And they�re going to keep working as teachers?� asked Greg.

�For now, that is their plan,� Jake said. �We�ll see what happens after a few more royalty checks come rolling in.�

They polished off two bottles of Merlot during dinner. After Elsa shooed them out of the dining room so she could start cleanup, Laura and Celia opened a bottle of white wine and sat on the couch to discuss girl things while Jake poured Greg and himself snifters of Cognac and grabbed a few cigars out of the humidor. Greg was still apparently unaware that his wife enjoyed a little puff on a stogie on occasion herself.

They lit up out on the deck, looking at the city lights of Los Angeles and enjoying the pleasant night breeze of spring.

�It won�t be this nice in Chicago,� Greg said whimsically. �I checked the weather there earlier from our computer.�

�From your computer?� Jake asked.

�That�s right,� Greg said. �We�re on this internet thing now. Nerdly set it up for us a few weeks ago. It�s actually quite amusing. I can call up weather reports from anywhere in the world, basically.�

�He�s been telling me that,� Jake said. �So far, I haven�t jumped on the wagon. I�m afraid that if I start getting into it, I won�t spend as much time working on my music. Especially once the porn starts rolling in.�

�I wouldn�t worry too much about that,� Greg said dismissively. �While the world wide web is interesting and it�s easy to look up something like the Chicago weather or to send one of those email messages to someone, I don�t really see any practical use for it in the long term.�

�No?� Jake asked.

Greg shook his head. �I�m sure it�s just a passing fad and that it won�t end up going anywhere in the long term. But for now, it�s just a few clicks of the mouse to find out that it�s going to be forty-eight degrees and windy when we land in Chicago tomorrow. And that there is rain forecast for the day that we�re supposed to start our first photography takes.�

�Email, huh?� Jake said. �I heard Nerdly going on about that a few weeks ago. He says it�s going to replace the US Postal Service eventually. That no one will ever send letters or memos to anyone in another ten years.�

Greg shook his head again. �I find that really hard to believe,� he prophesized.

They puffed their cigars a bit and then had a few sips of Cognac.

�I�ve been kind of busy with the Brainwash project these past few months,� Jake said. �You haven�t told me how things are going with our favorite actress.�

�Mindy Snow,� Greg said. He shrugged. �We�ve been in meetings together on multiple occasions now. We�ve even done some basic readings of some of our primary scenes in the script. So far ... nothing unusual to report. She�s been polite and very professional with me the entire time. She seems to be taking her role very seriously.�

�Really?� Jake asked.

�It�s the truth,� he said. �She has made no allusions to anything. In fact, she has pretty much only talked business with me when we�ve been together. Like I said, very professional, very goal oriented.�

�Interesting,� Jake said. �I find that a particularly ominous development.�

�Maybe she�s turned over a new leaf?� Greg suggested.

�No,� Jake said firmly. �There is no new leaf for Mindy Snow. Watch your ass.�

Greg nodded. �If there�s one thing I learned how to do when I was riding with Chicago PD on the south side, it�s how to watch my ass.�

�Are you coming to the studio tomorrow?� Celia asked Laura as she poured the two of them fresh glasses of white wine. Tomorrow Jake and Celia planned to meet at ten o�clock in the morning at KVA�s studio in Santa Clarita. Both had the basics of ten to twelve tunes they had worked up and they wanted to get started on their next albums.

�I don�t know,� Laura said with a shrug. �Should I?�

�You should,� Celia told her. �Has Jake played any of his tunes for you yet?�

�A few,� she said. �I like to listen to him strum and sing and he likes to ask me what I think of the melodies and the lyrics.�

�That�s because you�re a musician,� Celia said. �You have insight into the art. I�d love to hear your opinion on some of my work too.�

�If you really think I�ll be helpful,� Laura said.

�I really think you will,� Celia said. �And you should bring your sax with you too. Jake says you�ll be our sax player this next round?�

She nodded. �I�m out of practice, but I promised him I would play.�

�Then you should start plugging in as soon as possible. I�ve already got five songs in mind that will need an alto sax as either the primary melody or for the fills. It would be nice to hear you play it out for me so I can see if I�m on track or not.�

�All right,� she said. �I guess I�ll be there. It�s time I started getting back into the groove again.�

�I�ll be looking forward to it,� Celia said happily. �And there�s another thing. Do you have any plans for this weekend?�

�This weekend, no.� she said. �Remember, I�m currently unemployed. I don�t even have housewife responsibilities thanks to Elsa. Why do you ask?�

�I�m driving to Palm Springs on Friday morning,� Celia told her. �My friend Suzie is going to meet me there.�

�Suzie the pilot?� Laura asked.

Celia nodded. �That�s the one.�

�The one you had the little crush on?�

�The one I have the little crush on,� Celia said. �We�re going to have a girl�s weekend at the Palm Spring house. I invited her a few weeks ago when she came up to visit Greg and I and ... well ... she took me up on it.�

�Is that a problem?�

�Probably not,� Celia said. �I resisted her the whole time we were out on tour and I�m pretty sure I can resist her now, but ... well ... you�re one of my best friends too, and you�re one of the girls, and ... well ... I thought it would fun if you joined us.�

�Is there more to it than that?� Laura asked.

�Maybe a little,� Celia said. �I thought things might be a little easier on everyone involved if ... well ... I had a chaperone with me.�

�You want me to be your chaperone?� Laura asked.

�I think it would be a prudent precaution,� Celia said meaningfully. �Say you�ll do it, Teach. For me?�

Laura smiled. �I�ll do it,� she said. �As long as Jake doesn�t mind.�

�Deal,� Celia said with a smile. �You�ll be my guardian against licentious temptation.�

Yes, Laura thought, I�ll be your guardian. But she couldn�t help but think of the words of Juvenal, the second century Roman poet who had asked the ubiquitous question: But who guards the guardians?

The very next afternoon, while Jake, Celia, and Laura were in the KVA Studios building, strumming out the very beginnings of the tunes that would hopefully appear on their next albums, Matt Tisdale received one of the strangest phone calls of his life.

He was sitting in his house in San Juan Capistrano, a sheaf of musical scores before him that he was editing for clarity. He and his band were going to be hitting the recording studio in National�s basement next week to start work on his third album. He was very excited about this album as he was doing some entirely new sounds with his guitars and his effects pedals. He could not wait to start laying down some tracks.

He had just taken his fourth bong hit of the day and was sipping from his second Jack and Coke. He lit a cigarette and took a few drags and was just starting to think about crunching up a nice line of Bolivian flake when he heard the phone ring. He ignored it as usual, knowing that Chuckie would pick it up and screen the caller for him.

About a minute later, Charles came into the room carrying the cordless phone in his hands.

�Mr. Tisdale,� the butler said apologetically, �I am aware of your feelings on the matter, but I have Mr. Bill Archer on the line, and he insists on speaking to you.�

Matt looked at him to see if this was some kind of fucking joke, although as far as he knew, Chuckie possessed no sense of humor. Chuckie did not seem like he was anything but serious.

�Nerdly is on the phone?� Matt said. �Are you fucking kidding me?�

�I am not, sir,� Charles said. �He insists upon talking to you.�

�Well, I don�t want to talk to him,� Matt said. �I thought I�d made that quite fucking clear on multiple fucking occasions.�

�You have, sir,� Charles said, �but he says it is of the utmost importance.�

�The utmost importance?�

�Correct, sir. He says it is regarding a promise he once made to you.�

�What fucking promise?� Matt demanded.

�He did not enlighten me to what the particular promise was. He only said that he wished to relay some information to you and that it is for your ears only.�

Matt�s curiosity started to get the better of his anger now. What the fuck could Nerdly possibly be talking about? Had something happened to Jake, perhaps? Had he crashed his fucking plane and killed his sellout ass? That thought seemed like a reasonable possibility. And, to his surprise, the notion that Kingsley might be dead did not delight him as he would have sworn it would. It actually filled him with a sense of dread and foreboding.

�All right,� Matt said, holding out his hand. �Give me the fucking phone.�

Charles handed the phone over and then quickly retreated from the room. Matt looked at it for a moment, considered just hanging it up for a second, and then realized he had to know what this shit was about. He put it to his ear.

�This is Matt,� he said. �Is this really you, Nerdly?�

�It�s really me, Matt,� the familiar voice said. �I know you have requested no contact with any of us, but I�m just fulfilling a promise I once made to you.�

�What promise are you talking about?� Matt asked.

�Eleven years ago,� Nerdly said. �On the day we met with Crow and Doolittle in the National Records building and gave them that cassette tape with the substandard music on it. Do you remember that?�

�Uh ... yeah,� Matt said. �Of course I remember that.� And he did. That had been the first shot of their breach of contract strike, when they had put a bunch of crap tunes on tape for submission knowing that National would reject them, but legally fulfilling the requirement that they make a �good faith� attempt to produce marketable music for the label. �What the fuck does that have to do with anything? I don�t remember any promise.�

�It was before we gave them the tape,� Nerdly said. �We were talking about the rise of the online computer industry and how pornography would one day be available for free and would be easily accessible on the platform.�

�What?!� Matt barked. �You better start making some fucking sense, Nerdly, or I�m hanging up this goddamn phone.�

�You asked me to let you know when we reached the point that online pornography was freely available at a whim so you could then join the computer revolution. I promised I would let you know when that happened. That�s why I�m calling you now.�

�What?!� Matt barked again.

�We have reached that point,� Nerdly said. �Pornographic images, mostly still-shots at this point because that�s all that current bandwidth in its present form will support in a reasonable amount of time, are now readily available to those who know how to access them. Thousands of images of all varieties. All you have to do is have a computer connected to the internet. Once you have that, you need to access the Usenet bulletin boards and download the images one by one. They are categorized broadly and quite specifically. For instance, if you like images of lesbians, there is alt.usenet.binaries.lesbians. And if you like bestiality, there is...�

�This is what you fucking called me for?� Matt demanded.

�Yes,� Nerdly said. �I made a promise to you. I keep my promises.�

�Jesus fucking Christ, Nerdly,� Matt said. �You are a fucking freak! I�m hanging up now. Do not ever call me again, for fucking anything!�

�Okay, Matt,� Nerdly said lightly. �I�m sorry if my communication upset you. I just wanted you to know.�

�All right, I fucking know,� Matt said. �Now fuck off.�

�Fucking off,� Nerdly said. And then the phone clicked.

Matt stared at the handset for a moment, still in disbelief over what had just happened. Fucking Nerdly! Jesus fucking Christ, what a geek!

He set the phone down on the desk and tried to go back to work. But now he couldn�t keep his mind on what he was doing. After a few minutes, he stood up and walked out of the room.

Kim was sitting on the couch, drinking a glass of tea and smoking a cigarette while she watched the latest update on the OJ trial. She was dressed in a pair of yellow shorts and a half shirt. Her blonde hair was down on her shoulders. She looked up at him as he walked into the room and stood before her.

�What�s up?� she asked him.

�What do you know about online bulletin boards?� he asked her.

Riverside County, California

April 24, 1995

It was ten o�clock on a Monday morning and two cars were traveling westbound on Interstate 10 as it climbed out of the Coachella Valley toward the top of the San Gorgonio pass. The car in front was a 1994 Toyota Camry, gold in color, and driven by pilot Susan Granderson. Following behind it was a 1995 Mercedes Benz E-320, silver in color, driven by Celia Valdez with Laura Kingsley in the front passenger seat. The three ladies had just spent the weekend all alone at Greg and Celia�s Palm Springs home. All three had had a good time. Celia and Suzie played several rounds of golf at the exclusive country club upon which the house sat while Laura, who did not golf and did not want to learn how, took turns riding in the carts with them. They went out on shopping trips and to lunch and dinner. They drank a great deal of alcohol while doing all of these things. And, while there was a considerable amount of sexual tension between all three of them, no girl-time (as defined by Neesh soon-to-be Paladay) had occurred.

In the town of Beaumont, at the top of the pass, Interstate 10 intersected State Route 79, which ran south. Suzie took the offramp for 79, which was the fastest way for her to get back to her home in San Diego. Celia kept going west on I-10, which was the fastest way to get her and Laura back to Los Angeles. Suzie waved at the Mercedes enthusiastically as it overtook her. Celia nudged Laura, who had been dozing listlessly in her seat, and the two of them waved back at her with just as much enthusiasm.

Once Suzie�s car was gone from sight, Laura yawned and sat up a little straighter. She had a moderate hangover going on. Her head ached dully, though not as badly as it had before a couple of Tylenol tablets had been washed down just before leaving the house. Her stomach rumbled disconcertingly, and a distinct sensation of nausea ebbed and flowed throughout her like a tide. Her mouth was dry despite the half a liter of water she�d put down since awakening, and a persistent feeling of fatigue tugged at her.

�How are you doing?� asked Celia, who was in pretty much the same boat.

�I feel like I�m paying the price for the fun we had this weekend,� she said simply.

�That�s the truth,� Celia said with a crooked smile. �It was a weekend to remember though, wasn�t it?�

�It was a blast,� Laura agreed. �I really like Suzie. She knows how to party.�

�She does,� Celia said. �When you can get her to let her hair down anyway.�

Laura giggled. �It was down all right. I still can�t believe that story she told us about the aircraft mechanic, that female airman, and the chicken over there in Kuwait.�

�Madres de Dios!� Celia laughed. �Isn�t that loco? It�s amazing some of the things people do.�

�I wouldn�t have even thought it possible,� Laura said, still giggling at the story. �I mean, wouldn�t there be feathers everywhere?�

�You would think, wouldn�t you?� Celia said.

They drove on, Celia keeping the cruise control at seventy-five miles per hour. She slid over to the fast lane to pass a line of semis hauling trailers. Both women were wearing shorts and every one of the truckers looked down in appreciation at their bare legs as they went by. One of them even gave a blast of air horn and a thumbs up.

�Horny bastards,� Celia said with a shake of her head as she switched back to the right lane.

�Well, you can�t really blame them,� Laura said. �They appreciate a nice set of legs�especially yours.�

�Don�t sell yours short, Teach,� Celia told her. �You�ve got a premium set of wheels too.�

�You really think so?� Laura asked, looking down at her thighs. �I always thought they were kind of skinny ... and a little pale too.�

�They�re hot legs,� Celia assured her. �Suzie was certainly drooling over them�especially when you wore that night shirt of yours before bed.�

�That�s just what I sleep in,� Laura said. �I wasn�t trying to turn her on.�

�I know,� Celia said. �And that�s what made it so hot. If you would have let her put a single finger on one of your legs, I don�t think you would have been able to pry it back off.�

Laura smiled at the thought. �I�m not sure I would have wanted to pry it back off,� she said.

�Yeah,� Celia said wistfully. �I really get the feeling that Suzie knows what to do when she acquires her target. Thank you for being my chaperone on the trip. I escaped with my purity reasonably intact.�

�No need to thank me,� Laura said. �I had a lot of fun.� She looked at her friend meaningfully. �Do you really think you might have ... you know ... done something with her if I hadn�t been there?�

Celia gave a crooked smile. �I like to think I wouldn�t have,� she said. �I made a decision back when she was our tour pilot that I wasn�t going to travel down that road and I haven�t changed my mind about that, but...� She trailed off.

�But what?� Laura asked.

A sigh. �Sometimes need and temptation and ... well ... opportunity conspire to drag someone down that road despite her vows to the contrary.�

�Yeah?� Laura asked casually, as if she had no idea what Celia was talking about.

�Yeah,� Celia said, nodding. �Especially when there is alcohol involved. You see, I really have a strong curiosity about the whole girl-girl thing�thank you very much Laura Kingsley for putting the idea in my head one day.�

�Sorry,� Laura said.

�You should be,� Celia chuckled, then turned serious again. �Anyway, I�ve got the curiosity and I�ve got the attraction to Suzie and it�s quite clear that Suzie would be thrilled to lead me down that road for a little exploration of the territory. I was afraid that if you weren�t there with us, there might be a night when she and I had a few too many drinks, and then maybe she gets a little aggressive with me�not like assaulting me or anything, because I don�t think Suzie would do anything like that�but, you know ... just try really hard to tempt me. And ... maybe ... if I was tempted enough...�

�You might just go along with it,� Laura said. It was not a question.

�You understand,� Celia said.

�Yes,� Laura told her, feeling the familiar mix of guilt and sexual excitement surging through her as she thought of Neesh closing herself into the spare bedroom with her. �I get how things can get out of control like that.�

�Do you?�

�I do,� she said, elaborating no further on that.

Celia did not ask her to. She had some feelings of guilt and sexual excitement of her own to contend with. �Anyway ... since you were there, we all had a good time and the flirtation stayed in the realm of verbal, where it belongs.�

�But you still want to try it with another woman?� Laura asked.

Celia nodded. �It�s on my list of things to do before I die,� she said. �Right up there with running with the bulls and scuba diving at the Great Barrier Reef.�

�Have you thought about talking to Greg about this?� Laura asked. �Maybe he might be up for ... you know ... letting it happen. I hear that guys are really into that sort of thing.�

�Yeah,� Celia said with a chuckle. �I�ve heard that as well. But I wouldn�t even know how to begin a conversation like that with Greg. And even if I did, I doubt he would tell me to go forth and get it on. If he agreed to it, he would want to be involved. He would want to watch at the very least, be a participant ideally. And he would want to pick the girl and it sure as hell wouldn�t be Suzie.�

�Would that be so bad?� Laura asked her.

�What?�

�You�d get to try it,� Laura said. �I�m sure he�d pick a cute girl for you.�

She was shaking her head. �No way in hell am I going to have Greg watching me get it on with a woman,� she told her. �And as for him getting to slip his chorizo into her too... joder esa mierda. That is not going to happen.�

�I guess that leaves you with a roadblock, doesn�t it?�

Another sigh. �I guess it does.� She looked over at the redhead. �What about you? Would you let Jake watch you and another girl go at it?�

�I don�t know,� Laura said honestly. �It would be weird ... very awkward, but ... well ... I suppose if it was the right girl...�

�What exactly is the right girl?� Celia wanted to know.

�It would have to be someone that neither one of us really knows that well ... someone we have no attachment to.�

�A one-night stand?�

�I suppose,� she said. �Someone like the groupies that I used to hook up with out on tour. Someone we wouldn�t see again once it was over and done. If we found someone like that and the circumstances were right ... well ... maybe something could happen.�

�Would you let Jake do her too?�

�I don�t know about that,� Laura said. �I think I probably wouldn�t want him to do anything with the other woman. But having him watch...� She smiled sexily. �I think that would kind of turn me on.�

�Wow,� Celia whispered. �You�re a naughty little girl, Laura Kingsley.�

�I guess my mother was right,� she said. �Jake has corrupted me.� Besides, she thought, that way I get to have some girl-time without sneaking around�and Jake gets to have a little fun too.

�Yes, I�m pretty sure the Mormon church would disapprove of this conversation�the Catholic church as well.�

�Undoubtedly,� Laura agreed. �One thing I do know though, this weekend has made me incredibly ... you know...�

�Horny?� Celia suggested.

�Yes, horny,� Laura said, saying it as if it were a naughty word. �I hope that Jake is home when I get there. I am going to absolutely ravish him.�

�Hmmph,� Celia grunted. �At least you have Jake to ravish. Greg is in Chicago for the foreseeable future. All I have to relieve my stress is my BOB.�

�Bob?� Laura asked. �Who is that?�

�What is that,� Celia corrected. �BOB is my battery-operated boyfriend. And he�s going to get a workout today.�

�You mean a vibrator?� Laura asked, her eyes wide.

�Of course,� Celia said. �Don�t you have one?�

Laura shook her head. �I�ve never even seen one before,� she said. �I thought they were just ... you know ... novelty things. You actually use one?�

�Regularly,� Celia said. �Especially when Greg is away. I can�t believe you�ve never tried one.�

�I just use my fingers when I have to ... uh ... take care of myself.�

�That�s good in a pinch,� Celia said, �but the vibrator brings it up to the next level. You really need to get yourself one, Teach.�

Laura felt herself blushing now. �I could never go into one of those shops and buy something like that,� she said. �I would die of embarrassment.�

�I didn�t go into a shop to buy any of mine,� Celia said. �You just have��

�Any of yours?� Laura interrupted, scandalized. �You have more than one?�

�I have three of them,� she said. �Two are dildoes and one is a butterfly.�

�A butterfly?�

�Yeah,� Celia said with a smile. �You put it on your clit and it stimulates it. That�s the one I use the most.�

�Wow,� Laura whispered, feeling her blush increasing exponentially as she thought about this.

�Anyway,� Celia said. �You can order them by mail from this company in Ohio. They deliver it by UPS in a plain brown package. Very discrete. No pictures of you going into a sex shop in the American Watcher. I can give you their catalog if you want. I�m sure I have one in the bedroom.�

�I don�t know,� Laura said. �What would Jake think if he found out I bought one of those?�

Celia shook her head and laughed. �You�re okay with Jake watching a woman eat your pussy out but you think he�d be upset if he knew you had a vibrator?�

�Uh ... well ... I don�t know,� she said.

�Trust me on this, he won�t be upset if you buy some toys. He�ll probably want to play with them too.�

�Jake play with them?� she asked, shocked. �You mean he�d put them in his ... in his...�

�No, no!� Celia laughed. �That�s not what I meant. I meant he�d like to watch you play with them, and maybe help you play with them. Greg and I have done that. It�s really kind of sexy.�

�Hmmm,� Laura said. �I�ll have to think about this.�

And she did. Though their talk on the rest of the drive turned to other things�their rehearsal sessions, the Oklahoma City bombing, the ongoing OJ Simpson trial�once they arrived at Jake and Laura�s house to drop her off, she did ask Celia to bring her that catalog the next time they rehearsed.

The next time they rehearsed was the very next day. Jake woke up a little stiff and sore. Laura had been very enthusiastic about sex after returning home from her trip to Palm Springs. She had dragged him immediately up to the bedroom as soon as she walked in the door and then, just before bedtime, they had another, lengthier and more physically demanding session before going to sleep.

Jake had long since noticed that Laura�s sexual appetite increased considerably whenever she went out with Neesh. He did not disapprove of the situation although, in truth, it never occurred to him that anything had actually taken place between his wife and G�s fianc�. He just figured that Laura had a little bisexuality in her, that her experimentation with the bartender and the groupies while out on tour had awakened something inside of her, and that Neesh�s exotic beauty stirred those feelings up. Neesh was certainly not a bisexual, he figured. In truth, the fact that Laura was turned on by women was kind of hot. And now the same had happened to her after spending a couple days on a girl�s weekend with Celia and Celia�s pilot friend, who was, according to Greg, a card-carrying butch lesbian. Interesting. He would have liked to have been a fly on the wall in that Palm Springs domicile this weekend. Again, he was sure nothing could have possibly happened. Celia certainly had no bisexual leanings and Laura would never do anything with the pilot without Jake�s preapproval (would she?). Still, he bet there had been some interesting conversations.

They showered separately, Laura going first, and then made their way downstairs to the informal dining room, where Elsa laid out some breakfast burritos made out of chorizo, eggs, fried potatoes and cheese. They each ate two of the burritos and washed them down with fresh-squeezed orange juice. They then climbed into Jake�s new car�it was a 1995 BMW 730iL with the sports package�and drove to Santa Clarita.

The Nerdlys were already there when Jake and Laura walked in. They were both sitting at the soundboard, discussing audio levels and secondary output sources. Sharon was breastfeeding Kelvin as they did this. The four-and-a-half-month-old sucked contentedly away at her swollen left boob, making happy grunting noises.

While Laura went over to fuss over Kelvin, Jake went to the storage rack and pulled down his Fender Grand Concert. He sat down at the electric piano and turned it on. When it was ready, he played the E key to the left of Middle C, listened to the tone as it resonated, and then struck his low E string a few times. He adjusted the tuning knob a bit and then struck the string again. While it was still resonating, he played the E key on the piano again. The tones matched exactly. He nodded and then began to tune the rest of his strings one by one by fretting the previous string and matching the tunings. This was a morning ritual, although sometimes he used a tuning fork instead.

Celia came in a few minutes later, dressed in white shorts and a maroon top, her hair down around her shoulders. She carried a manila envelope in her hands. After greeting everyone and goggling over Kelvin for a few minutes, she nodded her head at Laura and the two of them disappeared over into the corner for a whispered conversation. There were a few giggles, Laura blushed at something Celia said, and then the envelope changed hands. Laura carried it over to her purse and folded it inside.

�What was that all about?� Jake asked her as she headed back across the room.

Her blush increased. �I�ll show you later,� she replied.

Since they were still in the early stages of composition, they had not yet arranged for a rhythm section or a violinist or a piano player to accompany them. Soon that would have to change. Coop and Charlie had already both agreed to reprise their respective roles as drummer and bassist for the workups and the recordings. The mothers, on the other hand, had both let it be known that�while they were honored to have contributed to the first two albums�they were not up for another round and that Jake and Celia would have to find someone else for the third albums. Celia had spoken to both Natalie and Liz�the violinist and pianist she had toured with�about possibly taking on those roles. Liz was up for it and enthusiastic to get to work. She had been doing nothing but occasional sessions at Aristocrat�s studio since coming off tour. Natalie, on the other hand, had yet to commit. She had nothing going as far as work went at the moment, but she was living in Dallas with Mark, the former copilot who had recently filed for divorce from his wife of ten years, been promoted to pilot-in-command, and was on assignment there currently. She was reluctant to change her relationship with him from live-in to long distance.

�Is she going to make up her mind soon?� Jake asked Celia now as she worked on tuning her own guitar.

�She told me she would let me know by this weekend,� Celia replied.

�She�d better,� Jake said. �If she turns us down, we�re going to have to bust ass to audition and sign a new violinist.�

�That shouldn�t be too hard, should it?� asked Sharon, who was now trying to burp Kelvin but was causing a bit of a distraction because her boob was still out. �Now that you both are on the top of the charts?�

�No, it shouldn�t be hard to find a violinist,� Jake said, forcing his eyes away from the sight, �but I�d really prefer to work with someone that we�re familiar with.�

�Love makes people do odd things,� Celia said with a sigh. �Hopefully, she�ll see that her career would benefit greatly by playing for us.�

�Hopefully,� Jake said. He took one more quick peek at Sharon�s exposed breast and then settled his guitar in his lap. �Shall we do the sound check?�

Even though they were doing nothing but introducing tunes and working on the basic melodies, the Nerdlys still insisted on a complete sound check of all instruments. This took the better part of twenty minutes to accomplish. Once complete, they settled in to get to work. It was Celia�s day, so they worked on her tune Look at Me Now, which was slated to be one of the hard rockers on the next release. Jake liked the tune a lot. Though they were only playing it acoustically at this point, the melody was solid and would translate well to a distorted power riff. And the lyrics were a hard-hitting condemnation and mocking of those record executives, agents, and others who had declared Celia a has-been whose career was over back before the release of The Struggle.

They had the verses and the choruses down pat by this point but were still trying to work on an acceptable transition to and from the bridge section. Celia was in favor of putting a distorted guitar solo just in front of the bridge while Jake thought it would be better to put the bridge first and then lead it into the solo. Ultimately, since it was Celia�s song, she would have the final say, but the team had been playing together long enough now that she listened carefully to and considered all input from Jake, the Nerdlys, and even Laura, who was starting to offer more such contributions by the day.

They played around with Look (as they called it) for the better part of an hour before mutually deciding they had done all they could do for this session. Maybe, suggested Jake, they could start working up the melody into a distorted riff on the next session.

�Before we�ve settled where and how to play the bridge?� Laura asked.

�Sure,� Jake said. �Sometimes working up the riff inspires the way the bridge should go. And it always inspires the solo.�

�Maybe you and Teach could do a dueling solos exchange for this one,� Celia suggested.

�You mean like Mary and I did on Done With You?� Laura asked.

�Exactly!� Celia said. �Only a little tougher, a little more ... hard rockish.�

�It could work,� Jake said, pondering this. He smiled at his wife. �Think you can keep up with me?�

Laura seemed doubtful about this. �I�ve never done any ... you know ... heavy metal sax before. Are you sure this is a good idea?�

�It wouldn�t be heavy metal,� Nerdly told her. �Just the hard rock backbeat tempo. And I�m sure you can do it, Laura. You�re a master of your instrument.�

�The tone of the song is one of anger,� Celia said. �You just have to project that emotion into your phrasing. Tell me you�ll at least try it.�

�Okay,� Laura said, chewing her lip a little. �I�ll try it.�

�I knew I could count on you, Teach,� Celia told her, smiling. She then turned her attention back to everyone else. �All right then. Now that that�s settled, how about I play you all a new tune I�ve been working on?�

�Let�s hear it,� Jake said.

�Yeah,� said Sharon, who was rocking Kelvin at the soundboard now.

�Bring it on,� said Laura, who was sitting on the drum platform.

Celia brought her guitar up and strummed it a few times with her fingers fretting a G major chord. �It�s called It Never Happened,� she told them. �It�s kind of a ... you know ... a tragic love song.�

Jake raised his eyebrows a tad as he heard the title. It Never Happened? Had she really written a song called It Never Happened? And if she had, surely it wouldn�t be about ... about what they had agreed had never happened, would it?

She strummed her guitar a few more times and then start playing a melody. It was a sweet melody, a three-chord progression, but kind of sad as well. It was the sort of melody that was immediately appealing to the listener.

She began to sing. As she worked her way through the first verse, Jake�s suspicion that she was singing about their night spent in Portland started to increase. She sang about a winter night, about circumstances that drove two people into each other�s arms, about a burning inside, and about things that were not supposed to be. And then she came to the chorus:

�We came together by fate one night

Cast our souls to the leanings of love

It was beyond our control

And we put up no fight

But it couldn�t stand up to the glare of the light

And so, we have to go on as if it never happened

As if it never happened.�

Jake felt himself flushing as she sang these words, felt guilt worming its way into his soul. He looked over at Laura, expecting to see her glaring at him in an accusatory manner. She was not, she was simply watching Celia play and sing, tapping her feet to the rhythm, nodding her head a little in appreciation of the music.

How can she not know what Celia is singing about? he wondered desperately. I can�t believe she is actually singing about ... about what we can�t talk about!

He looked over at the Nerdlys. Maybe Laura wasn�t picking up on what Celia was laying down�by some fucking miracle�but surely the Nerdlys would know what she was singing about. It was as plain as the nose on Jake�s face. But they did not seem to be doing anything but enjoying the show either. Nerdly was scratching something on a piece of paper�probably the notes of the primary melody. Sharon was still rocking Kelvin, now to the rhythm of the tune, while smiling at Celia.

Celia played out the second verse. It had to do with forbidden love, paths that intertwined but were not leading to the same place, powder kegs waiting for that one spark to set them exploding, that one spark that finally did land in the right place. And then she sang out the chorus again, her beautiful contralto voice relaying to everyone in the room that she and Jake had been overcome by passion one night in Portland and had fallen naked into bed. And everyone continued not to comprehend what she was telling them.

Her guitar jangled to a halt and her singing voice fell quiet.

�That�s about all I�ve worked up on it for now,� she told everyone. �There�s a bridge section that I�ve penned out, but I�m not quite sure how to fit it in just yet.�

Jake could only imagine what sort of sordid confession would be contained in the bridge. Maybe the naming of names? The description of sexual acts? Jesus fucking Christ!

�I like it,� Laura said brightly. �It seems like a sad song, a story of forbidden romance that�s doomed to failure.�

�That�s exactly the tone I was trying to set,� Celia said.

�There is definitely an emotional tug in the lyrics,� Sharon said. �I think it�s a keeper.�

�I enjoyed the composition as well,� said Nerdly. �How about you, Jake? What do you think of it?�

Jake swallowed slowly and looked from face to face. All were looking at him expectantly, even Celia. �Uh ... I like the melody,� he finally said. �It has good flow and rhythm to it.�

�What about the lyrics?� asked Laura. �Couldn�t you just feel the sadness and regret?�

�Uh ... yeah,� he said softly, casting his eyes to the floor. �Good lyrics too. A theme we can all relate to, right?�

�Yeah,� Laura said with a nod and an eye cast of her own. �I suppose we all can.�

They played around with the song a little longer, this time with Jake and then Laura playing out the melody on their instruments, trying to find what worked the best when they actually started playing it with a rhythm section and accompanying instruments. Celia sang out her lyrics over and over, verses and chorus. Jake kept expecting someone to suddenly realize what she was actually singing about, but no one did. He kept his face straight and did his job. Eventually, after what seemed forever, they moved on to another tune, this one an upbeat one called Nothing Matters but Love.

They broke for lunch just after 1:00 o�clock when the catering company delivered sandwiches and salads for them. Laura sat over by the Nerdlys so she could hold and cuddle little Kelvin and get her baby fix. Jake found himself sitting next to Celia on the edge of the drum platform.

�You seemed a little put off by my new tune,� Celia observed, her voice calm, cool, collected. �Did you really like it?�

�Yes, of course,� Jake said. �It�s a good tune.�

She took a sip of her Diet Pepsi. �It seemed like it made you uncomfortable though,� she said softly.

He looked at her, seeing her brown eyes looking directly at him, her face expressionless. �Maybe a little,� he offered.

�How come?�

He took a deep breath. �Sometimes there are lyrics that can strike a little close to home, you know?�

�Isn�t that what good lyrics are supposed to do?� she asked. �Bring emotions that are buried to the surface?�

�Maybe some emotions should stay buried,� he suggested. �Down below, where they can�t bite you, where other people can�t be hurt by them.�

She shook her head. �No,� she said. �I think certain emotions, certain events in our lives, need to have a relief valve to bring things to the surface. For me, my songs are that relief valve. For you as well, I think.�

�True,� he offered. �But what about those other people? The innocents? What if they get caught in the flash?�

She shrugged and gave him a smile. �I don�t know what you�re talking about,� she said, standing up. �It�s just a song. It doesn�t actually relate to any real events. Not that anyone would ever know about anyway.�

�Do you really think so?�

She nodded. �I really do,� she said. �Maybe you should try to write about that sort of thing as well. I think you�d be really good at it.�

And before he could reply, she strode off, heading over to the Nerdlys to get a baby fix of her own.

Three hours later, two time zones to the east in the Chicago suburb of Joliet, the sun had gone down, and Greg Oldfellow was standing in the living room of an average, everyday suburban tract house. It was a postwar two-story on a quiet residential street on Joliet�s west side that was owned and occupied by an actual Chicago Police Department patrol sergeant. The displaced Sergeant Mackle, his wife, and their three children were now being paid quite handsomely by the movie studio for the one-month rental of their domicile so it could be used for filming the domestic scenes of Us and Them in a realistic setting. In addition to the rent, the Mackles were being housed in first-class accommodations in the same five-star hotel where the studio staff and the actors were staying. Mrs. Mackle, who worked as a commercial real estate agent, and the Mackle children, all of whom were enrolled in public schools of the Joliet School District, were all being taken to and from their daily obligations by a studio-funded limousine service. And as if that were not enough, the good sergeant himself was being used as one of the project�s technical advisers and his time off from work for this duty was being compensated as well.

The Mackle�s living room, which opened up in a wide floor plan from the front door, had been set up with two 35mm cameras, a sound set with a boom microphone, two lighting units on the ceiling, a complete crew of camera operators, two sound technicians, the gaffer and his best boy, the script supervisor, and Georgie Fletcher, the director of the film. All of these people were gathered in the southwest corner of the room, out of the view of the cameras, which were focusing on the front door of the house and the couch area near the television. Sitting on the couch was actress Marlene Canon, who was playing Delores, the wife of Chicago police officer Frank Haverty, Greg�s character. The drama they were about to play out was one of the earlier scenes in the film, an establishing character moment when Haverty, after a hard tour on the day shift and three hours spent at a cop bar after, comes staggering home to a confrontation with his long suffering good Catholic spouse.

�All right, remember,� Fletcher told Greg, who was standing just inside the open doorway, wearing a pair of faded jeans, a button-up shirt that was wrinkled, disheveled, and had several stains on it. �You�re drunk, you�re stumbling, your temper is on edge. You�re tired of being nagged by this bitch every flippin� day.�

�Hey now,� said Marlene with an amused smile. She was wearing an old housecoat and had her hair done up in curlers. A weathered crucifix hung around her neck and a small wedding ring was on her left hand. A veteran character actress who had never had a leading role, she was nevertheless a consummate professional with girl next door beauty that they had had to use some makeup and hairstyling to tone down a bit for this role, making her look more plain and homely than she actually was. �I don�t call you derogatory sexist names.�

Fletcher shot her a look of annoyance but said nothing. Instead, he turned back to Greg. �Are you feeling the scene, Greg?�

�I�m feeling the scene,� he assured him with a sigh. He was not particularly enjoying his association with Fletcher so far. The man was a micromanager to the tenth degree. They had just spent all of the daylight hours filming scenes in the patrol car out on the streets of the east side while the traffic was light. Fletcher had sat in the backseat for each take between Greg and actor Lewis Stone, the young up-and-coming African-American who was playing Haverty�s rookie patrol partner, Clay �Boot� Jackson. He had had the balls to suggest method acting tips to Greg there as well.

�All right then,� Fletcher said, scratching at his bald head. �Let�s give it go then. When I say action, you fumble through the door and enter.�

�Fumble through and enter,� Greg said, holding the fake key ring prop in his hand.

�Maybe we should muss his hair up a little more?� suggested Lane Casper, the grizzled old woman who served as the script supervisor. Lane was almost psychotically obsessive-compulsive, which made her an annoying human being but a superb script supervisor. It was said that no film she had ever worked on in her thirty-five years in the profession had ever been found to have a visual continuity error. �Remember, he�s coming in hammered drunk after a long tour on the streets and time spent in a bar. He should look messy.�

Fletcher thought this over for a moment and then nodded. �Good point,� he said. �Muss up your hair a little more, Greg. Make yourself look like shit.�

Greg dutifully ran his hands through his hair a few times, trying to rumple it. It was a hard thing to do, however, since makeup had sprayed enough hairspray in his locks to hold it down in a hurricane.

�All right,� Fletcher said after examining Greg�s efforts. �Let�s do this. Camera one on Marlene. Camera two, focus on the door and then follow Greg through the scene.�

�That�s what we were already doing,� sighed one of the camera operators, obviously not appreciating Fletcher�s micromanagement style either.

Fletcher ignored this remark and pointed at the door. Greg dutifully went outside and closed it behind him. He heard a bustle of excited conversation from the sidewalk as many of Mackle�s neighbors and other onlookers, who knew from the rumor mill that a movie starring Greg Oldfellow and Mindy Snow was being shot inside (and had discerned from the studio vans and the two armed security guards keeping everyone back that such action was taking place right this moment) and had gathered on the sidewalk to watch, suddenly realized who they were looking at.

�It�s him!�

�That�s Greg Oldfellow!�

�I wonder if Mindy Snow is in there too!�

�Hey, Greg! How�s it going?�

�I hope this flick is better than that one with the elephants.�

�Do you think Celia�s in there with him?�

He ignored all the remarks and chatter, not even glancing in their direction. Instead, he listened for his cue, which came when he heard Fletcher shout �Action!�

He began to fumble with the doorknob, as if having trouble getting his key in the lock. I�m a drunk street cop, he told himself, letting the character possess him. I�m coming in after a shitty day on the job. My wife is a bitch and I know she�s going to start nagging at me again as soon as I walk through the door. And I�m already pissed off about it.

He pushed the door open and stepped inside, staggering a little, dropping his keys to the ground and then fumbling to pick them back up. He did not look at the cameras, did not even think about them. He was no longer Greg Oldfellow. He was Frank Haverty, Chicago PD, south division patrol officer, and that bitch on the couch with her hair up in curlers was not Marlene Canon (who had an amazing set of legs and a wonderful ass when you saw her dressed like a real person), she was his wife.

It took five takes to film the first scene in the living room, but they got it done in less than an hour. The scene was six minutes long and consisted entirely of a marital argument. Delores nagged Frank for being drunk and missing dinnertime again. He told her that she had no idea of what he had been through out on the streets, because if she did, she�d be drunk too. She said that she was always there to listen to him, but he never talked, never opened up to her. He got pissed and told her about how a baby had been beaten to death today by his teenage mother�s boyfriend and the mother in question had tried to cover up for him�is that the kind of shit you want to hear me tell you every fucking day? Delores then crossed herself and started to cry. Frank declared this whole conversation was fucking useless and headed for the staircase to go up to the spare room, where he would be sleeping again.

�All right,� Fletcher said once the final exit scene was pulled off to his satisfaction. �I think we�ll keep that one.�

They took a break and then everyone got ready for the next scene, which would take place up in the spare bedroom. It was shorter scene, its purpose mainly to introduce a little male flesh for the female viewers of the project. Action was called and Greg pulled off his outer shirt, throwing it on the floor, leaving his upper body in a plain white T-shirt. On his waist was a holstered Glock 19 semi-automatic pistol�Haverty�s off-duty weapon (which would feature significantly in a later scene). The gun was real (it had been loaned to the studio by Sergeant Mackle) but there was nothing in the magazine or the chamber currently and Greg had been given clear and explicit directions not to remove the gun from the holster under any circumstance. Haverty ripped the holster out of his belt and tossed it carelessly onto the nightstand. He then whipped off the t-shirt and stood facing the camera for a few moments, displaying his well-toned chest and abs, his impressive arm muscles. He cut a very good pose. And then the door opened and Delores entered the room, initiating part two of the argument. The scene ended with Haverty pushing her roughly out the door and slamming it in her face.

This scene, though simpler, took longer to film. Fletcher was never quite satisfied with the way the gun landed on the table, the way Greg�s expression looked as he whipped off the shirt, the way Marlene expressed her dismay. They went through it ten times before an acceptable version was declared. By this time, it was approaching nine o�clock. Everyone was hungry and out of sorts from the thirteen-hour day.

�All right,� Fletcher said with a sigh. �Back to the police station at eight o�clock sharp for more patrol scenes. And then we�ll head back here after lunch for a few of the daylight domestic shots.�

The studio staff all trooped out to the vans for the trip back to the hotel. Greg, Marlene, and Fletcher all climbed into a limousine that appeared right after Fletcher made a call on his cell phone. The two armed guards remained behind. One would be stationed outside the house and one inside. The two actors had left their wardrobe clothing in the house and had changed back into casual clothes�jeans and a blouse for Marlene, tan slacks and a dress shirt for Greg.

The trip back to the Four Seasons Hotel in downtown Chicago took just over twenty-five minutes. The limo dropped them off at the lobby entrance and the three of them headed for the bank of elevators. Greg signed three autographs before he was able to board the lift, Marlene two. They did it good naturedly, even though neither wanted to even see a member of the public right now, let alone interact with them.

Greg�s suite was on the forty-sixth floor of the skyscraper. Twenty-one hundred square feet in size, it featured a large sitting room, a bathroom with a jacuzzi tub, a full bar, and a large walk-in closet. It looked out over Lake Michigan and the other buildings of the Magnificent Mile. He thought it adequate for his needs, though perhaps a bit small.

He was tired, but he was also hungry and wanted a drink or two to help him get a good night�s sleep so he would be reasonably alive when the wakeup call came at 6:30. He stripped down, showered, and then dressed in yet another set of slacks and dress shirt. He then headed down to the Lakeview Dining Room on the thirty-third floor. This particular part of the hotel had been reserved by the studio for the exclusive use of studio personnel and actors so they could dine and drink and socialize with each other unbothered by fans and other looky-loos.

The Lakeview lived up to its name. The entire north wall was essentially a picture window that looked out over Lake Michigan, though at this time of the night there was nothing to be seen but a sea of blackness dotted by the occasional lights of a ship or a navigation beacon. There was a curved bar in one corner of the room and a scattering of white cloth covered dining tables of varying size. Since the day�s filming had just ended, the room was starting to get crowded. There were a half a dozen crew members at the bar, sipping beers or other alcoholic beverages. About half of the dining tables were filled with other production or management personnel. Greg was given a few nods as he entered the room and made his way to the ma�tre d�s podium.

�Good evening, Mr. Oldfellow,� the suited ma�tre d greeted. His name was Daniel, and he was a tall, balding guy with a neatly trimmed mustache.

�Good evening, Daniel,� Greg replied. �Looks like the place is filling up quick.�

�Indeed,� Daniel said. �Can I show you to a table?�

�Maybe in a few minutes,� Greg said, knowing that Daniel would hold a table for him even if the place filled completely. He was, after all, the star of the film. �First, I think I can use a drink or two. It�s been a long day.�

�Certainly, sir,� Daniel said. �Just let me know when you�re ready to be seated.�

�Thank you. I will,� Greg told him.

He walked over to the bar and sat down on the far end, as far away from other people as he could get. The bartender, a tuxedoed younger man named Keith, immediately dropped what he was doing and rushed over to serve him.

�Welcome, Mr. Oldfellow,� Keith said, a faint Irish accent tinging his diction. �What can I get for you?�

�Glenfiddich,� Greg told him. �A double. On the rocks.�

�Very good, sir,� Keith said, pulling a glass from beneath the bar. He then turned to the display of top-shelf alcohol behind him and selected a bottle of single malt scotch that had aged for sixteen years in an oak cask before being put into said bottle. He put ice in the glass and then poured two healthy shots of the amber liquid over it. He then set the glass on a napkin before Greg and asked if there would be anything else.

�Not at the moment,� Greg told him. �Thank you.�

Knowing that Greg was not into small talk with the servants, Keith retreated, leaving him to enjoy his thirty-dollar beverage which, like everything else ordered by anyone in this dining room, would go on the tab of the movie studio. Greg took as healthy of a sip as he could take without violating propriety, relishing the smooth and gentle burn as the liquid trickled down his throat.

When approximately two-thirds of his drink had been put down the hatch and the effects of the alcohol on his empty stomach were beginning to tingle his brain, he started to wonder whether or not it would be gauche of him to simply order a cheeseburger for his dinner instead of something classy like a filet mignon or the braised halibut. He had developed a taste for working class cuisine during his two weeks of ride-alongs with the patrol officers, who, he had found, favored greasy mom and pop restaurants to dine in during their dinner breaks since most of those places provided the meals free or at least half price for uniformed cops. It was a practice that was in violation of several department policies regarding gratuities, but one that was so prevalent and traditional that pretty much everyone from the sergeants to the watch commanders participated in it and everyone above that, the captains, deputy chiefs, division chiefs, all the way up to the big chief himself overlooked it with a smile and a wink. This was just one of many details about being a patrol cop that he had picked up to help get him into character.

His musings about dinner were interrupted when his peripheral vision caught a shapely female form entering the room and walking to the ma�tre d�s podium. Instinctively, he turned to look and saw that it was Mindy Snow. She was wearing a sleeveless royal blue blouse that accented her delectable breasts quite nicely and a pair of beige knickers that clung to her alluring legs and outlined her curves. Her rich brunette hair was loose around her shoulders. Her eyes caught Greg�s and her face, which had been neutral in expression, suddenly broke into a smile. She waved at him. He returned the smile and waved back, feeling a little burst of sexual attraction flaring inside of him. She really was an attractive woman; a little older than when she and Jake had been together (both officially and unofficially), but, if anything, she�d only become sexier with maturity.

Though Mindy was his costar, so far, they had done no scenes together. At this stage of production, their characters had not even met yet. He had been told, in fact, that Mindy was not even in Chicago since she herself would not be filming anything until early the following week at best. Apparently, that information was wrong.

Mindy spoke with the ma�tre d for a moment or two and then pointed over in Greg�s direction. The ma�tre d nodded subserviently to her and Mindy headed into the room, walking directly toward the bar where Greg was sitting. The ma�tre d kept his eyes glued to her backside as she made the trip, obviously enjoying the presentation.

Greg stood to greet her when she arrived, a polite smile on his face.

�Hey, Greg,� she greeted happily. �Good to see you.� She held out her arms to him for a hug.

Greg felt a bit awkward by her invitation. He was not a physically demonstrative person by nature unless it was someone he knew very well. In his opinion, he and Mindy were not on hugging terms. Still, he stepped forward and put his arms around her, patting her twice on the back, offering about as chaste a hug as he could provide. �It�s good to see you too,� he told her as they embraced.

�Buy me a drink?� she asked, smiling once the hug was complete.

�Of course,� he said with a polite chuckle. He held out the bar stool for her.

She sat down and Keith the bartender quickly appeared to take her order. She asked for a double martini made with Danzka, shaken not stirred, with a lime twist instead of an olive.

�Right away, Ms. Snow,� Keith said and went to work.

�What are you doing here?� Greg asked her. �I heard you weren�t coming in until next week.�

�Fletch did some rearranging of the scene schedule,� she said. �They�re going to start filming my indoor scenes on Friday instead of next week, so I flew in this afternoon. I just got up from my post-flight nap.�

�It�s only Tuesday,� Greg pointed out. �You could have stayed home an extra two days.�

She shrugged, somehow making the gesture look sexy. �I like to get acclimated to the location for a few days. Besides, I need to work on the readings for my scenes.�

Greg nodded. �That makes sense,� he said. And it did. The more prep time an actor had for a particular scene, the better that scene usually ended up being when it was actually filmed. It occurred to him, not for the first time, that whatever else Mindy was, she was a professional when it came to her craft. Greg approved of this.

�Fletch also told me that we�ll likely be filming our first scene together around the middle of next week, weather and lighting conditions permitting,� she told him.

�The pull-over scene?� Greg asked. That was the scene where Haverty and Lyndsay would first meet in person. Haverty and Boot, working a day shift, would pull the notorious cop-hating journalist over for speeding, not realizing at first who she was. In truth, the partners only stopped her because she was a classy looking white woman driving a nice car in a bad neighborhood and they thought she was probably up to something. Haverty, the primary on the traffic stop, would quickly let her off with just a warning once he realized who she was because he didn�t want her writing one of her anti-cop articles about the encounter. This would end up backfiring on him as she would pen an article anyway, accusing him of not doing his job because she had clearly been speeding and he had not cited her. Would this have happened if she had been a black mother with three kids on her way to the welfare office? the article would ask. The fallout from the article would be what would eventually lead to Lyndsay being invited to ride-along with Haverty and Boot for a few weeks to see what being a cop was really like.

�That�s the one,� Mindy confirmed. �I�m looking forward to it. I can�t wait to be all bitchy to you.�

�It should be a good scene,� he said. �The stage setter.�

Keith set her martini down on the bar before her and made his retreat. Mindy picked it up and took a demure little sip. �How has filming been going so far?� she asked. �Fletch is moaning and groaning about the schedule, of course, acting like we�re going to have to abandon the whole project for the delays, but that�s just the way he is.�

�Except for his micromanagement, things are going pretty well,� Greg said. �We�ve been working on both the early patrol scenes and the home scenes with me and Marlene.�

�Isn�t she great to work with?� Mindy asked. �She was one of my supports in Down and Out. Very professional. A great actress.�

�She�s really good,� Greg agreed, taking a sip from his own rapidly dwindling drink. He held up his glass and signaled Keith for another. �We got all of the first home scene shot tonight. She plays a great nagging housewife.�

�Well, she has to be a nag, doesn�t she?� asked Mindy with a smile. �You�re a terrible husband.�

�Because I�m psychologically damaged by my job,� he qualified. �That�s the point of the story, remember?�

�Of course,� she said. �I�m sure you would have been a great husband and father otherwise.�

�That would have made for a much less interesting tale though.�

�True enough,� she said, having another sip.

�Did you bring your boyfriend with you?� Greg asked her. It was public information that Mindy had been seeing her personal trainer, an exquisitely fit and attractive young man who was eight years younger than her, for the past three months.

�He stayed home,� Mindy said. �And, as you�ll read in the next episode of the Watcher or on the next installment of Entertainment Weekly, he�s not my boyfriend anymore. I broke up with him a few days ago.�

�Really?� Greg asked.

She nodded and then gave another shrug. �It was time,� she said. �He looked like something carved by Michelangelo, but he didn�t have a brain cell in his head.�

�Not much of a conversationalist, huh?�

�No,� she said. �And, in truth, he wasn�t really that good in bed either. He had no imagination.�

�That�s uh ... too bad,� he said, feeling she was starting to edge into the land of oversharing. After all, they did not really know each other that well.

�Life is too short for crappy sex,� she said, as if proclaiming a sacred commandment. �How about you? Is Celia here?�

�She�s still in LA,� he said. �She�s working on her next album.�

�Oh yeah?� Mindy said brightly. �That�s cool. I love her music so much. She has such a pretty voice. I wish I could sing half as good as she does.�

�I�ll give her your compliments,� Greg said.

�Thanks. I really am a fan. Will she be able to pop in for a visit at least?�

�We don�t know,� he said. �She and Jake are hoping to hit the recording studio by mid-June and get their next albums out before the end of the year. They�ll be working pretty steadily.�

Her expression turned a little melancholy at the mention of Jake. �She works pretty closely with Jake?� she asked.

�They�re partners,� Greg said simply. �They make a great musical team. They play instruments for each other, engineer the music together�along with Bill and Sharon, of course. They�ve built KVA Records into quite an entity.�

�Yeah,� she said. �Jake�s a good guy and a wonderful musician. You�re pretty close with him too, aren�t you?�

�Jake and I hang out a lot,� Greg agreed. �In fact, I would have to say he is probably my best friend.�

�No kidding?� she asked. �How is he doing these days? Is married life agreeing with him?�

�He�s very happy,� Greg said. �And Laura is a dear. They make a good couple.�

�That�s good to hear,� Mindy said quietly. �I�m pleased for him. I didn�t treat Jake all that well when he and I were together and ... well ... afterwards either.�

�No?� Greg asked, surprised to hear her admit this.

�No,� she said. �I don�t know if he�s told you the tales, but I used him terribly back when we first met. I had the utmost affection for him, and I really did enjoy being with him�especially, you know, in the bedroom�but I used him all the same and I feel bad about that.�

�Do you?�

She nodded. �Our relationship haunts me to this day,� she said softly. �I don�t really have any excuse for what I did except that I was young and ambitious, and I didn�t have much of a conscience when it came to getting what I wanted. I needed Jake to help me break out of the Slow Lane persona I�d been saddled with, and my plan worked just like I wanted it to, but Jake ended up with the short end of the stick. I regret that deeply.�

�Interesting,� Greg said, and then, because he had a healthy shot of alcohol on an empty stomach coursing around his brain, he asked: �And what about the other time you hooked up with him? When you were married to Scott Adams Winslow?�

Mindy�s expression looked startled for a moment and then recovered. �He told you about that, did he?�

Greg nodded. �He felt the need to warn me about you.�

She chuckled a little. �I guess that�s fair,� she said. �Yeah, I used him again when it was time to divorce Scotty. That was a particularly low point in my life, I will admit, and I was particularly cruel to everyone involved. I�m not proud of those days at all.�

�But you�ve changed?� Greg asked.

�I�m older and wiser now,� she said. �I like to think I�ve moved beyond such things.�

�You like to think?� Greg asked. �That�s a little open to interpretation, isn�t it?�

�I suppose,� she said after thinking it over for a moment. �I don�t really have much cause to use people on that level these days anyway. I�m already rich. I�m already an established A-list actress. I even had an Oscar nomination for my last film, so I can now be billed as �the Oscar nominated actress�. I�ve got everything I need now. There�s no need to be ruthless anymore even if I didn�t regret the past.�

�An interesting way of looking at it,� Greg said.

�Jake wrote a song about how much of a bitch I was,� Mindy said softly. �I hear it played on the radio constantly.�

Greg nodded. �Nothing�s Different Now,� he said. It was from Jake�s first solo album, written during his exile in New Zealand, shortly after the second relationship with Mindy had come to an end.

�You know,� Mindy said, �when I first heard that song and realized he was singing about me, I was fucking infuriated with him. I actually called my lawyer to see if I could sue him for defamation or something like that. It turns out I can�t, since he never really says he�s talking about me and since a reasonable person would not know he�s talking about me and ... well...�

Greg smiled. He knew a thing or two about defamation lawsuits. �And, you�d have to prove that all those things he suggested about you were not true,� he said.

�Yeah ... right,� Mindy said sourly. �Anyway, as I heard the song more and more, I had a little bit of an epiphany. If someone feels the need to write and record a song about how big of a bitch you are ... well ... maybe you are, in fact, a bitch.�

�Maybe,� Greg allowed.

�And maybe if you are a big enough bitch that someone is inspired to commit it to musical prose ... well ... that�s nothing to be proud of and maybe you should stop and examine some of your life choices and attitudes.�

�And you did that?� he asked.

�I did that,� she said. �And I found I didn�t like who I was.�

�So ... you�re saying that things are different now?�

�Things are different now,� she assured him. �I�m the new and improved Mindy Snow model, ready to settle down and start enjoying the fruits of all my bitchy labor. And I�m really looking forward to working with you, Greg.�

�Why?� he asked.

�Why?�

He nodded. �I was told you turned down this project initially. But once they named me as the lead, you suddenly changed your mind and campaigned to be given the part of Lyndsay. I can�t help but conclude the two events are related. So, why me?�

She looked up his face, her chocolate brown eyes radiating warmth and sincerity. �Because I think you�re one of the best actors working today,� she said. �I�ve wanted to work with you for some time and, once I heard you were in the roll of Haverty, I knew my chance had come.�

�Well ... I�m flattered, of course,� he said, �but my career took quite a hit when I starred in The Northern Jungle.�

�That was a terrible film,� Mindy agreed. �But that has nothing to do with you. Your acting in it was still first-rate. You�re a respected professional among those of us on the inside and I�ve always wanted to work with you. After seeing you in So Others May Live, I knew you still had it after the Jungle fiasco. That just strengthened my resolve to do a project with you.�

�That sounds reasonable enough,� Greg said, and it did, but what had Jake told him? Mindy doesn�t so much as fart without having an ulterior motive. �Jake warned me, however, that sometimes things are not quite as they seem with you.�

She nodded slowly. �Again, I stung Jake pretty badly, not just once but twice, and I can understand how he would feel that way. But I�m not the same person Jake knew. I assure you, Greg, my interest in you is purely professional. You�re a great actor and I�m a great actress and Us and Them is a great script with a great producer and a great director, even if he is a pain in the ass micromanager. I think we have a strong potential for carrying away an Oscar or two from this film.�

�You really think so?� he asked. So far, he had never even been nominated for one.

�I really think so,� she said. �That�s why I jumped on this project when I heard that you were going to be the lead. Between you and I, we�re a cinch for nomination and if we walk away without at least one of us carrying home a statuette, I�d be surprised.�

Greg pondered her words for a few moments and then nodded. What she said made perfect sense and sounded very logical. And even if it hadn�t, what possible other motive could Mindy have? She couldn�t be trying to steal him away from Celia, could she? For what purpose? They hardly knew each other. And Mindy likely made more money than Greg these days anyway.

And so, his suspicions satisfied for the moment, he invited her to share his dinner table with him. She accepted. And, even though it was a bit uncouth, they both decided to go with the cheeseburger plate to help get them into character.

Chicago, Illinois

May 21, 1995

The primary staging location for the cast and crew of Us and Them was the Chicago Police Department�s 4^th District station on East 103^rd Street in the heart of the southside, the same station that Greg had deployed out of during his ride-a-long period of preproduction. It was a simple single-story brick building that had been constructed in the early 1950s and had long since become outdated for the size and the call volume of the district it covered. In the back parking lot of the station, a parking lot that was already too small by far, the movie studio trailers had been parked. There were six of them in all, powered by a generator truck that sat in the middle of the formation and constantly spewed out diesel exhaust into the air. Several times a day the catering trucks and the limousines would invade as well. The cops who worked out of the station�they tended to be the younger members of the force, as District 4 was a rookie assignment for patrol officers and a first supervisory position for newly promoted sergeants and lieutenants�were greatly inconvenienced by all of this, particularly when it came to parking, but they remained good natured and polite about it. After all, they were making a movie out of their station, a movie starring Greg Oldfellow and Mindy Snow. How freaking cool was that?

At nine-thirty in the morning, Greg Oldfellow walked into the combination wardrobe and makeup trailer to start his day�s work. Today they would be filming a variety of patrol scenes both inside of the car and outside in rented tenement apartments and on the streets around the station. Mindy was already in the makeup chair when he entered. She was wearing a white robe to cover her upper body and a pair of tan dress slacks with tennis shoes on her legs and feet. Her hair had been pulled up into a bun that would have complied with CPD regulations for female uniformed officers. This had been one of the suggestions of Sergeant Mackle, their technical advisor, who had told them that if a reporter were actually riding along for more than a month in the manner that Lyndsay was doing in the film, the cops escorting her would have insisted upon such a hairstyle and that she wear a bullet-proof vest. Fletcher had balked at this initially, stating that the viewers wanted to see Mindy�s hair down and the swell of her tits in the scenes they were doing, but Mindy herself had pushed for the modifications to the wardrobe and makeup, stating that realism trumped tits any day, and, besides, the viewers were going to get a very good eyeful of her naked tits not just once, but twice in later scenes.

�Good morning,� Mindy greeted as Greg entered the room. Julie, the thirty-something year old makeup artist assigned to Mindy was currently brushing blush onto her cheeks.

�Good morning,� Greg returned. He was wearing a pair of dress slacks and a button-up Pierre Cardan long sleeved shirt. His makeup artist was Bradley Stout, a late-forties, flamboyantly gay man who fussed and fretted dramatically but was considered one of the best in the business. Also, there was little chance of Greg initiating an affair with him, a factor that may or may not have gone into Fletcher�s decision to assign him to Greg. Bradley was wearing a pair of tight, custom-fit jeans and a salmon colored shirt. His hair was done up just so and his little doorknocker beard (he enjoyed calling it �my target�) was neatly trimmed.

�It�s about time you got here,� Bradley said in disapproval. �I really wish you would make more of an effort to be punctual, Greg.�

Greg looked at his watch. �It�s nine-thirty,� he told him. �That is what time I�m supposed to report for makeup and wardrobe.�

�That is merely the official time,� Bradley insisted. �It is, however, understood that one should show up at least ten minutes early for the pre-makeup briefing.�

�The pre-makeup briefing?� Greg asked. He had never heard this term used before.

�That is correct,� Bradley said. �The briefing in which we discuss the scenes you will be shooting today and the proper application of makeup for what is being planned.�

�Fletcher sends one of his assistants over with a set of directions for that each morning, doesn�t he?�

�Of course he does,� Bradley said. �And it is then my responsibility to go over the proper use and care of the application with you.�

�I�m aware of what scenes I�m shooting when I walk in here,� Greg told him, starting to get annoyed now. �That information is given to me the night before by Fletcher himself.�

�Nevertheless,� Bradley said, �it is customary to arrive ten minutes earlier than required so that we can make sure we�re on the same page.�

�I have never heard of this custom,� Greg said. �I�ve been doing this acting thing for a few years now and I�ve always shown up at the time requested.�

�But now you are working with me,� Bradley said. �And when you�re working with me, the standard is ten minutes early. Please see that you adhere to that from here on out.�

Greg opened his mouth to light into him, to say something that Jake would likely have applauded, but then closed it again. This was one of those pick your battles kind of situations, he decided. If this prima donna cosmetologist wanted him to show up ten minutes early so they could discuss the day�s scenes, well ... why not?

�All right, Bradley,� he said with a sigh. �Ten minutes early from here on out.�

�Very good,� Bradley said with a smile. �Now go get changed. We�ll have to hold the briefing while I get started.�

�Sounds good,� Greg said.

He stepped into the wardrobe room and shut the door behind him. There were three cubby holes in the room, one for him, one for Mindy, and one for Lewis Stone, who played Boot, Haverty�s partner. In Greg�s and Lewis� holes were authentic Chicago PD uniforms consisting of dark blue pants and light blue summer shirts complete with five-pointed star shaped badges (the cops always called them �stars�, never �badges�, according to Sergeant Mackle). In all three holes were authentic CPD issued Kevlar ballistic vests. Greg and Lewis would wear theirs under their uniform shirts. Mindy would wear hers over her shirts. All three actors had discovered how uncomfortable the vests were in the muggy late spring of the Midwest.

Greg unbuttoned his dress shirt and pulled it off, leaving him only in a plain white t-shirt above the waist. He hung up the dress shirt in his cubby and then pulled out the white robe he used for the makeup sessions. He left the t-shirt on, as it would go under his wardrobe uniform. And, since he was doing no shirtless scenes today, there was no need to put the pancake makeup all over his torso.

He put the robe on and walked back out into the main makeup area. He settled into his seat and Bradley delivered his pre-makeup briefing, explaining the scenes that Greg already knew he would be filming today and how that corresponded with the makeup and hairstyle he would be utilizing.

�Sounds good, Bradley,� Greg told him when the briefing was over. �Good talk.�

Bradley, satisfied that he was an essential production partner with a stake in how the project came out, then went to work on him, starting with his hair. He combed it out until it was as smooth as silk and then arranged it into a style that looked random and careless, to go along with the characterization of Frank Haverty, but was actually a meticulously planned and executed masterpiece. Once the hair was to his liking, he sprayed about a quarter of a can of maximum hold hairspray on it to cement it into place. He then began to work on Greg�s face, which, while quite handsome in person, would look pale and drawn on camera without a layer of pancake to darken it up.

�Hey, Greg,� Mindy said as Julie finished up her face area and began working on her neck. �I was wondering if you�ve heard from your agent today?�

�Johnny?� Greg said. �No. I haven�t talked to him in a few days now. Why do you ask?�

�Uh ... well ... there�s a little something coming down the pipeline,� she said, seemingly embarrassed. �Something about you and me.�

�You and me?� he asked. �What do you mean?�

�Well ... mostly me,� she said. �It has to do with my ex-boyfriend.�

�Which ex-boyfriend?� he asked. A fair question, he thought. She�d had a few, all of them extensively reported on in the entertainment media. �Are you talking about Jake?�

�No, not Jake,� she said. �My most recent ex-boyfriend. Raphael, the personal trainer. The one I broke up with just before coming to Chicago.�

�Your Michelangelo carving. What does he have to do with me?�

�Well ... it seems that he ... oh ... that he didn�t take the breakup very well. Can you imagine? I paid his rent for three months at a very high-end condo just outside of Hollywood, and I gave him ten grand to live on, and that came with the understanding that he would keep his mouth shut about personal details.�

Greg looked into the mirror before him, using it to take in Mindy�s reflection on the other side of the room. Her eyes would not meet his. Both Bradley and Julie impassively continued to work, behaving as they weren�t hearing a single thing being said. �What are we talking about here, Mindy?� he asked her.

�I got a call from Georgette this morning,� she said. Georgette was her long-time agent and manager who had been with her since the days she was a teenager on The Slow Lane. �She tells me that reporters from Entertainment Reports contacted her to see if I wanted to give a statement to them for the record.�

�Why would you want to do that?� Greg asked. ER, as it was called, was perhaps the most malicious and cruel of the gossip media that hounded celebrities.

She sighed. �It seems that Raphael has recorded a tell-all interview with them that will air on the show�s Friday night broadcast. It�s a tell-all about what it was like to live with Mindy Snow, including why we broke up.�

�I see,� Greg said. �That is unfortunate, of course. One never wishes to be a point of discussion on that smear show. I still do not see what this has to do with me.�

�Well ... Raphael apparently told them that the reason he and I broke up was because I�ve ... I�ve always had a crush on you and that I�ve been trying for years to get close to you and now that I�ve landed a starring role opposite of you ... well ... I kicked him to the curb so I could ... you know ... go for it with you.�

Greg blinked slowly. He took a deep breath and then let it out. Meanwhile, Julie and Bradley kept right on powdering and puffing as if nothing was happening. �Why,� Greg finally asked, �would he say something like that? It�s not true, is it?�

�No, not really,� Mindy said.

�Not really? What does that mean?�

�He�s distorting something I said to him,� she said. �I bet those assholes at ER are paying him twenty or thirty grand for this shit and feeding his lines to him.�

�You are undoubtedly correct,� Greg said. �But what did you say to him that started this?�

�He�s not just talking about me having a crush on you,� Mindy said. �He�s talking about our sex life, about how I treated him at home, about some of the shit I used to say to him. All of it is a gross exaggeration at best, an out and out misrepresentation at worst.�

�I have no doubt about that either,� Greg said. �But my wife is probably going to be contacted about this as well, wouldn�t you think?�

�I�d be amazed if they hadn�t already done it,� Mindy said.

�I would like to be able to present some facts to Celia when I talk to her. Please tell me just what it is that you said to this Rafael creature that prompted him to say you broke up with him because of me.�

Mindy sighed again. �Well ... I did tell him a few times that I thought you were attractive. You are attractive, Greg, and I was just pointing out a fact.�

�And ... from that he comes up with you broke up with him because of me?�

�Well ... that and the fact that I jumped on this role when I found out you were going to be the star of the project. He did ask me about that once, why I suddenly became interested in the part once you were cast. The same thing you asked me.�

�And what did you tell him?�

�Nothing!� she said. �I just said that I had always wanted to work with you and the opportunity had come to do it. He seemed like he accepted that at the time. We went on with our lives for weeks after that and everything was just like normal.�

�But then you broke up with him,� Greg said.

�Well ... yeah,� she said. �I wasn�t going to drag his dumb ass across the country with me while I worked on the project. His time had come. He knew when we first hooked up that it was a limited-term relationship. Or, at least he should have known that. He couldn�t possibly have thought that I was going to marry a fucking personal trainer who can�t think his way out of a paper bag, right?�

�I�ve never met the man,� Greg said. �Therefore, I cannot speculate on what he may or may not have thought, but he does sound like a man you would not want to ask to do physics equations for you, correct?�

�Uh ... correct,� she said.

�In any case, that is neither here nor there. I trust you are planning to refute his accusation that you broke up with him because of a crush on me?�

�Georgette issued a brief statement to the ER reporter denying that particular accusation as well as most of the others.�

�Then I guess that is all there is to be done,� Greg said. �I�ll instruct Johnny to refuse comment on the issue completely other than to report that you and I hardly knew each other at all until being cast together and that we enjoy a strictly professional relationship now. I�ll suggest to Celia that she instruct Pauline Kingsley to make no comment on the matter either.�

Mindy nodded. �That sounds good, Greg. Exactly what I would have suggested.� She finally met his eyes in the mirror. �I�m sorry about all this.�

Greg shrugged. �Things happen,� he said. �As Jake always says, it�s part of the life we choose.�

�I suppose,� she said humbly.

Silence returned to the makeup room, broken only when Lewis came in to get into his wardrobe for the day. As a dark-skinned, short-haired man, Lewis did not need the layers of skin-darkening makeup or the tussling of his locks. Mindy and Greg greeted him warmly and they talked of the upcoming scenes for a few minutes before Lewis disappeared into the wardrobe area to get dressed.

Once he was gone, Greg took another glance at Mindy in the mirror. Her eyes were once again cast downward as Julie worked on her neck area. To facilitate this, her robe had been pulled down a bit and he could see the tops of her breasts. They were very appetizing to look at.

Did she really say she had a crush on me? he wondered. The idea did not seem ridiculous in the least. Nor was it really that offensive.

If fact, he was actually a bit flattered that it might be true.

It was the next morning, in the rehearsal studio in Santa Clarita, that Jake heard about the upcoming ER report. It was Celia who delivered the news to him as they sat down for the tuning of their instruments prior to the soundcheck. She did not just come out and say what was wrong with her, but Jake could tell something was bothering her because she was using more Spanish phrases than normal.

�What�s the deal, C?� Jake finally asked her. He was sitting next to Natalie (who had decided to join them for the production of the next CDs after Mark promised he would remain committed to her) and holding his black Les Paul in his hands. It was his day today and they were going to start by working on one of his hard-driving tunes.

�What�s the deal with what?� she asked shortly. She held her white Stratocaster in her hands as the tune required her to play distorted chords as backup.

�Oh, come on,� Jake chided. �I�ve known you long enough to know when something�s put a bug up your ass.�

�A bug up my ass?� she asked. �That�s rather crude, Jake.�

�Perhaps,� he allowed. �So, what kind of bug is it? Give it up.�

She sighed. �It�s that fucking puta!� she blurted.

�What fucking puta?� he asked.

�You never did tell me what that word means,� said Natalie as she tweaked her tuning knob a quarter turn.

Celia ignored her. �Mindy Snow,� she spat. �What other fucking puta would I be talking about?�

�Ahhh,� Jake said. �The queen of putas. What did she do now?�

�I got a call from Pauline yesterday,� Celia said. �Apparently Mindy�s ex-boyfriend is doing a tell-all interview on Entertainment Reports this Friday.�

�Which ex-boyfriend?� Jake asked. �She�s had a few.� Including me, he did not feel the need to point out.

�The most recent one,� Celia said. �The personal trainer who looks like he stepped out of a Greek God painting.�

Jake nodded. He had seen media reports of the man here and there in his travels and he thought that an accurate description. �What does that have to do with you?� he asked.

�Apparently he is alleging that the reason Mindy broke up with him is that she has always had a crush on Greg and wanted Adonis�or whatever the hell his name is�out of the way now that she managed to land a role with Greg.�

Jake raised his eyebrows a bit. �Really? Does Greg know about this?�

�He does now,� she said. �He called me last night to tell me what�s going on. Of course, by then, I already knew about it from Pauline, but he thought he should talk to me about it. He says that Mindy hit him with this shit yesterday morning during their makeup session. Mindy claims it isn�t true, that this loser of hers took a comment that she made once about Greg being attractive out of context and he�s just doing this interview because they�re paying him and so he can get back at her for breaking up.�

�Wow,� Liz said from her piano. �It kind of sounds like we wandered into the middle of a soap opera here.�

�No me digas! Jueputa!� Celia agreed sourly. �Anyway, Greg says Mindy seemed embarrassed by the whole thing.�

�Mindy, embarrassed?� Jake said with a harsh laugh. �That�ll be the day.�

�He said she seemed quite sincere,� Celia said.

�She�s a very good actress,� Jake said. �She can seem like anything she wants to seem like. I found that shit out the hard way.�

�He sure did,� said Coop, who was sitting on his drum chair, twirling a stick in his hand. �She played Jake like an accordion, bending and squeezing him every fuckin� way.�

�Yeah,� Jake muttered.

�Didn�t you say she was really good in bed though?� asked Charlie. Now that he was allegedly heterosexual again, he tended to actively bring up and heartily participate in pussy stories�even when it was not really appropriate.

�Uh...� Jake stammered, looking over at Laura, who was frowning at the sudden turn of conversation, �well ... the fact of the matter is��

�Oh, fuck yeah she was good!� Coop said enthusiastically. �She would get down and stinky at the drop of a fuckin� hat! Jake used to tell us all about the shit they did when he was railing her. He said she was fuckin� premo in the sack. What we call an NTN bitch.�

�NTN?� asked Sharon.

�Nothin� too nasty,� Coop clarified. �You gotta love an NTN slut. Jake, remember that time you told us about how you nailed her while she was sitting on the railing of the balcony of your condo?�

�Uh ... yeah, Coop,� Jake said, blushing. �I remember that.�

�And this other time,� Coop went on, �she dressed up in the outfit she used to wear on the fucking Slow Lane and did her hair all up in that same style from the show so he could plow her while��

�I think we all get the idea, Coop,� Jake said firmly.

�She dressed up in the outfit from the Slow Lane for you?� Laura asked, her teeth clenched tightly.

�Uh ... well ... yeah, but...�

�I always noticed that Jake would come in limping after spending the night with Mindy,� Nerdly put in. �And sometimes he would have bruises on his arms or scratches on his back or handfuls of hair missing from his head. I must say that I suspected her of being physically abusive toward you, Jake, but male social norms of the time prohibited me from enquiring.�

�Uh ... she wasn�t abusive, Nerdly,� Jake assured him. �She was just ... you know...�

�Down and stinky?� Laura asked, her eyes shooting daggers at her husband.

�That�s a good way of putting it, I suppose,� he said. �Enough about me and Mindy though. We were talking about Greg and Mindy, right?�

�Right,� Celia said, the sour look still on her face, though there was also a hint of amusement there now. �Greg assures me that he believes Mindy is sincere in her embarrassment. He says she has been nothing but professional since they started working together.�

�And do you believe him?� Jake asked.

�I believe Greg,� she said. �But I don�t trust that puta. I don�t trust her at all. She is self-serving and doesn�t care about anyone but herself. I think she�s up to something.�

Jake nodded. �She�s always up to something,� he said. �Tell Greg to keep watching his ass.�

�What could she possibly be up to?� Laura asked.

Jake shook his head. �Only Mindy knows the answer to that.�

�Anyway,� Celia said, �Greg is having Johnny release a statement that says there is nothing but a professional relationship between he and Mindy. Pauline is releasing a statement from me saying that I take no stock in reports by a disgruntled ex-boyfriend and remain supportive of Greg. That is the only acknowledgement of this fiasco we will provide. Hopefully, after the other media shows and the tabloid rags have their say about it, things will go back to normal.�

�Hopefully,� Jake said.

�Didn�t you tell me that Greg and Mindy will be required to film a scene depicting nudity and simulated sexual activity?� Nerdly asked.

Celia sighed again. �Two of them actually,� she said slowly. �Thank you for reminding me, Bill.�

�You�re welcome,� Nerdly said. �I was just wondering whether the coming sexual depictions might have the effect of adding increased combustible material and oxidizer to the conflagration.�

�What?� Celia asked.

�Fuel to the fire,� Jake translated.

�Oh ... of course,� she said, shaking her head a little. �I�m really trying not to think too much about that, Bill. I have to trust that Greg will behave professionally even if Mindy does not.�

�Interesting,� Bill said. �I�m sure that seems a sound and reasonable course of action currently, but what about when...�

�Bill,� Sharon said, covering his mouth with her hand to shut him up. �Maybe it�s time to get on with the sound check?�

�Oh ... of course,� he said once his wife�s hand was removed. �Is everyone done tuning?�

Everyone was done tuning. They stopped talking of Greg and Mindy and Jake and getting down and stinky and went to work dialing in their audio for the day�s work. This took about thirty minutes to complete. By the time they were done, everyone was back in the music mode where they belonged.

�All right,� Jake told everyone. �We�re going to work on Dark Matter for the first part of the day. Is everyone up for that?�

�Fuckin� A,� said Coop. �I�m liking where you�re going with this tune.�

�Me too,� said Charlie. �It rocks. Reminds me of the Intemperance days�well, you know, the good parts of those days.�

�Does it?� Jake asked, feeling a certain amount of trepidation at these words. Dark (as they would soon be calling it) was indeed a hard rocking tune as he envisioned it and was directing the other musicians to perform it. Like all of his songs, the basic melody and lyrics had been composed using only an acoustic guitar, but when it had come time to start working it up, it had seemed only natural to translate that melody into a distorted three-chord riff backed by a second distorted drop-D tuned guitar. And today he planned to have Liz start throwing in some basic fills with her piano to evolve the composition a little further. That was the formula that had made Intemperance so successful, that had actually spawned an entirely new genre of rock music. And it was a genre he had vowed to leave behind when he went solo.

The tune just sounds good played that way, he told himself. Besides, it�s fun to do hard rock. It gets the adrenaline rolling. The listeners are going to love it.

�All right,� he told the musicians. �We worked on the basic distorted melody and the beat last week. Charlie, Coop, are you two fairly comfortable with the basics?�

�I�m down with it,� said Coop. �The basics anyway.�

�Me too,� said Charlie. �It�s not as repetitive as a pop beat, that�s for sure, but it�s not overly complex either.�

Jake nodded. �I�ll probably want to throw in some tempo changes for the intro and the bridge section as we work it up more.�

�Awesome, dude!� Coop said enthusiastically. He loved challenging drumming; and having multiple tempo changes and flourishes was sweeter than a hit of the finest green in his opinion.

�I thought you�d like that,� Jake said, smiling.

�Damn right I will,� Coop said.

�Me too,� Charlie said. �It really is like the old Intemp days, isn�t it?�

Jake glanced at him, that uneasy feeling coming back a bit. �Yeah,� he said slowly. �I guess it is ... in a way, you know.� He looked over at Celia. �How about you, C. You feel comfortable with the rhythm?�

She gave him a little smile. �It�s a little harder than I�m used to�all of you keep your �that�s what she said� jokes to yourself, thank you very much�but nothing I can�t handle.�

Jake smiled at her. ��That�s what she said� staying internal,� he said. He looked over at the piano and the quickly-approaching-middle-age woman sitting behind it. �Liz, I want to start having you throw some piano fills into the tune. Mostly on the changeovers for now, though I�ll likely want to see if we can have you do a section of primary melody in there somewhere, probably for the intro�kind of like in Playing Those Games, you know?�

Liz looked very doubtful at this. �I�ll see what I can do, Jake,� she promised. �I have to be honest though, this tune is a little higher and heavier on the rock music scale than anything I�ve done before.�

�Understood,� Jake said, nodding. �You�ll get the feel of it. You�re a professional with a good ear.�

�If you say so,� she said, not quite appeased.

Jake thought of giving her a little more encouragement, then decided against it. �All right,� he said. �Let�s get it on. I�ll open with the primary riff. Rhythm section, pick me up after the first rep. Celia, you jump in after the second rep, and then I�ll start putting down the lyrics. We�ll run through it a few times until we can make it to where the bridge will be and then shut it down. Liz, you just listen for now, plug yourself in the best you can, try to get in the groove, and then start thinking about where and how you could throw in those fills.�

Everyone gave their agreement with this plan.

�Let�s do it then,� Jake said, gripping his guitar and putting his pick in his fingers.

They did it. Everyone except Jake had their music scores in front of them to make it easier to follow along. Jake ground out the main riff. Coop and Charlie hammered the backbeat. Celia played the distorted rhythm. They ran through the first two reps and then Jake began to sing the lyrics he�d written. It was an intelligent, thoughtful tune using the concept of dark matter, the theoretical unseen matter that made up the majority of the mass of the universe and served, among other things, to help bind galaxies together (Nerdly had told Jake about dark matter one stoned night long ago and the subject had fascinated Jake ever since), as an analogy for the human need for socialization and companionship.

It was a rough draft of the tune, that was for sure. There were several instances of missed bars, missed timing, tempo slips, and sour notes as fingers that had not developed muscle memory quite yet fretted out unfamiliar chords. But, all in all, it came out sounding more or less like music�a coordinated effort of multiple instruments.

�Not bad,� Jake said with a shrug after the first run-through. �Maybe not Grammy material just yet, but we�re working on it.�

�Sorry about the sour notes on the changeovers,� Celia said. �My fingers just aren�t used to it yet.�

�It�ll come with repetition,� Jake said. �Let�s do it again.�

They did it again, and then again, and then two more times, getting a little better, a little smoother with each run-through, making it sound more and more like professionally produced music instead of a high school band in a basement. As they worked, Nerdly and Sharon played around with the board, communicating with each other all the while, both of them frequently making notes on their copies of the score. They both seemed to be getting into the tune quite nicely. Laura and Natalie simply watched from the sidelines; their instruments idle since they weren�t going to be used for this particular tune. Natalie seemed to be enjoying the song. She was smiling and nodding her head to the beat, her shoulders shrugging in time. Laura also seemed to at least have an appreciation for what they were trying to do. Her foot tapped to the beat, her expression thoughtful. Only Liz seemed to be having issues. Her foot stayed still, her shoulders immobile, a slight frown upon her face.

Jake noticed this. �What do you think, Liz?� he asked her. �Is it starting to grow on you? Starting to feel the groove?�

�Well ... maybe a little,� she said, almost as if was a question.

�Any thoughts for those fills?� Jake asked. �At this point, if you feel inspired, you should just jump right in and throw them down.�

�Uh ... well ... I don�t know,� she said. �I don�t feel particularly inspired, honestly. If you could maybe give me an idea what it is you�re looking for?�

Jake�s brow went up a bit. �Just your basic fill,� he told her. �A little flourish of piano notes playing on top of the melody to enhance the flow of the tune.�

�I know what a fill is,� she said. �I�m just ... not really sure what you�re looking for in these particular fills. Maybe if ... Laura could play out one, or maybe Nat, and I could see what you�re after.�

Jake frowned a little. �The sax or the violin wouldn�t quite match the tone we�re shooting for here,� he said. �I�m not sure that would be helpful.�

�Oh...� she said. �I see. Well, maybe if ... I don�t know...�

�How about if I show you what he�s looking for?� Nerdly suddenly suggested.

Liz looked up at him. �You?�

Nerdly nodded. �I do have some experience playing the piano, you know.�

�Yes, of course I know that,� she said.

�And I�ve played with Jake for years. I think I have a pretty good idea of what he has in mind. May I?�

�Uh ... yeah, sure,� Liz said, standing up from her instrument and backing away.

Nerdly walked over to her seat and sat down. He cracked his knuckles and put them on the keys. He then began to play scales, getting the feel of her instrument, plugging himself into it. Jake smiled as he heard his old friend play. Though Nerdly had played synthesizer on their previous albums, those had mostly been overdubs and secondary melodies and fills and most of his time had been spent on engineering and mixing. He had done no piano work at all since the last Intemperance album more than five years ago. And it was as if he had never taken a break. Even though he was only playing scales, it was clear he was far superior a pianist than Liz�as good as she was�could ever hope to be.

�You still got it, Nerdly,� Jake told him when he finished his warmup.

�Fuckin� A,� Coop said, grinning, a nostalgic look on his face.

�I do still play on a regular basis at home,� Nerdly told them. �Piano is my first love�sorry, Sharon, but it�s true�and I use it to relax, usually with the classics.�

�The classics?� Coop asked. �You mean like Jerry Lee Lewis, Elton John, shit like that?�

�Chopin, Beethoven, and Mozart actually,� Nerdly corrected. �Although I will admit a fondness for the work of Elton John as well.�

�He�s pretty good,� said Charlie, �even if he is a fucking faggot.�

Everyone paused a moment to look at Charlie inquisitively.

�What?� he asked when he noticed their eyes upon him.

Jake shook his head a little. �Nothing,� he said. �All right. You in the groove here, Nerdly? You want us to run through it a few times again?�

�That will not be necessary,� Bill said. �Go ahead and perform the composition. I�ll lay down some fills that I think might be complimentary to the melody.�

Jake smiled, thinking how good it was to have Nerdly pounding the keys again. It was almost like...

He looked at the assembled band for a moment. There was Charlie on the bass, Coop on the drums, Nerdly on the piano, himself with a guitar in his hand and a microphone in front of his mouth. It really was almost like old times. Quite literally. Four of the five members of Intemperance were here with instruments in hand and about to start working up a new hard-rock tune. The only one missing was Matt.

This is heavy, he thought. Really heavy.

He took a deep breath. Heavy, perhaps, but it was also their job, how they made their living, and this promised to be a good tune. �Let�s do it,� he said. �Dark, from the top of the first verse. Everyone ready?�

Everyone was ready. They began once again, and this time, Nerdly threw in some piano just where it was needed. And it sounded very good indeed.

�Hell yeah!� Jake said enthusiastically between his verses.

�That�s the shit, Nerdly!� yelled out Coop as he drummed away.

They ran all the way through the first two verses and then started over, doing it again. Nerdly played out his parts with a little more confidence, a little more flair. They paused for a few moments so Sharon could jot down the notes they were using for the fills on the score and then began to do it again. For more than an hour they worked it up, Jake and Nerdly making suggestions about transitions and timing, about strengths and flow. Coop and Charlie made suggestions on tempo shifts and Coop started to add some drum fills. They talked enthusiastically about all these things between each take of the tune. Celia watched all of this in amazement and played her parts of the rhythm professionally and well, but no one asked her opinion of anything and she did not offer it. The other musicians in the room, Laura, Liz, Nat, simply sat in their chairs and watched, all three feeling decidedly like they weren�t even in the room. Even Sharon seemed to have been forgotten.

�I have an idea for the bridge transition,� Jake said shortly into the second hour of this.

�Yeah?� asked Coop.

�Let�s hear it,� said Nerdly.

�We go down-tempo to about eighty,� Jake said. �The lead guitar will switch to random fills. Nerdly, you�ll take over the primary melody on the piano and I�ll play out a secondary melody clean on my guitar.�

Nerdly and Celia looked at him strangely. �You will play out the secondary melody clean?� Nerdly asked. �Wouldn�t that be Celia�s job? She�s the rhythm guitarist.�

�And how would you play out the melody clean if you�re also doing random lead fills?� Celia asked, speaking for the first time in more than forty minutes.

Jake shook his head, resisting the urge to hit himself in the forehead. �My bad,� he said. �I kind of forgot I was the lead there for a minute.� Because when we do tunes like this, I�m always the rhythm guitarist and Matt is the lead. Jesus. Forgot where I was there for a bit. �Anyway, that�s my thought. C, you think you can drop tempo and switch to a clean sound?�

�I could,� she said slowly, �but I don�t have a pedal set for that currently. I could do it manually by lowering the output on my preamp, I suppose, but then we�d have to soundcheck it and then soundcheck it again to put it back.�

�Don�t you think that�s a little too much for this point in the game?� asked Sharon.

�Yeah ... I suppose,� Jake allowed.

�I think you�re right,� Nerdly said, �In any case, I was just trying to show Liz what Jake was after. Did I do that sufficiently, Liz?�

Liz nodded her head. �I see what he�s after all right,� she said.

�Perfect,� Nerdly told her. �I will relinquish your instrument to you then. Should we go over this a little more with Liz playing the fills?�

But Liz was shaking her head now. �I can�t duplicate what you were doing there, Bill. I can�t even come close.�

�What do you mean?� he asked.

�I�ve never tried to mix my instrument into a hard rock tune before,� Liz said. �You made your career doing that. I may be able to play the notes of the tune, but there is no way I can phrase like you were just doing.�

�What are you saying, Liz?� Jake asked.

�I think Bill should be the pianist on this cut,� she said. �The tune will come out much better if he does it.�

�I can�t be the pianist,� Bill protested. �I�m the sound engineer.�

�What does that have to do with anything?� Celia asked. �You played synthesizer for us on multiple cuts and still were able to engineer the sound.�

�That is true,� Bill said, �but this is different.�

�How is it different?� Jake asked.

�Okay,� Nerdly said. �Maybe it isn�t different. But I have no desire to step in and take Liz�s job from her. She is the pianist of this group. She should play the part.�

Everyone looked over at Liz. She seemed a little embarrassed to be the center of attention, but she held her ground. �I know I�m the pianist, Bill,� she told him. �And I know I�m good with my instrument. I also know you�re better, particularly with the genre that Dark is in. You should play the piano on the tune. It�s not going to hurt my feelings.�

�Well...� Bill said slowly, �if you insist.�

�I insist,� Liz insisted.

�I�ll do it then,� Bill said. It was quite clear to everyone that this decision made him very happy.

Two days later the band took a break from the workups so that Jake could fly to the San Francisco Bay area for a week to lay down his guitar and vocal tracks for I Signed That Line, the duet that he and Gordon had composed. G and his boys had been in Jam-On Productions� studio for the past month now, trying to get the latest Bigg G CD recorded so it could be mixed, mastered, and readied for manufacturing and distribution before G and Neesh�s wedding in July. G wanted to have time for an extended honeymoon with his bride before hitting the road for the promotional tour that would follow the release.

Laura came with Jake since Neesh was going to be there as well. Instead of flying first-class commercial, they climbed into Jake�s plane for the trip. It had been a while since he�d been behind the controls and this seemed a good opportunity to log a few more hours. And there was another reason to fly themselves as well. They could check on the progress of their new home.

�We�ll be out of the class C airspace any second here,� Jake told Laura as they flew twenty-five hundred feet above the coastline of San Luis Obispo County just south of the Oceano Airport. This was the minimum transition altitude through the Class C airspace bubble around Santa Maria Airport to the south of them. Once clear of the bubble, there was a ten-mile gap of comparatively unregulated Class E airspace before the next bubble, the one surrounding San Luis Obispo Regional began. The oceanfront property that Jake had bought was within that gap.

It was a beautiful day for flying, with bright blue sky, few clouds, a light onshore wind at eight knots, and visibility of well over twenty miles. The bright blue of the Pacific Ocean contrasted with the brown sand and scrub of the coastal hills and the green of the inland landscape. Jake looked at his navigation display for a moment, compared his position to the visual references outside, and concluded he was now free of the Class C.

�All right,� he told his wife with a smile. �It�s time to go down, baby.�

�I love going down,� she replied with a giggle.

He throttled down and pushed the nose forward a bit, letting their altitude drop at a rate of a thousand feet per minute�a fairly steep dive for this particular aircraft. He pulled out of the descent at twelve hundred feet, the lowest he could legally fly here, and then engaged the flaps to fifteen degrees and throttled up until they were traveling at a mere one hundred knots above the waves a hundred yards offshore. He used his yoke and rudder to follow the meanderings of the coastline so he could maintain that distance.

�There it is,� Jake said a minute later.

The dunes to their right gave way to the elevated plateau of their lot. The house was almost finished now. From the outside, it looked as if it was finished. It was a single-story structure that sat back from the cliffside by forty feet. It was painted light gray with forest green trim, roofed in plain cement tiles, and was the very definition of unpretentious. In fact, one would hardly notice it was there at all unless one was paying attention; and one would probably be unimpressed even if one did notice it. And that was exactly the way Jake liked it. The inside of the structure, however, contained more than eight thousand square feet of living space, including a huge master bedroom, a smaller master bedroom for guests, four secondary bedrooms, six bathrooms, an entertainment room that looked out over the ocean, and a soundproofed music composition room. A separate structure of eighteen hundred square feet would serve as the servant�s quarters.

�It looks like we could move in today if we wanted to,� Laura said as they passed by it.

�Another four weeks,� Jake said. He could see a crew of workers installing the redwood deck on the ocean side of the house. And though he could not see them, he knew that inside the house there were craftsmen hard at work installing cabinetry. Next week, the granite kitchen island and the bathroom tiles would be installed. The week after that, the appliances would begin to arrive.

�I can�t wait,� Laura said with enthusiasm. �It�ll be so nice to hear the ocean every night, to wake up every morning and have coffee out on the deck, to not have a bunch of snooty neighbors turning their noses up at us.�

�I couldn�t have said it better, hon,� Jake told her, reaching out to caress her cheek.

The house slowly disappeared behind them. Jake took a look around outside, scanned his instruments once more, and then throttled up his engines once again. As they started to climb, he retracted the flaps so they could put on the speed.

�Thanks for taking me by it,� Laura said, putting her hand on his leg and giving it a squeeze. �I�m all excited now.�

�Me too,� he said. �I can�t wait for Elsa to see it. Maybe I should take a day to fly her out for a tour when we get back.�

�That�s a good idea,� she said. �She seems to be getting a little nervous about the move as the day gets closer.�

Jake nodded. He had noticed this as well. Jake�s plan was to put his current home on the market as soon as the move was made and buy a luxury condo somewhere in downtown LA for those times (he hoped they would be few) when had to stay in the city. Elsa had agreed to move to Oceano with him and remain his housekeeper, but it had been a hard decision for her. Her family lived in Orange County, including her beloved grandchildren, and the driving time between she and they would be three and a half hours minimum, assuming good traffic conditions (and that was quite an assumption in southern California). Not an arduous trek by any means, but not a trip to the grocery store either. Jake finally convinced her by sweetening the pot a bit. He gave her a significant raise in salary and bought her a brand-new Toyota Four-Runner. He also promised that any members of her family were welcome to stay in the new home whenever they wanted and for as long as they wanted.

�I think that once she gets a tour of the place,� Jake said, �once she sees the new kitchen, sees the guest house that will be all hers, smells and hears the ocean just outside, she�ll start to feel better about leaving LA.�

�I bet you�re right,� Laura said. �And Gerald and Delilah will be home from school next week. Maybe they can come with us?�

�Sure,� Jake said, nodding. �I think that�s a great idea. I�ll run it by her when we get home.�

Jake continued his climb until he reached seventy-five hundred feet. He checked in with the local ATC and punched up his autopilot to take over navigation of the route he had programmed. He then asked LA Center to initiate flight following.

Once everything was copacetic, Laura began to move her hand a little higher on his leg, up toward the junction.

�How about a blowjob?� she asked him.

�We�ve tried it in here before,� he reminded her. �There�s not enough room between my yoke and my stick.�

�Oh yeah,� she said, frowning. �Well ... how about a handjob then?�

He nodded. �That sounds good. There�s some Kleenex packs in the seat pocket.�

A limousine took them from Hayward Executive Airport in the east bay to the Ritz-Carlton Hotel in San Francisco where Gordon�or G-Spot Records LLC, the label he owned�had booked them a suite. Gordon and Neesh were in the suite next door. The rest of the musicians and the sound team all had their own rooms a few floors below.

Their suite was on the top floor of the hotel and enjoyed a panoramic view of the bay, including the Golden Gate Bridge and Alcatraz Island. Jake had been in accommodations such as this often enough that he was hardly impressed anymore. Laura, on the other hand, had not and she spent a few minutes gawking at everything.

After settling in, Jake gave G a call to let him know they had arrived. G suggested that they meet in the hotel�s Club Lounge for a few drinks and an early dinner.

�Sounds good,� Jake told him. �Meet you there.�

The Club Lounge was a rather swanky place and, even though Jake and Laura and G and Neesh were well dressed when they entered, they caused more than a few raised eyebrows, disapproving looks, and whispered comments as they were seated near the picture window. Jake�s long hair and G and Neesh�s African-American appearance were not common sights to the tighty-whitey businessmen in suits who inhabited the place. All were aware of this and ignored it, except for G, who made a point of saying, �What up, homey?� to one particularly tight looking whitey they passed. The man did not return the greeting but immediately found something else to look at.

The staff in the lounge, by contrast, treated the quartet with nothing but politeness and servility. They ordered drinks�a martini for Jake, single malt scotch for G, a ninety-dollar bottle of chardonnay from the Napa Valley for the ladies�and then perused the appetizer menu while they waited for them.

�How about some escargot?� Neesh suggested.

�You wanna eat some fuckin� snails, girl, you go right ahead,� her fianc� told her. �Just don�t be kissing on me until after you brush your teeth.�

�I�m up for some of this goose liver pate,� Jake said.

�Oooh, that sounds good,� Laura agreed.

G was shaking his head now. �I�m going for these potato skins with the bacon and sour cream. You know? Some shit that�s not disgusting.�

�You ever thought about how they make sour cream?� Jake asked him. �They let milk rot. Sour cream.�

�Still better than fuckin� snails,� he countered.

Jake looked around and saw that the tighty whities were still shooting disapproving glances at them and whispering. He turned back to G. �Before we leave, we need to bring the whole crew in here. Can you imagine what these assholes will do if ten brothers come in here at once?�

G grinned. �I�ll have �em put on all their black shit before they come in,� he said. �Purple suits, medallions, earrings, white fedoras. These fuckin� suits will think the uprising just started.�

�They�ll probably run screaming out into the streets,� Neesh said with a giggle.

�Clutching their briefcases,� said Jake.

They laughed over this for a few minutes and then got down to some drinking. Before their appetizers even came, all of them had two drinks in their stomachs and were starting to feel good.

�How�s the recording going?� Jake asked.

�On schedule,� Gordon told him. �Maybe even a little bit ahead of schedule. All the basics have been laid down except for Signed, obviously. Once we get the tracks for Signed down and you go back to LA, we�ll be able to start the overdubs on everything else.�

Jake nodded. �You�ll need me back for the guitar and vocal overdubs on Signed at some point, right?�

�That�s right,� G said. �Probably in about two weeks or so. That work for you?�

�Yeah, no problem,� Jake said. �We�re coming along pretty good working up the next batch of tunes for both me and Celia. We�re scheduled to go into the studio in Coos Bay on July 5, so as long as you hit me up before then, it�ll be cool.�

�You�re not going to miss our wedding, are you?� Neesh asked. Their date was July 15 in Half Moon Bay, a beachfront town northwest of G�s hometown of East Palo Alto. Jake and Nerdly were both groomsmen.

�We wouldn�t miss it for the world,� Jake assured her. �We�ll shut down production for the weekend and be there on the 14^th for the rehearsal. I already got the jet chartered and everything.�

�Too bad you�re gonna miss the bachelor party,� G said.

�That is too bad,� Jake agreed with real regret. Ricky, G�s best man, had rented the entire top two floors of Harrah�s Hotel and casino in South Lake Tahoe for two full days and three nights for the occasion.

�And you�re going to miss my bachelorette party,� Neesh pouted to Laura. Her maid of honor�a wild and crazy woman she had been friends with since grammar school�was going the more traditional route of Las Vegas, financed, of course, with G�s money, which meant high-roller status.

�I�m sorry I can�t go,� Laura told her, sounding sincere enough although she had privately confided to Jake that the thought of a wild weekend with Neesh and her friends was actually kind of terrifying to her.

�It�s a shame, Teach,� Neesh told her. �There�s gonna be some serious-ass girl time going on down there in Sin City.�

Jake noted that for some reason this statement made Laura blush deeply.

�I can imagine,� Laura said.

�I bet you can,� Neesh told her with a giggle.

�Anyway,� Gordon said, �I�m hoping we�ll only need you for one session for your guitar and vocal overdubs. Two at the absolute most.�

�Just tell me when,� Jake assured him.

�Will do, homey,� G said.

The server brought their appetizers to them and set them down. They all ordered more drinks and dug in, tearing through everything by the time the drinks arrived. They then ordered dinner, all of them going with seafood, which was the specialty of the house. They talked of normal things for a bit�the OJ trial was still high on the list of conversation topics�and then Gordon worked the thread back around to music again.

�Last time we talked,� he told Jake, �you said you didn�t want to be credited for the guitar work on Signed.�

�That�s right,� Jake said. �Just put me down as co-writer of the lyrics and music and one of the vocalists for the cut and I�m happy enough.�

�But you fuckin� shred on that tune like no tomorrow,� G protested. �You need to be credited for that shit.�

Jake shook his head. �I�d rather not be,� he said. �All that would happen is that people would start the comparison game between me and Matt, and I wouldn�t measure up. It would take attention away from the actual tune. That�s why I don�t credit myself as the lead guitarist on my CDs or Celia�s CDs.�

�That�s bullshit, homey,� Gordon protested. �You ain�t got nothing to be ashamed of when it comes to playing that guitar. Fuck what people think about it.�

�It�s not as good as Matt would play it,� Jake insisted. �I know this to be true and I accept that, just like I know Matt can�t play an acoustic as well as I do or sing as well as I do.�

�That might be true, but you ain�t no slouch at it either,� G said. �And besides, Tisdale takes credit for his singing on his CDs, don�t he?�

�He does,� Jake agreed. �And reviewers and fans constantly tell him that he�s not as good at it as I am.�

�But he doesn�t let that stop him, does he?�

�No,� Jake had to admit.

�And you shouldn�t let that stop you,� Gordon insisted.

�I don�t know,� Jake said. �I just don�t think I�m ready to go there yet.�

Gordon looked at Jake seriously. �Check it, homey,� he said. �I have an ulterior motive here. I�m not just concerned about you getting credit for your shit.�

�Oh?� Jake asked.

�I have an idea about how to pull in some serious coin once I start touring, but it kind of depends on people knowing that it�s you putting down the riff and the solo on Signed.�

�Really?� Jake said. �What�s the idea?�

�You told me that you ain�t planning to tour when your next CD comes out, right?�

�That�s right,� Jake said. �Celia will go out again. We haven�t even opened negotiations yet, but Aristocrat has already promised a fully financed Celia Valdez tour if we sign with them for MD&P. But I don�t see there being a Jake Kingsley tour at any point in the future unless I agree to do some Intemp material, which I won�t.�

�And your Brainwash peeps,� Gordon said. �They�re selling CDs like a motherfucker still. You won�t be putting them back in the studio for at least another nine months, right?�

�That�s right,� Jake said. �No sense putting out new Brainwash while we�re still cashing in on the old Brainwash. Where you going with this, G?�

�Well ... I been thinking about this whole new thing with tour revenue being an untapped source of income for the artists and the labels.�

�It is quite lucrative,� Jake said. �I told you how much we made on Celia�s tour by utilizing the strategy.�

G nodded seriously. �You said you pulled in more than six mil in profits, right?�

�Six point four for KVA Records alone,� Jake said. �Are you planning to follow the trend?�

�I am,� Gordon said. �I�m hot commodity still because, unlike most rappers and hip-hop artists, I�ve kept up with the trend, evolved with my audience, keep putting out music that�s relevant, and doing experimental shit, like having a whitey motherfucker play acoustic guitar for me and, with this next album, having that same whitey motherfucker doing a duet with me.�

�All true,� Jake said.

�I�m thinking that as things stand right now, I could charge pretty much what Celia was charging for concert tickets and people will buy them. And since I�m a brother, they won�t even accuse me of being a sellout. They just expect that shit from a brother; you dig?�

�I dig,� Jake said with a nod.

�Anyway, my plan is to release Signed for the first song for promotion when the CD is released. I think it�s going to cross all demographics, at least among the fifteen to thirty-fives. Male and females are going to love it. Whites, blacks, beaners, even Asians are going to love it. And by the time we hit the road and start touring, demand for tickets should be pretty high, wouldn�t you think?�

�That all sounds reasonable enough,� Jake agreed. �I still don�t see what it has to do with me taking credit for the guitar tracks though.�

�I�m getting to that,� G said. �You see, I�m about to make you a business proposition.�

Jake raised his eyebrows a bit. �A business proposition? You mean beyond the scope of the agreement we already have in place regarding Signed?� Though they were friends and trusted each other, to avoid any misunderstandings they had taken the time to spell out and sign a contract regarding compensation to Jake for participating in the composition and recording of I Signed That Line (this was ironic indeed, since the song was, in fact, about what happened when one signed a contract with a record company). Jake was entitled to two percent royalties on all sales of the CD Livin� It, on which Signed appeared. In addition, he was entitled to fifty percent royalties on any sales of rights for the tune, though G would retain the rights as to whether to grant those rights or not.

�Beyond that scope, yes,� G agreed. �You see, I was thinking that maybe if you ain�t got nothing else going on in September and October, maybe even November, you might be inclined to hang out with me out on the road for a bit.�

�Go on tour with you?� Jake asked, astonished.

�Maybe not for every show,� G said. �This is all negotiable. I�m just saying that you fly out and travel with us for a week here, a week there, and come up on stage with me during the sets. We do Signed and Step Inside at different parts of the show and the fuckin� audience will go insane, homey.�

�You want me to step up on your stage during a rap concert?� Jake asked, just for clarification.

�Fuck yeah, I do,� G said. �It�ll be the shit, homey!�

�Would he be safe doing that?� asked Laura nervously.

�Of course he�d be safe,� G said. �He�s with me. He�s got street cred from playing Step Inside with me and he�ll have even more once my fans start to hear Signed playing on the radio. Not only that, when word gets out that Jake Kingsley might be up on stage on any given night, we�ll have the crossover fans buying up them tickets as well. You see, that�s kind of the jist of my idea. We don�t ever promise that you�ll be at one of the shows. We don�t advertise when you�re going to be there. We don�t even mention it at all, matter of fact. We just let word of mouth and word of media spread the news that Jake Kingsley might just show up at Bigg G�s show and lay down some Step and some Signed, and demand for the tickets will go up. I�ll be able to charge seventy-five for the nosebleed seats, two hundred for the floor levels, probably a buck and a quarter for the lower-level bleachers. And you can bet your ass I�ll make it worth your while, homey. I�ll give you a fixed percentage of every show that you play in, right off the top.�

�Interesting,� Jake said, pondering this.

�The only thing is,� G said, �is that if we�re gonna do this, you have to play the guitar licks on Signed. That�s part of the deal.�

�Why?� Jake asked. �Can�t James play it? He plays the acoustic for Step when you�re out on tour, doesn�t he?�

�He does,� G said. �And he�ll play the distorted electric for Signed on any nights that you�re not there to do it for him, but he�s a bass player at heart, and a rap music bass player at that. He can do a decent imitation of you, Jake, but he can�t lay it down like you do, especially not on Signed. If you�re out there with me, it�ll have to be you. I have to insist on that shit.�

�I see,� Jake said slowly. �And if I�m going to get up on stage and play the distorted electric on Signed, I need to take credit for it on the CD cover. Is that what you�re saying?�

�That�s what I�m saying,� G said. �I want it known far and wide that you�re the guitarist on the tune long before we hit the road. I want DJs announcing that shit on the radio when they spin the tune. That will help drive the demand when word of mouth starts passing that you might show up as a special guest at one of my shows.�

Jake nodded. �I suppose that makes sense,� he said.

�So, what do you think?� G asked.

Jake looked over at his wife. �What do you think about all this?� he asked.

�What do I think?� she asked. �I don�t know what I should think. This is all business stuff that�s way over my head. I�m just a sax player who used to be a teacher.�

�I meant about me going out on the road,� Jake said. He turned to G again. �Can she come with me if I agree to this?�

�Fuckin� A,� Gordon said. �The more the merrier.�

�Assuming you want to go,� Jake said to her.

�Uh ... sure,� she said. �I�ve never toured with a rap show before. Should be interesting.�

�All right then,� G said. �You got your old lady�s permission then. Are you in?�

Jake looked at the rapper and smiled. �Maybe,� he said. �I do have a couple questions though. Didn�t you tell me that you�re not going to take credit for the piano parts on Signed?�

�That�s right,� Gordon said slowly. They had decided during the workup process that I Signed That Line would use the original piano melody that Gordon had composed for the verses as the intro, the outro, and on the slower tempo first portion of the bridge.

�How are you planning to play those piano parts up on stage?� Jake asked.

�I haven�t thought that all the way through just yet,� G admitted. �Maybe use the guitar to play it? Maybe the turntables?�

Jake shook his head. �You know as well as I do that once that piano becomes part of the tune, subbing another instrument for those sections would be a cheap imitation and lazy as well. Audiences don�t like it if you play the tune live in a manner that is different than what they hear on the radio. You need to take credit for the piano pieces just like I need to take credit for the guitar parts.�

G�s eyes were a little wider now. �That ain�t the same thing,� he said. �I�m a rapper.�

�You�re a musician,� Jake countered. �And if I�m going to be credited with the guitar parts on the CD cover, and if I�m going to step up onstage with my Les Paul and grind out those riffs, then you�re going to take credit on the CD for the piano parts and you�re going to have a motherfuckin� Yamaha electric piano up there onstage and you�re going to fucking play it.�

�I don�t know about this shit, Jake,� G said. �Can�t we just...�

�It�s the right thing to do and you know it, G,� Jake insisted.

Gordon sighed. �Yeah, I suppose I do,� he said softly.

�Well, all right then,� Jake said with a smile. �I think we have a deal. Shall we drink on it?�

They drank on it.

After dinner, the four of them decided to go someplace where everyone did not have a stick up their ass. Gordon said he knew just the place. It was a little club just across the Bay Bridge in Oakland, on Macarthur, two blocks west of Martin Luther King Jr. Boulevard. The four of them climbed out of the limousine and G led them into the front door, where a large bouncer was checking IDs and vetting the customers. Seeing who the latest guests were, he let them inside without even collecting the cover charge.

The Purple Lounge, as the establishment was known, was quite full of customers. They lined the bar, sat at the cocktail tables, crowded around the pool tables, shook their booties out on the dance floor. Jake could not help but notice that he and Laura were the only two people in the place who were not African-American.

They had a good time there, staying until well after ten o�clock. They drank at the bar for a while, talking to the other patrons, most of whom were delighted when they found out that Jake knew the proper way to shake hands with them. G made a point to mention to anyone who asked that he was in town to record his latest CD and that his brother Jake was here because he was collaborating on one of the tunes, contributing both vocals and some serious-ass guitar licks.

�Just like in Step Inside?� many of the patrons asked.

�Even better,� G would tell them. �We�re talking full-on heavy metal fuckin� guitar here.�

�You doin� a heavy metal song?� he would be asked.

�Half heavy metal, half rap,� G would say. �Wait �til you hear it, homey. It�ll blow you away.�

Most of the crowd seemed enthusiastic about hearing it. No one called G a sellout. Jake thought about mentioning that G would be playing piano on the tune but decided, probably wisely, that he had had too much alcohol to judge whether or not this was a good idea.

Eventually they moved over to a vacant pool table and played some eight ball, Jake and Laura against G and Neesh. Since Jake and G both had pool tables in their respective homes and frequently used them for recreation, all four were pretty good at the sport. A crowd gathered around them and Jake was amused to see that bets were being placed on the outcomes of their games. At first the betting was heavy in G and Neesh�s favor, with Jake and Laura getting as high as four to one odds. But after a few games the odds dropped down to even as it was realized that the rocker and his petite little redheaded wife could actually shoot some stick.

They arrived back at the Ritz-Carlton just after eleven o�clock that night. Since they planned to hit the studio at nine o�clock the next morning, both couples said their goodnights, exchanged hugs and handshakes, and retired to their suites.

Laura was drunk and quite horny. She all but attacked Jake once they were alone, stripping his clothes off of him and sucking him enthusiastically on the sitting room couch and then, after dropping her pants and underwear, climbing into his lap and riding him while she kissed his mouth and nibbled on his ears. Before he had a chance to release inside of her, she dragged him to the bedroom and put his face between her legs, not letting him up until he�d pulled two toe-curling orgasms from her. Only then was he able to climb atop her in the missionary position and grind into her until he achieved his own release.

After, they lay curled together on the bed, the sweat drying from their skin, Laura�s head resting on his chest, his arm around her back while his fingers played idly with her hair.

�I�m really glad I married a man who is good in bed,� she told him sleepily.

�So am I,� he said with a laugh. He stroked her bare skin a little. �You seemed particularly in the mood tonight.�

�Yeah,� she sighed. �I really was. I guess it was the alcohol.�

�Or maybe it was Neesh?� he suggested lightly.

He felt her body stiffen against him as he said this, felt her fingers clutch at him reflexively. He had just blurted that out without a thought, but it seemed obvious that he had struck a nerve with her.

�What ... what do you mean by that?� she asked softly, her voice nervous.

�I didn�t mean much,� he said. �It�s just that I can�t help but notice that whenever you hang out with Neesh, or even Celia these days, it seems to get you in quite a rambunctious mood.�

�Really?� she said, the nervousness increasing. �I ... uh ... never really noticed that.�

�Laura,� he said, putting his fingers under her chin and lifting up so they were eye to eye, �you�re not a very good liar.�

She nibbled her lip a little and actually seemed near tears for a moment. �No,� she finally said. �I�m really not.�

�You developed a little taste for the softer things in life when you were out on tour, didn�t you?� he asked.

She nodded her head. �Yeah,� she said. �I guess I did.�

�Neesh kind of turns you on, does she?�

A sigh. �Yeah, she kind of does.�

�A pity she�s not into that sort of thing, huh? And that she�s G�s woman. She is kind of hot.�

�Uh ... yeah,� Laura said, her voice sounding a little strange. �It�s a pity. And besides, I�m a married woman. I couldn�t do anything like that anyway. It wouldn�t be right.�

�Well, it wouldn�t be right with Neesh,� he agreed, �but what about some other girl, someone who wasn�t Neesh?�

She looked up at him. �You�re joking, right?�

�I don�t joke about this kind of thing,� he assured her. �What is it that you want to do, hon? Do you just want some chick to eat your pussy out like you did out on the road, or are we talking a little bit more here?�

�You can�t be serious,� Laura said.

�Sure I can,� he said. �We�re just having an intellectual exercise here. Tell me, what is it you�d like to do?�

She nibbled her lip again. �I ... well ... I think I�d like to try ... you know ... everything.�

�Everything?�

She nodded. �Everything. I want to suck another woman�s boobs. I want to kiss her, feel her tongue in my mouth. And ... and ... I think I�d even like putting my mouth ... you know ... down there.� She hesitated for a moment. �If she were clean, that is.�

�Clean is preferable,� Jake agreed, feeling himself stiffen up a little at the turn the conversation had taken, at the mental image his wife had just put into his head.

�Are you saying you would ... you know ... be okay with that?� Laura asked.

�I would be,� he said. �To tell you the truth, the thought is actually kind of hot.�

�It is?�

He took her hand and slid it down to his manhood, letting her feel how hot he found the topic of conversation.

�Wow,� she said, amazed. �This really does turn you on.�

�It does,� he said. �I would, however, have a request of you if you were going to do such a thing.�

�And what would that be?� she asked carefully.

�That you don�t hide it from me. If you are going to do this, it needs to be out in the open.�

�Well ... of course,� she said. �But ... but...�

�But what?�

�Is that it? That�s the only rule? You don�t want to ... you know ... watch? Or get in on the fun?�

He laughed. �I�m a guy, hon. If you want me to watch or join in, I�m not going to say no, but I�m not making that a condition or anything. If you meet someone you like and the circumstances are right, and she�s clean and all that ... you go for it. Just make sure I�m notified and that you tell me about it.�

�Really?� she asked.

�Really,� he confirmed.

�Wow,� she said. �I knew there was a reason I loved you.�

He laughed again. �Hopefully, that�s not the only reason.�

Her hand was still on his schlong, and it had stiffened up quite nicely by this point. She started to stroke it up and down. �How about another round?� she asked him.

�Let�s do it,� he said.

They did it. And it was very good.

After, as they were once more in each other�s arms, basking in the afterglow, she looked up at him once more.

�I�m not sure that I would really want to have you ... do anything with another woman if ... you know ... the opportunity came up for me to be with someone.�

�I understand,� Jake said. �I wouldn�t really be keen on you doing something with another man.�

�Now that�s just gross,� she said sourly. �Anyway, I�m not ready to have you doing that ... but ... well ... if there was another woman and she and I were ... you know ... doing what two women do ... I do think it would be kind of hot to have you ... watching us.�

�Really?� he asked, feeling a little thrill shoot through him.

�Really,� she said.

�You�re not joking?�

�I don�t joke about things like that,� she assured him with a smile.

Los Angeles, California

June 21, 1995

Granada Hills was technically part of the city of Los Angeles, but it was about as far from the high rises, the glitter, and the grit as it was possible to get. Nestled in the foothills of the Santa Susana Mountains, the high-income community sat above the San Fernando Valley and was perhaps the least densely populated community within the city limits. Jake and Laura Kingsley were now the proud owners of a twenty-four-year-old home in the community; a 2700 square foot, four bedroom two-story that sat on one of the higher hills just outside the entrance to O�Melveny Park, a mountainous, city owned recreation area full of hiking trails that was second in size only to Griffith Park.

Jake�s original plan had been to buy a condo in downtown LA for those times when he had to stay in the city, but, after seeing what a simple sixteen hundred square foot condo actually cost downtown and comparing it to what a large, secluded house in Granada Hills cost and realizing the second option was actually cheaper�as well as much closer to the rehearsal studio and the new airport he had picked to fly out of�the plan had changed. For the bargain basement price of only $885,000, which Jake had paid for in one lump sum, the quick escrow had closed a week before and the keys had been handed over.

Jake, Laura, and Elsa had spent the last week in the new LA house, having moved completely out of the Nottingham Lane house so it could be put on the market. Its value had gone up considerably since Jake had purchased it for $850,000 back in 1987. Now, because of the normal appreciation of real estate values in the Los Angeles region and the fact that the infamous Jake Kingsley was the current owner, the asking price was $2.3 million. Diane Brown, his realtor, seemed to think he would have no problem getting that much. All of the contents of the home had been placed in two tractor trailer rigs and trucked over to the new oceanfront home in San Luis Obispo county. Escrow had closed on that property two days ago and those contents were due to arrive today. And so were the occupants of that new house.

Today was the official move-in day that Jake, Laura, and Elsa had been planning for the better part of three weeks now. With their belongings en route, they needed to get three cars�Jake�s BMW, Laura�s Cabriolet, and Elsa�s new 4-Runner�as well as Jake�s airplane to Oceano. Laura and Elsa would drive their own vehicles while Celia, who had stayed the night in the guest bedroom of the house, would drive Jake�s. Jake would give them a little head start and then follow behind in the plane, hoping to time it so they all arrived in Oceano at about the same time.

�All right,� Jake said at 9:20 that morning, after everyone had finished the breakfast Elsa had made for them. �Are we all ready to do this thing?�

The three ladies were ready to do this thing.

�It�s a three-hour drive from here,� Laura said. �I�ll lead the way since I�ve been there before.�

�But you�ve never actually driven there before, have you?� asked Celia, who was wearing a pair of white shorts and a red, sleeveless top.

�Well ... no,� Laura admitted. �We�ve only flown there.�

�Maybe I should lead then,� suggested Celia. �At least until we get into Oceano.�

�Why would you lead?� Laura asked.

�No offense, Teach,� Celia said, �but I�ve driven with you before. You drive like my abuela. Always going the speed limit.�

�It�s the law!� Laura protested.

�This is California,� Celia told her. �The speed limit is just a suggestion. People change their freakin� tires at fifty-five. I�m leading. You keep up. If you get a ticket, I�ll pay it for you.�

Laura thought this over for a minute and then nodded. �Fair enough,� she said.

�Exactly how fast are you planning to drive, Celia?� asked Elsa, who was proud of the fact that she had never gotten a speeding ticket in her life.

�Not as fast as Jake drives,� she said.

Elsa nodded. �Fair enough,� she agreed as well.

They loaded up their respective vehicles, making sure they had water bottles, snacks, and their cellular phones (even though the cell phones would be pretty much useless once outside of the LA area). Jake kissed Laura goodbye, hugged Elsa and Celia, and off they went, heading for Route 118, which would take them to the 101. Jake waved at them until they disappeared and then went back inside the house. He checked his watch. It was 9:35 AM. Now that Celia was the lead driver, the trip would probably only take two and a half hours instead of three. After arriving in town, Laura would lead Celia and Elsa to the new house and then drive to the airport to pick him up. The flight to Oceano would take forty-eight minutes. That meant he needed to be wheels-up at 11:40 at the latest, which meant he would need to leave Grenada Hills by 11:15 in order to give himself time to file a flight plan and preflight the plane.

That meant he had time for a little nap. He took advantage of this, setting his brand-new alarm clock for 11:05 and then climbing into the bed that Elsa had made just a few hours before. Three minutes later, he was asleep and dreaming. Learning to fall asleep instantly and make use of any slumber time, no matter how little, was a skill he had picked up on the Intemperance tours of the past. It was a skill that still served him well on occasion.

At exactly 11:15, he went to the three-car garage of the house. Here were the two vehicles he had purchased last week for he and Laura to use when they were in LA. Laura�s LA car was a gold 1995 Lexus LS400. For himself he�d bought a 1995 Ford F150 with 4-wheel drive. He climbed into the truck, making sure he had the keys to the house and his wallet, and then headed out on his journey.

He had closed out his hangar space at Santa Monica Airport the week before and rented a single hangar at Whiteman Airport in the valley, just seven miles from Granada Hills and ten easy freeway miles from the Santa Clarita rehearsal studio. Not only was this considerably cheaper, but the airport was much less congested, and, under routine circumstances, he would not have to leave the San Fernando Valley at all while in town. He wondered, in fact, why he had not moved his plane to Whiteman years ago.

The small airport had a single 12/30 runway, a control tower that was staffed only during the daylight hours, and no mechanical services. Jake drove his truck over to the hangar he had rented and parked outside, leaving the engine running while he opened the door. His airplane was not inside the hangar; it was tied down in the parking area outside of the main office. He parked his truck inside the hangar and then, after grabbing his carry bag and his own thermos full of iced green tea that Elsa had made for him, closed and secured the hangar and walked over to the office.

He filed his flight plan, preflighted his aircraft, and then, at 11:38, two minutes ahead of schedule, roared into the summer sky. After passing out of the Class B airspace around LA, he turned to a heading of 290, followed the Victor-518 airway to the Fillmore VOR station and then adjusted course slightly and flew to Santa Barbara. After passing over the VOR station there, he turned right to heading 307 and followed the Victor-27 airway, which skirted the edge of the controlled airspace around Vandenberg Air Force Base and then brought him just east of the city of Santa Maria. From there, he passed into the gap between the two Class-C bubbles and turned left toward Oceano to begin his descent. He circled into the pattern and touched down neatly at 12:27 PM. He pulled the plane around to the parking area in front of the office and shut it down. He did not tie it down, however, as it would not be staying there.

He looked around but did not see Laura�s car anywhere. With a shrug, he went into the airport office. The manager was behind the desk, watching the Dodgers playing the Reds on a small television set. Jake had talked to the man several times on the phone over the last two weeks, arranging for hangar space. He now knew that man�s name was Dave Harlan and that he had been working at this airport since 1974.

Harlan looked up as Jake entered and gave him a nod. �Jake,� he greeted, not the least surprised to see him, undoubtedly because the flight plan Jake had filed had informed him of the pending arrival. �Good flight in?�

�It was,� Jake said. �The weather was good, clear skies, hardly any turbulence, and a nice, soft landing.�

�The way it should be,� Dave agreed. �You ready to move into the hangar?�

�Yes, I am,� Jake told him. �I brought cash for the first month�s rent. I hope that�s okay.�

�Cash is just fine with me,� he said.

�In subsequent months you�ll get a check from my accounting firm.�

�Your accounting firm?� he asked, eyebrows raised.

�That�s right,� Jake said. �Yamashito, Yamashito, and Yamashito. They handle all my finances for me and pay all my bills.�

�Japs, huh?� he asked, suspiciously.

�They make very good accountants,� Jake assured him, pulling out his wallet. He pulled out two twenties and a ten and laid them down on the counter. Dave picked them up and put them in a drawer. He then handed Jake a pair of dollar bills in change and scribbled out a receipt.

�Here you go,� Dave said. He then reached in another drawer and pulled out a set of keys. He dropped them into Jake�s hand. �Number thirteen. Hope you�re not superstitious.�

�Not at all,� Jake said.

�Good to hear,� Dave grunted. �Lots of people are afraid of parking their plane in old thirteen. It�s been empty these past three years now.�

�Interesting,� Jake said, since some reply seemed necessary.

�Isn�t it?� Dave asked. He then looked pointedly at Jake. �So, folks in town been talking about that big old house you built up there on the cliffside.�

�It�s not that big,� Jake said.

�More than eight thousand square feet they say,� he said. �And a guest house next to it with another eighteen hundred. And a garage that can fit five cars. And they say you been looking for a swimming pool contractor too.�

Jake raised his eyebrows a bit. �They say a lot, don�t they?�

�They do,� Dave concurred. �This is a small town, my friend. They talk a lot when some rich musician decides to build a mansion and move in amongst us.�

Jake nodded. �Yeah, I can understand that, I guess,� he said. �What else are they saying?�

�They�re a might worried about some of the things you might get up to out there on that cliff.�

�Such as?� Jake asked.

�Well, it�s said that you�re a Satanist and that you�ve been known to hold Satanic rituals on occasion. It�s also said that you�re a doper, that you might be trafficking in the white powder and maybe bringing some of those cartel types into town. Others heard that you might even be a faggot.� He said this last as if that was the worst accusation of all.

Jake nodded thoughtfully, as if considering all of this. �Well,� he said. �What do you believe, Dave?�

�I believe that as long as you pay your bills on time, it ain�t none of my business what you do.�

�A good philosophy,� Jake agreed.

�Although if you�re gonna do any of that faggot stuff, we�d all prefer you keep it to yourself,� he said. �Don�t flaunt it.�

�I assure you,� Jake assured him, �that neither you nor they will ever have to worry about seeing me engaging in any homosexual activity.� He considered for a moment. �At least not with a man.�

Dave scrunched up his brow in confusion. �What other kind is there?�

Jake chuckled. �Never mind,� he told him. �Listen, maybe you can help me put people�s minds at ease a bit. I don�t know if they�ll believe it, but you can tell them this: I�m just an average ordinary guy who happens to have some musical talent and a lot of money. I�m not a Satanist and I have never engaged in a Satanic ritual. I wouldn�t even know what the procedure is. And, while I have been known to flame a bowl of the green on occasion, I haven�t touched so much as a sniff of cocaine or any other drug since the Intemperance days. I know no members of any drug cartel, nor do I care to. I do not have sex with men. I am married to a beautiful, sweet woman and I never beat her; not even once. I don�t even really raise my voice to her. Our goal in this community is to simply live out our lives in peace and tranquility. We moved here because we hate living in LA and wanted some oceanfront property within easy flying distance of the city. That�s all there is to it.�

Dave looked at him through this speech and continued to look at him for several long moments after. �Hmmph,� he finally grunted. �I�ll pass the word along when I�m asked. Don�t know what good it�ll do though.�

Jake shrugged. �I just present the facts,� he said. �I can�t control whether people believe them or not.�

Dave nodded at these words of wisdom and then went back to watching the baseball game without another word. Jake took that to mean that the conversation was over. He bid him farewell and then walked through the door to go secure his plane in its new hangar.

He started his engines and then checked his fuel level. Both tanks were about a quarter full, more than enough to get himself and two passengers back to Whiteman in the morning with a healthy emergency reserve. His plan was to fuel the aircraft in LA whenever possible since Jet-A was almost two dollars a gallon cheaper there. Though he was frivolous with his money�much to the chagrin of the Yamashitos�he was not a fan of simply flushing it down the toilet for no reason. Besides, fueling on the return trips meant he could sleep a little later before the Oceano to Whiteman legs in the mornings.

He throttled up and taxied over to the row of hangars on the east side of the airport. Number 13 was approximately in the middle of the row. Jake positioned the plane the best he could and then shut it down once again. He got out and walked over to the hangar door. The keyhole was in the release handle. He inserted the key and turned it, hearing a click. He then twisted the handle and ran up the metal door.

Since Dave had told him the hangar had been empty for the past three years, Jake was expecting it to be musty, full of cobwebs, spiders, maybe even a rat nest or two. Instead, he found it to be sparkling clean, without so much as a speck of dust in it, the door mechanisms freshly oiled, the concrete floor neatly swept. Jake�s respect for Dave kicked up a few notches as he took this in. Even though he thought I might be a Satanic faggot, he still cleaned the place up for me before I moved in.

Jake pushed the plane backwards into the hangar. It was a bit of a struggle since he did not have his electric tug�it was too bulky to fit into the plane or one of the cars and would have to be brought up by Jake�s new truck at some point�and he was by himself. After a few starts, stops, and adjustments of the nose wheel angle, he was finally able to get it more or less centered inside. Sweating a little from the exertion, he shut the hangar door and locked it, making a mental note to move transporting the tug to Oceano a little higher on his list of things to do. He certainly did not want to do this shit every night, although under normal routine Laura would be able to help him park.

He walked back to the airport office and saw that Laura�s green Cabriolet was now parked out front. She was not inside of it, however. He went back into the office building and found her there, deep in conversation with Dave, who was looking considerably more animated than he had when Jake had been speaking to him.

�I was supposed to come home in early February of sixty-eight,� he was telling her, �but that whole Tet Offensive thing happened, and I got extended for another three months. Got shot down one more time during all that, not too far from Khe Sanh. The Huey took a couple rounds right in the main housing, threw the rotor out of balance and the pilot�old Jimmy Smith, Smitty, we called him�had to autorotate us down in this little clearing. That wasn�t a good time there. There were VC and NVA all around us, goddamn gook central, and they was all popping rounds at us. I had to climb up on top with my tools and rebalance that rotor so we could take off again.� He shook his head a little. �One of them rounds whizzed right over my head, couldn�t have been more than six inches away.�

�Wow,� Laura said, fascinated. �But you were able to do it?�

�Oh yeah,� Dave said, matter-of-factly. �Only took about ten minutes or so, but it seems a lot longer when you got a bunch of gooks shootin� at you.�

�I can imagine,� Laura said.

Dave nodded in Jake�s direction. �Looks like your other half has returned,� he told her.

Laura turned and saw Jake. �Hey, sweetie,� she greeted. �We made it.�

�So did I,� he said, walking over and giving her a brief kiss. �How was the drive? No speeding tickets?�

�No speeding tickets,� she said, almost as though disappointed. �Dave here was just telling about when he was a helicopter crew chief in the army. Did you know he did two tours in Vietnam?�

�I did not know that,� Jake said. He turned to the airport manager. �From the end of that story you were telling, it sounds like you had quite the time there.�

�Yep,� Dave said simply. �It weren�t no tropical vacation, that�s for sure.�

�Do you fly yourself, Dave?� Jake asked him.

Dave shrugged. �I know how,� he said. �Been around pilots all my life, worked on airplanes and helicopters all my life, and been behind the controls lots of times. I just never went and actually made things official, either for the flying or the wrenching.�

�Why not?� Laura asked.

�Too much bookwork,� he said. �Doesn�t seem hardly worth it.�

�Interesting,� Jake said. He then turned back to Laura. �Shall we go home?�

She smiled. �It sounds weird to call it that, but yes. Let�s go home.�

They both bade Dave farewell and then left the office, climbing into Laura�s car (with Laura behind the wheel, Jake still would not be caught dead driving a certified chick car) and then headed for their new home.

The house not quite livable yet. The movers had brought everything in and had set up the actual furniture where they had been directed to, but the vast majority of the household items were still packed in boxes, each one labeled with what part of the house it belonged in. And there was no fresh food to speak of at all. Everything that had been in the refrigerator at the Nottingham house had either been thrown out or had been transported to the Granada Hills house. They had pantry items such as canned food, flour, rice, beans, but that was about it.

�I need to go to the store,� Elsa proclaimed after helping Jake, Celia, and Laura unpack things for about an hour.

�How come?� Jake asked.

�There is nothing to serve for dinner tonight,� she said. �Nor is there anything for breakfast tomorrow.�

�We can just get a pizza for tonight,� Jake said. He was forearms deep in a box full of bathroom supplies.

Elsa gave him a look. �Jake, you no longer live in Los Angeles, remember? You live on a cliff over the ocean outside of a small town. I seriously doubt that anyone is going to deliver a pizza up here.�

�Oh ... yeah, I guess you�re right,� he allowed. �Well ... one of us will just have to go into town and pick one up later then.�

�I need to go to the grocery store,� Elsa insisted. �In addition to dinner and breakfast concerns, we are lacking a variety of staples. We need bread, eggs, oranges for juice, toilet paper, paper towels. Need I go on?�

�Can�t you make that run tomorrow?� Jake asked. �You�ll have all day to get things organized and stocked while we�re in LA.�

�There is no beer either,� she said. �That all went to the Granada Hills house. And your top shelf alcohol is all buried in one of these boxes somewhere, as are your mixers, as is your wine collection. We may or may not stumble across them tonight.�

Jake, Laura, and Celia all looked at her in alarm.

�That�s different,� Jake said. �You�d better get to the store then.�

�I thought you might see things my way,� she said with a smile.

Five minutes later, she was in her new 4-Runner and on the way into Oceano. There was a Ralph�s Grocery Store near the airport, just inside the town limits. Elsa pulled into the crowded parking lot and eventually found a space near the back. She entered the store and saw that it was teeming with people, many of them dressed in shorts, skimpy shirts, and even swimwear. She took one look at the prices and then turned and exited. This store was where the tourists shopped and the markups on basically everything reflected that. There was no way she was going to pay four dollars for a gallon of milk, two dollars for a loaf of bread, three-fifty for a carton of eggs. And she could only imagine what they might be charging for beer and wine.

She got back in the 4-Runner and drove deeper into the town, heading east on Highway 1. She passed gas stations, a lube and oil establishment, a hardware store, and a dry cleaner. She made note of their locations as she would likely be needing all of these services soon. Finally, she came to an Alpha Beta grocery store on the eastern edge of the town limits, just outside of a residential zone. This parking lot was considerably less crowded. She parked and then walked inside. The prices in this store, while still higher than those in Los Angeles, were almost reasonable. She grabbed a cart and began shopping.

As she worked her way up one aisle and then down the next, pulling things from the shelf and checking them off on the list inside of her head, she noticed that everyone�s eyes seemed to be on her. She did not pass a single person without having to endure an extended stare at the least, a look of hostile astonishment at the worse. No one said a word to her, but their eyes were certainly making some judgments.

I guess they don�t see too many Nigerians in this store, she thought, more amused than anything else at this point.

She finished up her shopping and made her way to the checkout counters. The checker was an early-twenties Hispanic woman, and she was pleasant enough. She greeted Elsa politely and then scanned all of the groceries in the cart while another Hispanic, this one a late-teens male, bagged them.

�Will that be everything?� the checker asked when the job was done.

�Yes, it will,� Elsa confirmed.

�Very good,� the checker said. �Your total is one hundred and twenty-six dollars and forty-three cents. How will you be paying?�

�I have my checkbook,� Elsa said, holding it up. She had already written in everything but the amount.

�Okay,� the clerk said with a smile. �I�ll just need to see your ID.�

�Of course,� Elsa said. She finished writing in the amount and then tore off the check. She handed it over along with her driver�s license.

The clerk looked at both for a moment and then looked back at Elsa apologetically. �It�ll just be a minute,� she said. �It�s an out-of-town check and when it�s over fifty dollars I need to get the manager�s approval.�

�I understand,� Elsa said.

The clerk picked up the phone, pushed a button, and then spoke into it. �Manager approval, check stand two, please,� she said, her words issuing out over the store�s intercom.

From the little kiosk where cigarettes were sold and the photo developing was done, a slightly chubby woman with dark, curly black hair came walking over. She appeared to be in her mid to late thirties. A pair of thick glasses were perched on her nose. As she approached check stand two and got a good look at Elsa standing there, her pace slowed up a bit and her expression hardened. She sidled up next to the clerk, took one more glance at Elsa, and then asked: �What do you have, Maria?�

�An out-of-town check from Los Angeles,� she told her manager. �One hundred and twenty-six forty-three.�

�Los Angeles, huh?� she said, saying that as if were a vile expression; something not uttered in polite company. She picked up the check and Elsa�s driver�s license, examining both for the better part of thirty seconds, her eyes flitting from one to the other. She then looked back at Elsa, her eyes looking magnified under her glasses. �I�m afraid I won�t be able to approve this check, Ms. Tyler. Do you have an alternate means of payment?�

�Is there a problem with the check?� Elsa said quietly, her eyes boring into the manager.

�I�m sure there is not,� she said. �But I simply cannot approve an out-of-town check from Los Angeles in this amount.�

�Really?� Elsa said. She pointed to the laminated rules of paying with a check that were printed directly on the check writing platform. �According to this, out of town checks may be accepted here for the amount of purchase up to two hundred dollars with manager approval.�

�That is correct,� the manager said. �And that approval is discretionary on my part. I am electing not to give it in this circumstance.�

Elsa looked back up at her. �I see,� she said, nodding her head a little. �Do you mind if I ask your name and position?�

She seemed like she wasn�t going to answer for a moment, but finally said: �I�m Darlene Sams. I�m the manager of this store.�

�I would like to say I�m pleased to meet you, Ms. Sams, but truthfully, I am not. Will you please enlighten me as to why you decided to reject my check out of hand without even bothering to run it through that little machine you have first? You are a corporate grocery store, are you not? And that little machine would give you a good indication whether or not I was a habitual passer of bad checks, would it not?�

�The machine is imperfect,� Darlene said.

�That is true,� Elsa allowed. �After all, I could be a first-time bad check passer who decided out of the blue to just drop into your little town here at the age of fifty-eight and start my life of fraudulent malfeasance, right?�

�Uh ... well ... anything is possible,� Darlene said. �It could be that you are presenting me with a fake ID and counterfeit checks. If that were the case, you would not be flagged as a risk.�

�That is true,� Elsa granted her.

�Not that I�m suggesting you are attempting such a thing,� Darlene told her.

�Really?� Elsa asked. �It sounds like that is exactly what you are suggesting.�

�Not at all,� Darlene said. �It�s just that when we�re dealing with an out-of-town check from Los Angeles in that amount, we can�t be too careful.�

�I can understand that,� Elsa told her. �However, it is my understanding that that same machine we were just discussing is capable of accessing a database that can confirm that I have written checks on this account many times in the past�dating all the way back to 1987 as a matter of fact�and that not a single one of those checks has ever been returned for insufficient funds. Or am I mistaken about the machine�s capability?�

�You are not mistaken,� Darlene said slowly. �It�s just that ... uh...�

�It�s just that what?� Elsa enquired.

Darlene shook her head. �Nothing,� she said. �I made a decision based on experience and judgement, that�s all.�

�Really?� Elsa said. �It wasn�t based on anything in particular? Perhaps the way my eyes are set? Perhaps my British accent? Oh ... wait, it could not be my accent because you rejected me before you even heard it.�

�No ... nothing like that,� Darlene said, starting to backpedal a little. �It�s just that I have to be very careful. Rejected checks are a big deal, as you can imagine, and they cost us thousands of dollars every year.�

�I�m sure they do,� Elsa said. �How about you run my check and my license through your little machine there? See what it has to say before you reject me based on whatever mysterious suspicious looking quality I possess.�

�I�m afraid that I simply cannot...�

�Because if you don�t,� Elsa interrupted, �two things are going to happen. First, your boss is going to hear from me. And if that does not get me anywhere, your boss�s boss is going to hear from me, and so on and so forth until someone in the Alpha Beta hierarchy decides to address this situation. Believe me, I can be quite tenacious on matters such as this.�

Darlene�s look of doubt increased considerably at these words. �Well ... I don�t think that we need to...�

�The second thing that is going to happen,� Elsa went on, interrupting her again, �is that this grocery store will be missing out on a considerable amount of future business. Considerable. Have you ever heard of a man named Jake Kingsley?�

�Yes, of course,� Darlene said. �I heard he just moved to town.�

�You heard correctly,� Elsa told her. �I am the housekeeper for Mr. Kingsley and his wife Laura. It is I who do all of the grocery shopping and meal preparation for the two of them. Do you want to know what my monthly budget for groceries is?�

�Uh ... how much?� she asked slowly.

�One thousand, six hundred dollars,� she said. �And that is just groceries and dinner wine. You see, Jake likes to live well and eat well. And that is just the day-to-day things. When he entertains�and he does so often�it is not the least bit unusual for me to make a separate trip to the store and spend six to seven hundred dollars at a shot. Now, your store is the most convenient non-tourist oriented one to where Mr. Kingsley�s new house is, but I�ll certainly be happy to travel a little further inland to spend Mr. Kingsley�s money if there is something about me that offends your sensibilities.�

�Oh no, not at all, Ms. Tyler,� Darlene said, shaking her head. �I�m sorry we got off on the wrong foot here. I will absolutely run your check and your license through the machine.�

�Thank you,� Elsa said stiffly. �Please proceed.�

She proceeded. While waiting for the machine to contact its database over the modem, Darlene asked, �How long have you worked for Jake?�

�Since 1987,� she said. �I thought I mentioned that.�

�Wow,� she said. �What�s he like?�

�He is a fine employer,� she said. �If he wasn�t, I would not have stayed with him all these years, would not have moved to this place with him.�

�But what about all the stories about...�

�I will relay no gossip about my employer, his wife, or any of their acquaintances,� Elsa said firmly. �Please refrain from asking me and instruct your employees to do the same.�

�Oh ... of course ... but...�

�Your machine beeped,� Elsa said, pointing at it. �Has it deemed me acceptable?�

�Oh ... yes,� she said. She looked at the printout and then nodding. �It says you�re a trusted check passer with greater than five hundred checks in the system and no rejections.�

�Imagine that,� Elsa said dryly. �Wouldn�t this have all gone much more smoothly had you just done that in the first place, Ms. Sams?�

�Uh ... yeah, I suppose,� she admitted.

�And then I would have already been halfway home by now and your checker here would not have a long line stretching behind me, all of them witness to the spectacle that just played out.�

Darlene took a deep breath. �I apologize,� she said. �I misjudged you.�

Elsa nodded. �Apology accepted,� she said. �And now, I�ll be on my way. I have a lot of work to do.�

They ended up having pizza after all, only it was homemade pizza, prepared and baked fresh by Elsa herself. She served it with a green salad with homemade Italian vinaigrette and a bottle of sixty-dollar chianti. To Jake and Laura�s surprise, Elsa actually sat at the table with them to eat dinner and even drank a glass of wine.

�It�s nice of you to join us,� Jake told her sincerely.

�Thank you,� Elsa said. �You�ve all been working side by side with me today, getting your hands dirty and everything. I figure you�ve earned the right to have me sit at your table.�

After dinner, while Elsa cleaned the kitchen and did the dishes, Jake, Laura, and Celia went back to work, opening boxes and putting things away. They drank cold beer that Elsa had purchased while they did this and, after three bottles apiece, their will to carry on was effectively sapped. By that point, sunset was approaching and Jake suggested they go out to the edge of the cliff and watch it.

�You three go,� Elsa told them. �I still need to locate the linen and make up the beds.�

�Are you sure?� Jake asked her. �It�s our first sunset in the new home. And there�s no marine layer offshore. It should be a good one.�

�I am sure,� Elsa assured him. �I have no doubt that there will be other sunsets during my tenure here.�

�Okay,� Jake said slowly. �Are you ... uh ... all right, Elsa?�

�I am fine,� she said.

�Really? Because you�ve seemed a little ... out of sorts ever since you came back from the grocery store.�

�It�s just been a long day,� she said. �Now shoo. Go watch your sunset. I�ll get the beds made so you�ll all have someplace to go when it�s time to retire.�

Jake let it go. He and the two ladies all grabbed another bottle of beer and then went out through the sliding glass door from the entertainment room. The landscaping out here was still a work in progress. All the vegetation between the front of the deck and the edge of the cliff had been removed, leaving bare dirt where drought resistant plants and other landscaping that did not require irrigation would soon be placed. Out on the cliff edge itself, a redwood deck had been built and a 220-volt underground power line had been run to it. A twelve-person hot tub was on order for that deck but would not be installed for at least another week. Currently there was not even furniture on the deck, just the bare timbers.

The three of them did not mind. They sat down on the edge, their legs dangling off over the small strip of land between the deck and the drop-off of the cliff, Jake in the middle, Celia on his left, Laura on his right. Below them, the Pacific Ocean swells crashed endlessly into the base of the cliff. Out above the horizon, the orange ball of the sun was sinking slowly toward the waves. Above them, seabirds cruised back and forth, seagulls and pelicans both. The smell was of salt air and the onshore breeze felt heavenly against their skin.

�This is amazing,� Celia said, a smile on her face. �I can see why you like this land so much.�

�Isn�t it peaceful?� Laura said. �Nobody around but us and the birds. The sound of the ocean crashing, the feel of the sea breeze. I�m going to come out here every night when I can. I still can�t believe I�m really going to live here.�

�I have been dreaming about this moment for years,� Jake said, putting his arm around Laura and pulling her against him. �And now it�s finally here.� He kissed his wife on the nose. �I�m going to remember this moment forever.�

�Me too,� she said, snuggling into him.

They watched the sun sink into the sea. Once it was gone, they stayed out there, talking and laughing until the twilight was nearly gone and the stars started to come out. Finally, they made their way back into the house. There was no television to watch since the satellite installer would not be out until the following week so they listened to the local rock music station on the radio and talked Elsa into joining them so they could play a game of hearts while they drank another bottle of wine. Elsa beat them quite soundly, successfully shooting the moon twice in two attempts to do so.

Finally, everyone drifted off to bed as they all had to get up early in the morning. Jake and Laura officially broke in their new home by enjoying a session of marital fucking while they listened to the crashing of the surf outside their open window.

�Now it�s really our home,� Laura told him as they lay cuddled naked against each other after.

�Yep,� Jake agreed. �The final step in the close of escrow has been done.�

The alarm clock in their bedroom sounded off at 7:00 AM, thirty minutes earlier than it had been set for in the Nottingham house, forty-five minutes earlier than in the Granada Hills home. Jake rolled naked out of the bed and walked over to shut the device off. Behind him, Laura was sitting up, yawning and rubbing her eyes.

�How�d you sleep?� Jake asked her.

�Like a baby,� she told him. �The sound of the waves just lulled me right to sleep.�

�Yeah, me too,� Jake said. �It�s a little chilly in here now though.�

�It is,� she agreed, looking down at herself. �Look, my nipples are hard.�

He looked and saw that they were indeed standing up quite proudly. �Nothing wrong with that,� he said with a smile. He closed the window, shutting out the cool morning air and the sound of the surf. �Now, let�s see if we can work this thing and get to rehearsal on time.�

�Right,� she said, putting her feet on the floor. �Let�s do this.�

Their goal was to be in the rehearsal studio in Santa Clarita by 9:00 AM, their normal starting time. In order to accomplish this, they needed to be wheels-up from Oceano Airport by 8:00 AM. They had a well-established morning routine by this point, but now they were going to utilize it in an unfamiliar setting. They would have to see how it went.

Their master bathroom was quite large, with a massive marble jacuzzi tub, an enclosed glass shower stall big enough to hold an orgy in if one chose to do so, and a large counter with his and her sinks, each of which had separate medicine cabinets and storage doors. The actual toilet was enclosed in a separate room (Jake called it the throne room) with a closing and locking door.

Laura turned on the shower so it could warm up and then walked into the throne room and sat down. She had long since lost her bashfulness about having Jake see her peeing, so she did not close the door while she performed this morning necessity. When she finished up and flushed the toilet, she stepped back out into the main bathroom and checked the temperature of the shower water. She adjusted it a bit and then stepped inside, closing the glass door behind her. Jake, meanwhile, went into the throne room and closed and locked the door behind him. His routine was to move his bowels first thing in the morning and neither he nor Laura really wanted to see the other in action for this particular bodily function. He made sure the ventilation fan was doing its job and took care of his business. After finishing up, he left the throne room, leaving the door closed and the fan running, washed his hands, and then shaved and brushed his teeth. By the time he was done with this, Laura had finished showering. She stepped out to dry off, leaving the water running.

�How�s the shower?� he asked her.

�I like it,� she said. �A little touchy adjusting the temperature, but the water pressure is good, better than what we had in the Nottingham house.�

�I would freakin� hope so with how much the water system for this place cost us,� Jake said. They had one well located just behind the house. Their drinking water and water for the sinks was supplied directly from the well by one electric pump. The shower, toilet, and outside faucet water, on the other hand, came from a twelve-thousand-gallon plastic cistern up on the hillside that was kept supplied by another electric pump that moved water from the well into storage. Yet another pump then moved the water to the house for bathing, pooping, peeing, and washing down the deck outside. This setup had not come cheaply, and the power to run it all was going to make for some impressive bills from Pacific Gas and Electric, who provided electricity in this particular part of the state. Jake was not looking forward to the lecture from Jill when that first bill reached her.

He stepped into the shower and found Laura was right. There was significantly more water pressure than he was used to. He washed his body and then his hair, singing Night Moves by Bob Seger all the while. By the time he stepped out, Laura was dressed in a matching set of bra and panties and was blow drying and combing out her hair. He kissed her between the shoulder blades affectionately, making her smile, and then toweled off and started to get dressed for the day.

By 7:25, they were both fully dressed. They went into the dining room and found Celia at the table, drinking a cup of coffee from the carafe that Elsa had placed there. She was dressed in a pair of jeans and button-up blouse. Her hair was done in a ponytail. As was usually the case with both her and Laura, she wore no makeup except a light coating of lip gloss.

�Good morning,� Jake greeted her, sitting down and pouring himself a cup of coffee.

�Good morning,� she said.

�How�d you sleep?� Laura asked her.

�Quite well, thank you,� she said. �I love the sound of the ocean at night. It reminds me of being at the rental house in Oregon.�

�It�s not a rental house anymore,� Jake reminded her. Two months before, KVA Records LLC had purchased the rental house from the owners for $1.2 million dollars. They had been rather glad to unload it for that price as it had been a money drain for them. Other than when KVA was recording something, it sat empty and unrented most of the time because it was somewhat of a white elephant in the coastal Oregon vacation rental market. Most of the people who rented houses in the Coos Bay area were middle-class vacationers who simply could not afford the weekly rental rate. KVA, however, did not plan to rent it out. It was now their official domicile for when they were recording. Jake, Celia, Laura, and the rest of the band members would be heading up there in two more weeks.

�Oh yeah,� Celia said. She smiled. �One of our more impulsive business decisions, but I�m glad we made it. I really do love that place.�

�Me too,� Laura said. �It�s a whole lot better than the Tidepool Hotel.�

Everyone had a laugh about that. The Tidepool Hotel was actually a cheap motel that sat three blocks from the beach in the southern part of the town of Coos Bay. It had been Jill Yamashito�s suggestion that everyone rent rooms there for the duration of the next recording session instead of buying or even renting the house on the cliff. She had even produced a spreadsheet showing how much money KVA would save by going with this suggestion.

�Oh man,� Jake said. �You gotta love Jill, don�t you? Her heart is in the right place.�

�I think,� suggested Celia, �that between you buying this house and KVA buying the Coos Bay house, she might actually be close to going postal on us.�

�She really should learn to mellow a bit,� Jake agreed.

�I tried to get her to smoke some pot with me last time she was in town,� Laura said.

�Yeah?� Jake asked. �What did she say?�

�She just started lecturing me about how much it cost,� Laura said.

Elsa brought their breakfast in. It was scrambled eggs with kielbasa cut up in it, homemade hash browns, and sourdough toast. A pitcher of chilled, fresh-squeezed orange juice accompanied it. All of them were ravenous and they tore in, pretty much annihilating the entire platter of food.

�All right,� Jake said, looking at his watch. �It�s 7:40. We�re running a tad behind schedule. Are you two ready to hit the road?�

They were ready. The three of them climbed into Jake�s Beemer and made the ten-minute drive to the airport. Jake parked his car in the parking lot and they walked into public access part of the office at 7:51. The main part of the office was still closed up and locked. Dave didn�t report to work until 9:00 AM. There was a bathroom available, however, and Laura took the opportunity to use it while Jake put together his flight plan and faxed it off.

�All right,� he said. �Let�s get in the air.�

This took another twenty minutes to accomplish. They pushed the plane out of the hangar and Jake went through all the preflight checks. He then taxied to the runway and ran up the engines. They lifted into the sky at 8:22 AM.

�Well, that didn�t go as planned,� Jake said as they climbed out and turned toward Santa Maria.

�Can you make up the time in the air?� Laura asked. She was sitting behind him because Celia was afraid to sit anywhere but next to Jake when flying with him.

�Not twenty-two minutes worth of time,� he said. �Maybe five at the most, but I�d burn a lot more fuel doing it.�

�Live and learn, huh?� Celia said.

�Live and learn,� he agreed.

They were delayed another five minutes when he entered the landing pattern at Whiteman. A Cessna 172 was in position for takeoff, so Jake had to circle around an additional lap to let it do so. They touched down at 9:18 and Jake parked in the general aviation area. Since he rented hangar space at the airport, he did not have to pay a landing fee. Still, it took another ten minutes to secure the aircraft, tie it down, and then get the F150 out of the hangar. From the airport, it was a twelve-minute drive to the rehearsal studio in Santa Clarita.

�9:42,� Jake said disgustedly as he looked at his watch. �I seriously underestimated how long the commute would take.�

�It�s no big,� Celia said. �We�ve only got another ten days worth of this gig anyway. I don�t mind showing up at ten instead of nine.�

Jake shook his head. �No, that�s unfair to everyone else. We�ll just have to get up a little earlier, move the routine back.�

�How early?� Laura asked.

�We�ll need to get up at six-twenty instead of seven.�

�Yuck,� she said, making a sour face. She was not a fan of getting up early.

�It�s the price we have to pay, babe,� he told her.

They went into the studio where, of course, everyone else was already there and waiting for them.

�Nice of you to join us,� Coop remarked.

�We were getting kind of worried,� Sharon said.

�Indeed,� Nerdly agreed. �It was starting to seem possible that you might have suffered a catastrophic failure of an aircraft system leading to an untimely demise.�

�Nope,� Jake said. �Just poor planning on my part. I was a bit optimistic about how long it would take to get from bed to here.�

�That is a relief,� Nerdly said. �Do you plan to reorganize your routine so that you will be punctual for future sessions?�

�Yes,� Jake said. �That is what we plan.�

�How was the new house?� asked Natalie, who was sitting in her chair with her violin in her lap.

�It�s amazing!� Laura told her. �We still haven�t completely unpacked yet, but it�s so quiet, so peaceful. No other people around except us. I went to bed listening to the sound of the waves crashing into our cliff. Slept like a baby.�

�It sounds wonderful,� Natalie said.

They all talked about the house for a few minutes, asking questions about it, wanting to know when the housewarming was going to be, asking about the town. Finally, Jake took charge and suggested they get some work done since they were already behind schedule.

�An appropriate suggestion,� Nerdly agreed. �We�ve already tuned and sound checked all the instruments except for those belonging to you three.�

�Right,� Jake said, walking over to the wall and pulling down his Les Paul. �Let�s get it done.�

They got it done and then went to work. It was Jake�s day, so they worked primarily on his tunes, spending about an hour and a half on each. One tune they did not work on, however, was Dark Matter. The week before, he had made the agonizing decision to not put it on his next album.

It was not that he did not like the tune. On the contrary, he thought it one of the best pieces he had ever composed and worked up. The problem was that it was not a Jake Kingsley tune; it was an Intemperance tune, complete with Nerdly on the piano. He did not perform that genre anymore, was not going to shamelessly exploit that sound just to help sell his CDs. He had a suspicion that if he did include Dark on the next CD, it would end up overshadowing all the other tunes that were in the alternative rock/grunge genre he was now known for. And there were some damn good tunes he was planning to put out with this next release. In addition to that, he knew that he and the group of musicians he was currently playing with would not be able to do justice to the tune, would not be able to make it all that it could be. Only Matt Tisdale would be able to play the riffs and the solos on Dark the way they were supposed to be played. And, though Celia was a fine guitar player and could shred a distorted electric pretty well, she could not do justice to the rhythm chords and the clean transitional parts the way Jake would.

No one had disagreed with him when he announced his decision in this matter. Coop and Charlie and Nerdly had been a little disappointed, but they had not argued. And Celia seemed downright relieved. It seemed clear to her that she would be unable to fill Jake�s shoes on such a cut.

Though they often knocked off a little early this late in the game, they continued to work on this day until four o�clock since they�d started late. It was a good session, and everyone seemed happy with it as they said their goodbyes for the day.

Celia gave Jake and Laura hugs, thanked them for having her at their new home, and they thanked her being their beast of burden for the move-in. She then climbed into the back seat of the Nerdlys� Honda so they could take her home.

�All right,� Jake said as he and Laura climbed into the F150. �Let�s see how long it takes us to get home.�

Going home took longer than anticipated as well. First, there was heavy traffic on the roads driving from the studio to the airport. Once there, the filing of the flight plan went easily enough, but Jake needed to fuel the plane, a process that took the better part of thirty minutes to accomplish. Once fueled and preflighted, it took another twenty minutes to get into the air because the airport traffic itself was quite congested with both arrivals and departures. Once in the air, a moderate headwind slowed them even further, turning the forty-eight-minute flight time into fifty-five.

They touched down at Oceano Airport at 6:25 PM, both of them tired and out of sorts. They pushed the plane into the hangar (it was easier to do with Laura helping, but still a pain in the ass. Jake made another mental note to get the tug here ASAP) and closed the door. They climbed into the BMW and made the drive home, arriving at 6:50, approximately an hour later than Jake had told Elsa to expect him.

�I was worried about you,� she scolded when they walked into the door. �I thought you might have had an issue with your airplane.�

�No, just underestimation on my part,� Jake said. �Sorry about that.�

�Did it ever occur to you to call and tell me you are running late?� she demanded. �You have a cellular phone, Laura, do you not?�

�Yes, I do,� she said meekly. �And it did occur to us to call but...� She trailed off.

�But what?� Elsa demanded.

�We uh ... couldn�t remember what our new phone number is,� Jake admitted.

She looked at them, astonished. �You didn�t write it down?�

�Of course I wrote it down,� he said. �It�s on a piece of paper sitting on my desk in the music room.�

She shook her head sadly. �Your dinner was on the table precisely at six o�clock, like usual,� she told them. �It is dill salmon. I suspect it will not taste as well cold as it would have had when it was fresh out of the oven.�

�Sorry, Elsa,� Jake said. �My fault.�

�Will this be a regular occurrence?�

�I certainly hope not.�

�Hmmph,� she grunted, not appeased in the least. �Go eat. At least your wine will still be chilled.�

They ate, putting cold bites of broiled salmon into their mouths one by one and chasing them with sips of chilled Sauvignon Blanc.

�Maybe we should rethink this daily commute thing,� Jake suggested. �At least while we�re rehearsing.�

�What do you mean?� Laura asked.

�It�s not quite as easy-peasy as I thought it would be,� he said. �In order to make it to rehearsal by nine, we�re going to have to get up at 6:20 in the morning. That�s freakin� early.�

�It is,� she agreed.

�And the only way we�re going to make it home by dinnertime on the other end of the day is if we knock off rehearsal at three o�clock.�

�I suppose so,� she said. �What is the alternative?�

�We just stay in the city during the week,� he said. �We have the Granada Hills house. We sleep there on weekdays and fly back here on the weekend.�

She thought this over for a few moments. �Well ... that would give us some extra sleep. We wouldn�t have to get up until ... what? Eight o�clock or so?�

�About that,� he said.

�But we�d have to make our own breakfast,� she said. �I�m assuming that Elsa would stay here.�

�She would,� he said. �And I know how to make breakfast. Dinner too.�

�I know you do,� she said. �You cooked for me every day when we were in New Zealand. But what about the laundry, and the grocery shopping, and the housecleaning?�

�We both know how to do all those things, hon,� he pointed out.

�Of course we do,� she said. �And I�m not suggesting that household chores are beneath me or anything, but ... well ... is that really easier than just flying back and forth every day?�

�I think it might be,� he said.

She nodded. �All right,� she said. �Let�s think it over a bit.�

�Let�s do that.�

They left the table and went into the main part of the house. They could see that Elsa had been hard at work while they had been gone. All of the boxes were now unpacked and nowhere to be seen. All of their belongings were where they expected them to be. Jake�s oak bar in the entertainment room was now fully stocked and functional, complete with booze, ice, mixers, and clean glasses.

�She did a really good job,� he remarked, pulling a glass down from the rack.

�She always does,� Laura said.

�Do you want to go out to the cliff and look at the ocean with me?�

�I thought you�d never ask,� she said with a smile.

Jake poured himself a healthy slug of Macmillan single-malt on the rocks. Laura took her wine glass and the remainder of the Sauvignon Blanc. They went out the sliding glass door and strolled across the dirt to the redwood deck on the cliff�s edge. They sat down close to each other, so their hips were in contact. It was another beautiful day, with no smog to be seen, the sky a brilliant blue above them, the ocean a brilliant blue with white foam below them, the sun a round orange ball sinking toward the horizon.

They sipped their drinks in silence as the sun drew closer to setting. Finally, it began to sink into the sea. They watched as it was swallowed up by the waves and twilight descended.

�I want to keep making the commute,� Laura told him.

He looked at her. �You do?�

She nodded. �I do,� she said. �And it�s not because I�ll have to clean the house and do the laundry and take out the garbage and all that. I did all those things most of my life. It�s nice to have someone to do them for you, but I�m not afraid of work.�

�What�s the reason then?� he asked.

�I love this house,� she said. �I want to be here every night that I can, with you. I want to sit out on this deck every night and watch the sun go down. I want to sleep in our bedroom every night hearing the ocean. This is our home, Jake, and I want to be here whenever we can be here.�

He continued to look at her for a moment and then nodded. �All right,� he said. �We�ll be here whenever we can then.�

�Even if we have to get up at six-fucking-twenty,� she said.

�Six-fucking-twenty,� he agreed, putting his arm around her and pulling her a little closer.

They sat there contentedly as the sky continued to darken, as the birds all found shelter for the night, as the chilly salt wind washed over them.

�You know,� Laura said at last, �this seems like a really good place for me to suck your dick.�

�What if Elsa looks out here?� he asked.

�It�s dark enough now,� she said. �She won�t be able to see what we�re doing.�

Jake looked back at the house, seeing the light through the windows. He could see Elsa�s figure moving about in there, taking care of her final chores for the night before she retired to the guest house. Laura was right. She would not be able to see what they were doing unless she actually came outside.

�Well...� he told her, �if you really want to.�

�I really want to,� she said, leaning in and nibbling at his ear. �Now break it out.�

He broke it out. And the day ended on a very pleasant note indeed.

Half Moon Bay, California

July 14, 1995

The Pillar Point Inn was arguably the nicest hotel and spa in the Half Moon Bay region. It stood six stories tall, with three complete wings, on a vast stretch of lovingly manicured green lawn that sat atop a bluff overlooking the ocean in a town where African-Americans were rarely seen. The staff of the facility, from the manager all the way down to the lowliest housekeeper, were used to dealing with the upper crust of society in their day-to-day operation. They all seemed more than a bit intimidated when the wedding party for the Gordon Paladay/Tanisha Jefferson nuptials rolled in on this Friday afternoon. G�s entire family and the vast majority of his friends were black; most of them lifelong residents of East Palo Alto, which was only thirty minutes away by car but an entirely different universe socio-economically. Half of Neesh�s family were black as well�those on her father�s side�though they were more your upper-middle-class blacks (many of them were intimidated by G�s people as well). The other half of Neesh�s family�those on her mother�s side�were Vietnamese, and they were almost as perplexing to the staff as the blacks were.

Still, the hotel employees remained polite and subservient�probably more out of fear than professionalism�and the wedding rehearsal on the bluff went well. Neesh practiced walking down the aisle with Bartholomew Jefferson, her father. Her group of bridesmaids, which included Laura; and her maid of honor, a beautiful olive-skinned woman named Talia Livnat; practiced taking their positions. Jake and Nerdly, who were the only white groomsmen, practiced their roles in the ceremony while G himself and Ricky, his best man, worked on their own struts to the preacher�s podium. Everyone was dressed casually for the rehearsal, mostly jeans and pullover shirts, and they had time to go over everything twice. From there, the group broke up and headed for the main event center in the hotel, where the rehearsal dinner would now be served.

The food for the rehearsal dinner was catered by the hotel, as they would the reception tomorrow, and it was very good. Filet mignon wrapped in bacon served with saut�ed mushrooms, potatoes au gratin, and steamed asparagus. For dessert there was cr�me brulee. And, naturally, there was an open bar for the enjoyment of the wedding party.

After eating, people broke up into groups and mingled a bit. Laura headed over to where the ladies were congregating, and Jake headed over to where G sat with his parents. Jake had been briefly introduced to them earlier. Their names were Tevin and Ramona. Tevin was a big, burly man with graying hair, powerful looking arms, and a considerable beer belly. Ramona was short, dark skinned, and quite chubby herself. Their last names were not Paladay, as Jake discovered when he sat down with them to mingle.

�I�m not Gordon�s biological daddy,� Tevin explained. �Ramona and I met and started steppin� out together back when Gordon was fourteen years old.�

�That�s right,� said Ramona. �His real father ain�t been around since Gordie was �bout three years old or so. Tyrone Paladay was his name.� She looked at Jake matter-of-factly. �He was a shiftless nigger. Couldn�t hold no job, couldn�t keep his prick in his pants, got into freebasin� that cocaine. I sent his ass down the road. I heard he ended up in prison at some point.�

�Didn�t stop his ass from comin� sniffin� around once Gordon made it big though,� said Tevin. �Didn�t try to make no contact with him all that time and then once he finds out Bigg G got his fuckin� DNA, he all of a sudden want to get together and �make up for lost time�. Shee-it.�

�I told him to take a flying fuck,� Gordon said. He put his arm around Tevin�s shoulder and pulled him close. �This man here is my real pop. Before he came along, I was heading down a bad road. Cuttin� school more than I was going, playing around with the rock cocaine, hanging out with the local Crips and startin� to think about joining up officially, not listening to my momma.�

�That�s for sure,� Ramona said, nodding her head.

�And then pop here showed me what it was like to really be a man,� Gordon said. �He kicked my ass for me when I needed it.�

�And you needed it a lot those first few years,� Tevin said with a grin.

�Shore did,� Ramona agreed.

�Yeah, I was gettin� to be a thug all right,� Gordon said. �But he showed me that a man takes care of his family, that he works hard to do that, that he does what needs to be done when it needs to be done. Because of pop, I got away from the gangs and the drugs, graduated high school, developed my musical talent into something I could sell, and learned the work ethic to stick with it. Hell, I even went to college, if you can believe that shit. That�s why I call this man �pop�, Jake. He�s my dad and I�m proud to have him here with me.�

�Amen to that,� Ramona said.

�What kind of work did you do?� Jake asked him.

�Janitor up the hospital in Stanford,� Tevin said. �And I�m still doing it. Been pushin� a broom and cleaning the floors and toilets there thirty-five years now. Course, they don�t like me callin� myself a �janitor�. They want me to say I�m in �environmental services.� Ain�t that some shit?�

�You�re still working there?� Jake asked, surprised.

�He�s still working there,� Gordon said sourly. �And mama�s still working at the grocery store on Donohoe Street. And they both still livin� in that little two-bedroom house in East Palo Alto. The one with the chain link all around it and the goddamn crack house next door.�

�No kidding?� Jake asked.

�I�ve offered many times to set them up in a fuckin� mansion on the hillside in Los Gatos or a bayfront pad in Burlingame and give them a bank account full of dead presidents and credit cards that they don�t have to pay on. They won�t take it.�

�It wouldn�t be right,� Ramona said. �We didn�t earn that money.�

�It ain�t right having the two of you living in the damn ghetto and workin� forty hours a week at your ages while your boy is a goddamn multi-millionaire,� G countered.

�What would we do in Burlingame or Los Gatos?� Tevin asked. �We�re ghetto blacks. That�s where we lived all of our lives. Do we need a bunch of rich white people glarin� at us every time we go out? Shee-it, it�s bad enough here at this place, watching people afraid to get into the elevator with us, sitting as far away from us as they can get in the dining room. I even had one woman lock all the doors on her car when I walked by in the parking lot.�

�Amen to that,� Ramona said. �We live in East Palo Alto. That�s our home.�

�You could at least let me pay off the mortgage and pay your bills for you,� Gordon said.

�Not gonna happen,� Tevin said, shaking his head. �Those are our bills and our mortgage. We only got another five years to pay on it. I�m proud that we�re paying that house off ourselves, with our own money that we earned honestly.�

�You got too much pride, pop,� Gordon told him.

�Could be,� Tevin said, nodding wisely. �But that�s better than not havin� enough, ain�t it?�

Jake had to admit that the man had a point.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the hall, Nerdly and Sharon were sitting at a table with Neesh�s parents, Bartholomew and Phuong Jefferson. Bart, as he insisted the Nerdlys call him, was a light skinned black man with short, slightly graying hair. Phuong was a tiny, petite pure-blooded Vietnamese woman who had been born under Japanese occupation in Saigon in 1944. Both of the Jefferson elders were doctors; Bart an anesthesiologist who practiced at Providence Saint John�s Hospital in Santa Monica; Phuong a doctor of veterinary medicine who was a partner in a successful practice that owned and operated three clinics in the Los Angeles area.

�You are an avian veterinary specialist?� asked Nerdly, who had just been told that Phuong�s clinics focused primarily on birds.

�That�s correct,� she said, her English clear and precise, without so much as a hint of accent. �I�ve always loved birds, ever since I was a little girl growing up in Saigon. It was caring for injured and sick birds that inspired me to study veterinary medicine when my family came to America after the French left. As it turns out, avian medicine is quite a lucrative specialty. It took me an additional two years of residency and study, but our clinics are one of only a handful in the Los Angeles area to treat all the pet birds that people have.� She soured a little. �Those that care enough about their birds to actually seek treatment for them, that is.�

�What do you mean?� asked Sharon.

�Most people who buy birds for pets do it on impulse and have no business owning them. They treat them like disposable pets, keep them locked in cages all the time and just want us to euthanize them the first time anything ever goes wrong with them. It�s sad, really. Breaks my heart sometimes because birds can be such wonderful companions if you let them be part of your family.�

�That makes sense,� Nerdly said. �They are flock animals, after all. It would seem intuitive that they would exhibit the best companionship traits if they felt as if they were part of a flock.�

�Exactly!� Phuong said brightly. �Have you owned birds before, Bill?�

�Never,� Nerdly said. �To tell you the truth, I�m quite afraid of them.�

�Don�t ever come over to our house then,� Bart advised. �We have three of them, all of them on the loose whenever we are home. Two cockatiels and a rather foul-mouthed parakeet.�

�Foul-mouthed?� Sharon asked.

�Yes,� Phuong said, casting an evil glare at her husband. �We�re not proliferate users of profanity by any means, but someone likes to let the occasional politically incorrect phrase fly out.�

�You do it too,� Bart said, smiling.

�In any case,� Phuong went on, �little Ding, that�s the parakeet�s name because he likes to ding a bell that hangs above his favorite perch, always seems to pick up those utterances quite well and then repeat them over and over.�

�Just like a baby,� Sharon said, delighted. �Kelvin will be doing that soon.�

�Yes,� Phuong agreed, �but with a baby, they eventually outgrow it, or you can at least get them to stop doing it. Ding is seven years old now and his vocabulary only grows with each outburst.�

�I�d love to meet him sometime,� Sharon said with a laugh.

�He sounds interesting,� said Bill. �But does he bite?�

�Yes,� Bart said without hesitation. �He bites.�

�Not that hard,� Phuong said. �And only when he�s upset.�

�I see,� said Bill, making a vow that he would never set foot in their house as long as those birds lived.

�So...� said Bart, �I understand that you, Bill, were the piano player for Mr. Kingsley back when he played for that rock band of his.�

�That is correct,� Bill said. �Jake and I have known each other all of our lives. Our mothers played in the Heritage Philharmonic together and are best friends. We grew up together and I was always drawn to the piano. When Jake joined Intemperance, he thought I might be a musically complementary addition to the base sound of the group, so I went and played for them. The rest is history.�

�I guess it worked out well for you,� Bart said, nodding. �You sound quite intelligent.�

�I have a tested intelligence quotient of one hundred and thirty-nine on the Wechsler scale,� Bill without so much as hint of pride. He was just stating a fact. �There are, of course, some who suggest that my abnormally high score is inflated to some degree due to my early childhood musical training, which some data suggests may artificially enhance such scores.�

�I see,� said Bart slowly. �I�ve never heard that before.�

�Where did you go to college?� asked Phuong.

�I was accepted to Stanford, Harvard, and the New England Conservatory of Music,� he said. �Alas, I did not actually attend any institute of higher learning. I started playing music with Intemperance shortly after high school and there has been no real need to pursue further studies.�

�Really?� Phuong said, her voice flirting with disbelief. �You�ve only a high school diploma?�

�It has gotten me this far in life,� Bill said. �Sharon, by contrast, is the holder of a master�s degree in Audio Engineering from the University of California at Los Angeles.�

�Is that so?� Phuong asked, new respect showing in her eyes. �UCLA is our alma mater, both Bart and myself.�

�It�s a good school,� Sharon agreed. �I learned a lot there. Truth be told, however, I learned much more about my profession by working with Bill.�

�Really?� Bart said, raising his eyebrows a bit.

�Really,� Sharon said. �I have the education, but Bill is a musical genius with a superb ear for sound reproduction. He and I are the most sought-after sound engineering team in the United States right now. We could name our own price if we decided to hire ourselves out. I never would have accomplished that without him. I�d be lucky to be working on television commercials in some basement somewhere if it weren�t for Bill.�

�I think she underestimates herself a small amount,� Bill said.

�Really?� asked Phuong.

�Oh yes,� Bill said. �I think she would at least be working on second rate media fills by this point if I had not made her acquaintance.�

The Jeffersons laughed for a few seconds before realizing that Bill was not kidding.

�So ... anyway,� Sharon said, �you two met in college?�

�That�s right,� Phuong said. �We were undergrads together, both working on our biology degrees back in 1965. We took a lot of the same classes together�chemistry, bio-chem, organic chem, microbiology. Back then, there weren�t a lot of black people attending UCLA�at least not any who weren�t playing on the football or basketball teams. Nor were there a lot of Vietnamese�my family were among the very first able to come to this country before the war over there started to ramp up. Bart and I were both outsiders, as you can probably imagine, and we were drawn to each other. We used to study together in the library and then we started going out to lunch and dinner, and then ... well ... we became a couple.�

�That�s right,� Bart said. �And there weren�t that many mixed-race couples back then either, especially not black and Vietnamese. I guess we were trendsetters.�

�We got married in 1967,� Phuong said. �That was the year we both got accepted into our schools. Bart in UCLA�s medical school, me at the UC Davis School of Veterinary Medicine. We didn�t plan to have any children until both of us were done with school, residencies, and in practice, but ... things happen in life.�

�A failure of contraception measures,� Nerdly said with a nod. �A common occurrence. There are studies that suggest that up to fifty-eight percent of pregnancies within a legally sanctioned heterosexual relationship are a result of such failures.�

�Uh ... right,� Phuong said slowly. �That is indeed what happened. Early in the morning on New Year�s Day of 1968, we experienced such a failure. Neeshie was born on September 24 that same year.�

�It sounds like it was meant to be,� Sharon said, smiling at the story.

�Since you know the exact date of conception,� said Bill, �I theorize that your method of family planning at the time was the so-called rhythm method, in which you try to only have intercourse during the female�s non-fertile time of her cycle, basing that estimation on the date of the last day of menstruation.�

Both of the Jeffersons nearly choked on their wine.

�Bill,� Sharon chided, �not everyone appreciates your deductive reasoning abilities.�

�I�ve been told that before,� Bill said, perplexed, as always, by this information.

�Wow,� Bart said, shaking his head in wonder, a grin on his face. �I�ve decided I like you, Bill. You have a highly interesting mind and no filter between it and your mouth. Yeah, it was the rhythm method and we guessed wrong. You see, we didn�t get to see each other all that much back in those days since I was living in LA and she was living in Davis, and we�d had a few too many drinks on New Year�s Eve, and we thought we were safe, and, well ... the rest is history. A Neesh was born.�

�I thought as much,� Bill said. �The rhythm method statistically has one of the highest failure rates among standard contraceptive measures. Even higher than coitus interruptus.�

�Yes, so we found out,� Phuong said. She was smiling as well. �Anyway, that�s the story of my little Neeshie; though she�s not so little anymore. And now she�s getting married tomorrow. How fast the time goes.�

�I�m curious,� Bill said. �It is quite evident that your family and the family of Gordon, Neesh�s betrothed, come from quite different sociological and economic backgrounds. Was it hard for you to come to terms with this fundamental difference?�

The two Jeffersons looked at each other for a moment and then back at Bill. �Yes,� Bart said. �It was hard. In fact, when she first told me she was dating a famous rap musician, I almost hit the roof. I thought she was going through some kind of late rebellion.�

�It was even worse than when she told us she was pursuing law instead of medicine,� Phuong said sadly.

�Yet you are here today,� Bill said. �And you, Bart, have rehearsed walking Neesh down the aisle at the ceremony tomorrow. It would seem you have come to some accommodation with your daughter�s choice of marital partner.�

�We have,� Bart said with a nod. �It took us a bit, but after we met Gordon a few times, we came to realize that he is not what we were envisioning. He is actually quite intelligent, has a keen head for business, and, most importantly, he truly loves our daughter and will be able to provide for her.�

�And she truly loves him as well,� Phuong added.

�They do seem to have a long-term biochemical compatibility to them,� Nerdly observed.

�Uh ... yes, they do seem to have that,� Bart agreed.

�Neesh and Gordon remind me a little of Bill and myself,� Sharon said.

�Oh?� Phuong asked.

�My parents are conservative Jews,� she explained. �They�ve always been active members of the Temple; we always did the whole shabbat ritual with the candles and the challah bread every week. They took being Jews seriously. And then I started dating a gentile rock and roll musician who was associated with some fairly wild stories about Satanism and drug use and ... you know ... sexual impropriety...�

�The stories of Mr. Kingsley snorting cocaine from a woman�s buttocks,� Bart said knowingly. �Yes. I can see how that would give them pause.�

�Did he really do that?� asked Phuong.

�Only that one time,� Nerdly said. He then considered for a moment. �Well ... as far as I know, anyway.�

�I see,� said Phuong.

�Anyway,� Sharon went on, �Mom and Dad were not happy at all about me dating Bill. I actually kept the relationship secret for them for quite some time after he and I went from being friends to romantic partners. Eventually though, I had to fess up since I was taking time off school to go on tour with the band in Europe and Asia and Australia. And then, once I came home, I had to break the news to them that Bill had proposed to me in Paris and that I�d said yes. I�m not sure which was worse in their minds; that he wasn�t a Jew or that he was associated with Intemperance and Jake Kingsley. As they got to know him, however, they came around, particularly when he converted to Judaism so he could marry me.�

�You converted to Judaism?� asked Bart.

�Yes, I did,� Bill confirmed. �It is the oldest monotheistic religion in the world, as I�m sure you�re aware. It is rife with traditions and values that should be embraced by other schools of theistic worship. I have never once regretted my decision to convert�not even when Dr. Rosenberg had to make an incision on my penis to symbolize my covenant with God.�

Bart raised his eyebrows. �I beg your pardon?�

�I was already circumcised prior to my conversion,� Bill explained. �In order to seal my covenant, however, I had to undergo a ritualistic pseudo-circumcision to finalize the conversion. That is when Dr. Rosenberg, who serves as our Temple�s mohel, used his scalpel right where my foreskin used to be to inflict enough of a wound to draw blood from me.�

Bart winced. �Jesus,� he said and then winced a little more. �Uh ... I mean, wow. I assume he numbed you up first?�

�He did not,� Nerdly said. �The ritual is supposed to be painful to undergo.�

�It sounds painful all right,� Bart said.

�It was,� Bill agreed. �Sharon and I were unable to engage in conventional intercourse for nearly a week after that.�

�Uh ... I can imagine,� Phuong said.

�We were, however, still able to engage in alternative sexual gratification practices such as��

Sharon�s hand reached up and covered his mouth. �I think they get the idea, Bill,� she said.

�We do,� Bart confirmed, trying to suppress a chuckle.

And while her parents were discussing Neesh with the Nerdlys, the bride-to-be was sitting at another table with Laura and Talia Livnat, her maid of honor. Laura was absolutely fascinated with Neesh�s lifelong best friend.

Tally, as she liked to be called, had been born in Haifa and held dual citizenship in both the United States and Israel. She was the only daughter of a pair of orphaned Italian Jews who had been taken to Palestine as children in 1941 after the Italians, pressured by their Nazi allies, started rounding up the Jews in earnest. As founding citizens of Israel, both had joined the IDF as young adults, had fought in the Suez Crisis in 1956, where they became reacquainted with each other, and in the Six-Day War in 1967, after which they got married and quickly produced Talia, their only child together. By the time the Yom Kippur War of 1973 rolled around, however, the elder Livnats were divorced and Elina, Tally�s mother, had emigrated to Los Angeles where she quickly met and married a partner in a prestigious architecture firm and then made a success of herself in the world of fashion design. Tally grew up in the same upper-class beachfront neighborhood of Santa Monica as Neesh had and they had been friends since elementary school, drawn together as two darker-skinned outsiders in a community dominated by WASPs.

The two girls had been inseparable all throughout grammar school, junior high school, and high school, both graduating with honors in 1986. After that, they strayed from each other as Tally went back to Israel to reconnect with her father and complete her two years of service with the IDF. She spent the majority of her active military service riding a desk and never fired her weapon outside the training range. After discharge in early 1989, she returned to the United States and was accepted at UC Berkley, where she spent the next four years working on a bachelor�s degree in Computer Programming. After graduation, she began working on her master�s degree part-time while bouncing around through various entry-level programming positions in the Silicon Valley. Just a year ago she landed with a small start-up operation called Netscape and was finally making decent enough money in her chosen field. She and Neesh had kept in touch throughout all of this, talking on the phone frequently and, these days, embracing that new phenomenon known as email that was sweeping the nation. They tried to get together when they could, but usually this only meant once a year or so, maybe twice if they were lucky since both were still quite early in their respective careers. Tally�s flight in for the bachelorette party had been the first time the two of them had gotten together in eight months.

Apart from being mentally fascinated by Tally, Laura found herself physically fascinated by her as well. She was quite beautiful, as full-figured as Neesh but not as tall and not quite as well-endowed in the breast department, although her rack (as Jake would have termed it) was still considerably larger than Laura�s. Her skin was olive colored, her hair black, dark, and luxurious, her skin smooth and unblemished. Her body was tight and fit looking, though still quite feminine in appearance. And she had the cutest accent that Laura had ever heard. This fascination kicked up a few notches when Tally, who had told Laura earlier that she had a boyfriend back in Mountain View, made an allusion to an episode of �girl-time� that had taken place during the bachelorette party.

�It was just like the good old days,� Tally said with a licentious smile.

�Maybe even a little better,� Neesh added, a grin of her own. �We�ve both had a little more practice at it since the last time we got together, haven�t we?�

Laura looked from one girl to the other, part of her wondering if they were really just talking about their friendship and not actually ... well... girl-time as Neesh defined it. Surely, they wouldn�t talk about it so blatantly in front of her, would they? Unless, of course, Tally already knew about the girl-time that she and Neesh had engaged in. But that was their secret! Neesh wouldn�t have told Tally about that, would she? Even though she was her best friend?

She would, Laura found out a moment later.

�So,� Tally said, casting her eyes upon Laura, the licentious look still on her face, �Neeshie tells me that you�re one to appreciate a little girl-time on occasion as well.�

Laura cast a startled look at Neesh, who at least had the decency to look a little embarrassed at her friend�s words. �Uh ... well...� she stammered, �if you mean getting together with the girls and ... you know ... going out and doing things ... uh ... yeah, I�m all for that.�

Tally giggled a little. She was, after all, on at least her third glass of white wine. �Doing things,� she said. �You�re right, Neeshie. She is so adorably cute.�

Laura cast her eyes back on the bride-to-be. �Neesh,� she hissed at her. �You didn�t tell her about ... about... that kind of girl-time, did you?�

�Uh ... I might�ve let it slip out,� Neesh admitted with a small giggle. She too was well into the wine.

�Neesh, that was private ... and personal!� Laura said.

�And fuckin� hot too,� Tally said, licking her lips. �Doesn�t Neeshie have the softest, most suckable titties, Laura?�

�Jesus fucking Christ,� Laura said, blushing, indignant, angry enough to use a Jake-ism. But she was also starting to feel aroused�more aroused than she always was around Neesh.

�I�m sorry, Teach,� Neesh told her, actually sounding sincere. �I shouldn�t have told Tally about what you and I did, but Tally�s my best friend. We tell each other everything. Always have.�

�That�s right,� Tally said. �I know exactly how big Gordon�s cock is and that he has a bit of a foot fetish.�

�Tally!� Neesh barked. �That was privileged information. Forget she said that, Teach.�

�Jesus fucking Christ,� Laura said again.

�There�s nothing to be embarrassed about,� Neesh said. �Lots of girls are into girl-time. Trust me on this; I know.�

�I have no doubt that�s true,� Laura said, �but I�m Jake Kingsley�s wife. I have paparazzi who stalk me. I have entertainment reporters who dig into every detail of my life. Do you know what would happen if one of them found out that I�ve engaged in girl-time?�

�The same thing that would happen if they found out that I�ve done some girl-time,� Neesh said. �Remember, I�m Bigg G�s fianc�, will be his wife this time tomorrow. There are probably photographers and reporters watching this place right now.�

Laura had not considered that. She looked around nervously, suddenly wondering if one of the waitresses or cocktail girls was actually a reporter in disguise, or if someone had bribed one of the hosts to set up hidden cameras.

�Look, Laura,� said Tally, lowering her voice down. �Girl-time is between girls and it�s private; something that isn�t discussed unless one knows one is dealing with a like mind. I�m not going to tell anyone about you and Neeshie, or about me and Neeshie, or about anything else unless I know that person has as much to lose as I do. What happens between the girls stays between the girls. That�s the rule and neither one of us are going to break it. You think I want my bosses at Netscape to find out I like to suck a little clit on occasion? You think I want my advisor at school to find out? Or my boyfriend?�

�You just told me about G�s foot fetish,� Laura reminded her.

She dismissed this with a wave of her hand. �G�s not a girl,� she said. �That doesn�t count.�

�Uh ... it needs to count,� Neesh said sternly. �G would absolutely kill me if the entertainment press got wind of that.�

�I swear that Laura is the only one I�ve blurted that to,� Tally promised.

�Make sure she�s the last,� Neesh told her.

�You know it, Neeshie,� she promised. She then turned back to Laura. �Anyway, Teach ... can I call you Teach?�

�Sure,� Laura said.

�That�s such a cute nickname,� Tally said. �Anyway ... Neeshie and I have been having girl-time for years, with each other, with other like-minded girls, and we keep the secret. All of us. Girl-time is between the girls who do it and no one else gets to hear even a hint about it.�

�I certainly hope not,� Laura said softly, trying to hold onto her anger, but the arousal was creeping up, drowning it out, especially after what Tally had just casually mentioned. She swallowed. �Uh ... when you say you two have been having girl-time for years ... do you mean ... like ... like years years?�

�Well ... yeah,� Neesh said. �Years years.� She looked at her friend. �Since what, Tally? Since we were like fourteen, right?�

�That depends on how you define actual girl-time,� Tally said.

�What do you mean?� Laura asked.

�Well, when we were like twelve or so,� Tally said, �we used to take off our shirts and compare boobs with each other. We didn�t have much in the way of boobs then, of course, but as they started to grow bigger, we�d ... you know ... take turns feeling each other ... just to see what the other was like.�

�Right,� Neesh said, laughing at the memory. �That wasn�t really ... you know ... sexual back then. I�m sure lots of girls who didn�t later get into girl-time did stuff like that.�

�It did feel good though,� Tally said. �Remember? We used to pinch each other�s nipples until they got hard and then laugh about it.�

�I remember,� Neesh said nostalgically.

�But yeah, we were about fourteen when we really started getting naughty with each other,� Tally said.

�Getting naughty, huh?� Laura asked, trying to sound casual. �What do you mean?�

Neither Tally nor Neesh was fooled.

�Are you sure you want to hear about this, Teach?� Neesh asked. �You don�t do girl-time anymore, remember?�

�Well ... I may not do it anymore,� Laura said, �but this is ... you know ... kind of interesting.�

�Kind of interesting?� Tally asked knowingly. �Is that why your nipples are hard?�

Laura looked down and saw that her nipples were indeed sticking out quite prominently. She felt her blush rise. �It�s a little chilly in here,� she said weakly.

Neesh laughed. �Of course,� she said, shaking her head a little. �Well, ironically enough, it was back when we started really getting into boys when it started. We didn�t have any experience with them. We weren�t allowed to date boys yet and most of the boys didn�t want anything to do with us anyway. Not that we weren�t attractive�on the contrary, we were both smokin� hot back then�but because all the boys at our school were white and came from these hoity-toity families and couldn�t just start dating a half-breed nigger or an Israeli Jew. I�m sure they wanted a piece of our action, but they weren�t gonna be seen courting us, that�s for damn sure.�

�Boy, did they miss out on a couple of horny girls,� Tally said.

�Goddamn right,� Neesh agreed. �Anyway, we were both really curious about the whole boy and girl thing and neither of us had ever been kissed before and we knew there was this thing called French kissing, where you put your tongues in each other�s mouths, so ... well ... we decided to try it with each other one night when we were having a sleepover at Tally�s house.�

�That was quite a night,� Tally said fondly.

�Yes, it was,� Neesh said, reaching over and giving her friend�s leg a brief squeeze. She turned back to Laura. �We were pretty awkward at first, just lip kissing and giggling a lot. But then when we started to try the French kissing ... it got kind of hot.�

�Oh yeah,� Tally said with a sigh.

�We ended up making out for almost an hour,� Neesh said. �And I�m talking tongue-swirling, drooling on each other, lip sucking, hair stroking, hot making out. We pretended like we were just practicing, like it was just an educational thing, a rehearsal for the real deal, but we weren�t just practicing. I remember to this day how hot I got kissing on her like that.�

�Yeah,� Tally agreed, her own nipples now poking out against her shirt. �And we were rubbing our boobs together and pretending that was accidental too.�

�Wow,� Laura heard herself whisper. She could feel the juices flowing freely between her legs now and she had to resist the urge to rub her thighs together. �And then what happened?�

�Nothing,� Neesh said.

�Nothing?� Laura asked, disappointed.

�We were fourteen,� Neesh said. �And it was our first time. We didn�t know there was anything beyond just kissing. We made out for a while and then we started doing something else that fourteen-year-old girls on a sleepover do.�

�Looking at teen magazines or some shit like that,� Tally said sadly. �Damn, Neeshie. If we knew then what we knew now.�

�I feel you, girlfriend,� Neesh said. �When I woke up the next morning, my pussy was still wet.�

�That�s crazy,� Laura said, her head filled with visions of the two teenagers making out. It was not an unpleasant image. �When did you start doing ... uh ... other things?�

Tally smiled at her. �It was a while before we worked our way up to full-on girl-time as it exists today,� she said. �You see, back then we didn�t know that what we had done was ... well ... maybe not exactly normal, but not that unusual. Remember, this was the early eighties, the start of the AIDS crisis and the height of homophobia. We were brought up to be good girls and good girls didn�t do things like that. Or so we thought, anyway.�

�That�s right,� Neesh said. �We didn�t even really talk about it to each other, not at first. But whenever we would have a sleepover at one of our houses, or when we were alone in the house after school or in the summer, one of us would suggest that we practice our kissing again. That�s what we called it for the longest time. �Tally, you want to practice our kissing again?� I�d ask. And Tally would pretend to think it over for a few seconds and then just kind of shrug and go: �Yeah, I guess so. This show is a rerun anyway�. And then we�d go cuddle up in my bed or her bed or on the couch if we were home alone, and we�d go to town on each other, hands all rubbing up and down, tongues in mouths, boobs rubbing together. That went on for ... what? At least a year, right?�

�At least,� Tally said. �And then one night�it was at Neeshie�s place and her parents were out for dinner�I upped the ante a little.�

�Another good night,� Neesh said with a sexy sigh and a smile.

�It was,� Tally agreed. �I asked her if she ever wondered what it was like to have her boobs sucked.�

�And it turned out I had been wondering that,� Neesh said.

�Wow,� Laura whispered again. This time she could not resist rubbing her thighs together a few times.

�We spent a few hours sucking on each other�s boobs,� Tally said. �We did it so much that I could barely wear my bra the next morning because my nipples were raw. After that, �practicing our kissing� expanded to include boob sucking as well.�

�And we started to do it more often too,� Neesh said.

�Oh yeah,� Tally concurred. �Pretty much at every opportunity. My stepdad almost caught us once when he came home from the office early. We were on the couch with our shirts and bras off, taking turns sucking nipples and alternating that with making out, when the garage door opened and we heard him coming in.�

�Oh my God!� Laura said. �What did you do?�

�Neesh thought fast,� Tally said. �She pulled a blanket over us and then stuffed our clothes in with us. He came in and gave us a strange look because we were bundled up under a blanket watching MTV in the middle of the afternoon, but we told him we were cold and he just kind of shrugged and went upstairs. We got dressed fast as soon as we heard his door close.�

�I bet,� Laura said, her eyes shining. �What do you think he would have done if he had caught you?�

�I don�t even like to think about that,� Tally said. �He�s a good enough guy. I love him and he loves me, and we�ve always had a decent stepdaughter/stepdad relationship, but he�s got a pretty good stick up his ass when it comes to things like sex and homosexuality.�

�I bet he would�ve liked seeing my bare boobs though,� Neesh said matter-of-factly. �I used to catch him checking them out when he thought I wasn�t looking.�

Tally considered this for a moment and then nodded. �Probably,� she agreed. She turned to Laura. �She�s got a nice set now, of course, but when she was sixteen ... goddamn premo, baby. The fuckin� pope would�ve jizzed on those things.�

�I bet,� she said, envisioning Neesh�s perky teenaged boobs.

�So that�s how girl-time began for us,� Neesh said. �Good story, right?�

�It was very ... uh ... interesting,� Laura said.

�Interesting?� Tally scoffed, shaking her head a little. �Not exactly the word I would use.�

�Okay, it was hot,� Laura admitted.

�Damn right it was hot,� Neesh said. �My pussy is all juicy right now just thinking about those days.�

�There�s one thing you left out though,� Laura said.

�Oh?� Tally asked.

�Yeah,� Laura said. �You didn�t tell me when you two started ... you know ... doing other things.�

�Other things?� Tally asked, raising her eyebrows. �Such as?�

�Things ... down below,� Laura whispered.

Tally chuckled. �Oh my God, Teach,� she said. �Down below. You are just too fucking adorable. I could just eat you up.�

�Literally, right?� Neesh asked with a smile.

�Literally,� Tally said, licking her lips and giving making Laura shudder.

Laura flushed and blushed some more but said nothing.

�All right,� Neesh said. �The story of down under, if you will. It really isn�t all that interesting though.�

�I seriously doubt that,� Laura blurted before she could stop herself.

Neesh and Talia both chuckled.

�Well...� Laura stammered, �I mean ... it�s just that ... oh fuck it. You know what I mean. Tell me.�

�If you insist,� Neesh said. �It was Tally who did it first.�

�You mean she ... uh ... was the first to...� She couldn�t finish the sentence.

�To go down on me and eat my pussy out,� Neesh said, looking Laura in the eye. �Is that what you�re trying to say?�

�Yeah,� Laura breathed.

�Adorable,� Tally said again, reaching out and letting her fingertip glide over the back of Laura�s hand for just an instant. It was just the lightest, briefest touch, but it was electric for both of them.

�It was a weekend session,� Neesh said. �At my house. My parents were both working, and we had the day off from school, so we�d been hanging out since around noon or so. By this point we were both seniors in high school and we�d both even gotten ourselves laid by boys.�

�Yes, we had,� Tally said with a fond smile. �We�d discovered the joys of college boys and college parties the year before when we started driving. UCLA isn�t very far from Santa Monica and their boy population was a bit more diverse, a little less concerned with propriety when it came to sinking their sausages into a hot piece of ass.�

�I was a little more discrete than Tally,� Neesh said. �She turned into quite the little slut.�

�I�m hurt, Neeshie,� Tally said. �Just because a girl hooks up with a different college guy every weekend and then never sees him again, you call her a slut?�

They had a laugh about this.

�Anyway,� Neesh went on, �once we started dating guys and doing things with them, we kind of stopped doing things with each other for a stretch of time. It seemed kind of phony to say we needed to practice our kissing when we were doing quite proficiently on our own by then. Neither one of us wanted to admit that we actually liked getting together and sticking our tongues in each other�s mouths and rubbing our boobs together and sucking our nipples.�

�Hell no,� Tally said. �That might mean we were bisexual or something.�

�But then, one day after school, we were over at Tally�s place and she just blurted out that she wanted to make out with me like in the old days,� Neesh said. �I was a little taken aback at first. I wanted to do it, but I didn�t want her to know that I wanted it. So I say: �you mean practice our kissing?� And she just shakes her head and says we already have enough practice at that. �Then what�s the point?� I asked her, hoping, of course, that she had a good reason because I really wanted me some Tally. It turns out, she did have a good reason.�

�I just told her I wanted to have some girl-time with her,� Tally said.

�Yep,� Neesh said. �The first instance of using that phrase. And so, we hit us up some girl-time that day, just like in the old days, but with a new little twist.�

�What twist?� asked Laura.

�We�d both independently discovered how to get ourselves off in the interim,� Neesh said. �And we both knew by this point that once we got all heated up by kissing and boob sucking each other, we needed some release. And so, we started taking off our pants and panties too and rubbing ourselves while we played. We�d lay back on the bed or on the couch and hook our legs together and kiss while we put our fingers down in the valley and jilled off for the finale.�

�That�s very sexy,� Laura whispered, wanting to jill off herself by this point.

�It was,� Tally agreed. �And, of course, it wasn�t long until we started rubbing each other off.�

Neesh giggled naughtily. �I was just like practicing kissing at first,� she said. �We were just showing each other the best technique to make yourself come. We weren�t really finger fucking each other in the strict sense of the word.�

�Ahhh, the human ability to rationalize anything,� Tally said fondly.

�We didn�t keep up the charade as long with the jilling as we did with the practice kissing,� Neesh said. �In fact, I don�t think we carried that one out more than a month or so. Pretty soon we were right back at it, stripping down to bare nakedness and sucking face and nipples and jilling each other�s pussies with our fingers whenever we got the opportunity. We still went out with the boys on the weekends, still let them do their thing with us, but we also had girl-time, now named and accepted in full context. And that was what led to the first episode of down under at my house.�

�Tell me about it,� Laura breathed, no longer bothering to hide her enthusiasm for the story.

�Well, as I said earlier,� Neesh said, �there�s really not a whole lot to tell. We were in my bed, naked, just like always. Tally was sucking on my boobs and her fingers were playing between my legs. She didn�t say anything to me. We didn�t discuss it at all. I just felt her mouth start to work its way south, kissing over my belly, licking my belly button. It felt really good. No one had ever done that to me before. And then, before I really knew what was happening, her face was between my legs and she started licking me. I was shocked at first, but it felt so goddamn good there was no way I was going to stop her. I�d had a few guys put their mouths down there before, but none of them knew what they were doing and none of them stayed down there long enough to figure it out. Tally knew what she was doing. She sucked a tremendous come out of me and then just came back up and went back to what we�d been doing earlier.�

�What made you do that?� Laura asked Tally, eyes shining.

�I wanted to try it,� Tally said simply. �I�d been touching and playing with her pretty pussy for a month or two at that point. I�d licked her juices off my fingers and found them enticing. I�d come to grips with the fact that I was bisexual. And so, I started working my way down there and, when she didn�t stop me ... I just did it.� She smiled. �It was everything I was hoping it would be. After that, every time Neeshie and I had girl-time, I�d go downtown and give her a ride.�

�She is really good at it,� Neesh said. �It took a while before I got up the nerve to return the favor. It wasn�t that I didn�t want to, it was what Tally just hinted at: if you put your mouth down on another girl�s pussy, you kind of have to admit you�re bisexual. I wasn�t quite ready to admit that for a while longer.�

�But you did,� Laura said.

�I did,� Neesh said. �You know that as well as anyone, Teach. And the first time I put my mouth between Tally�s legs, I knew I�d always want a little taste of girl in my life. And I�ve had it, though not nearly as much as I like since we graduated high school. Girl-time is getting to be harder and harder to come by.�

�It is,� Tally said sadly. �At least until those times we�re able to get together. Now that Neeshie�s out of law school and I�m only part-time in the Master�s program, we might be able to see each other more?�

�Maybe,� Neesh said hopefully. �Gordon�s going to be on the road again soon. Maybe a sleepover could be arranged.�

The two friends shared another naughty laugh at this thought.

Laura had many more questions to ask them. She was completely enthralled with their stories. But, at that moment, Gordon and Jake came over to their table, fresh drinks in their hands, and all talk of girl-time came to a screeching halt.

The next day, the wedding ceremony was to take place at 1:00 on the large lawn. Laura got out of bed at 9:00, smelling of sexual musk and stale alcohol. She had all but attacked Jake after they�d returned to the room last night, demanding that he eat her pussy out until his mouth cramped and then riding him ruthlessly until he blasted off inside of her.

�The Neesh effect again?� Jake had asked after she�d collapsed atop him in a heap.

�Kind of,� she admitted.

�What does that mean?�

�It was more like her friend Talia,� she said.

�Oh yeah? She is pretty hot looking.�

�Yeah,� Laura said. �And ... I ... uh ... oh, never mind.�

�What?� Jake asked, lifting up her chin to look in her eyes.

�Well ... I kind of think that maybe she�s into girls,� she said softly.

�Really?� Jake asked, not the least bit upset by this proclamation. �What makes you think that?�

�Oh ... just some vibes she throws off.�

�Vibes?�

�Vibes,� Laura assured him. �It�s just a feeling, really.�

They had talked no more about it, but now, as she walked naked into the bathroom to start getting ready for her role as a bridesmaid, she was still thinking about it. And as she thought about it, she started to juice up again down below even though she was a bit sore from Jake�s ministrations the previous night.

She brushed her teeth, showered, put on a nice pair of silky underwear and a strapless push-up bra, and then, after combing out her hair, donned a pair of denim shorts and a simple sleeveless blouse. By the time she was done with all of this, Jake was up and around and ready to take his own shower. Once he was done and dressed in his jeans and shirt, they made their way down to the caf� in the lobby to have some breakfast. The food was excellent, and they ate an abundance of it, knowing there would be nothing else until well into the reception. Jake did not bring up Talia, nor did Laura.

�Okay,� Laura told him when they arrived back at the room. �I�m going to head over and start getting ready.�

�Sounds good,� Jake said. �I can�t wait to see you in your dress.�

Laura chuckled. �Green bridesmaid dresses. I�m going to be the only one who looks good in that color.�

�Gotta love that red hair,� Jake agreed.

She gathered up the bag with her dress and shoes in it and then kissed Jake goodbye. �See you there,� she told him.

�See you there,� he returned.

Gordon and Neesh were staying in separate rooms in keeping with tradition�though Laura had no illusions about where they had actually spent the night. She walked over to Neesh�s and found a beehive of activity inside. Neesh, Tally, and the other three bridesmaids�Jessica Towler, one of Neesh�s law school classmates; Barb Hawkins, a cousin she had been close with growing up; and Lydia Powell, a former college roommate�were all there in various stages of getting ready. Four professional cosmetologists had been hired for this occasion. One was working on Neesh�s hair, one on Tally�s, and the other two were working on makeup for Lydia and Jessica.

�Teach!� greeted Neesh happily. She was sitting in a chair in her robe while her locks were being worked on. �Come on in! Grab a seat and join the party.�

Laura did so, hanging her dress bag on a hook and then taking the seat next to Tally. For the next hour, the room was a loud, giggling forum of girl talk and hilarity that reminded Laura of high school. They had their hair done and locked into place with hairspray and then had coats of makeup expertly applied before donning their dresses. Laura looked at herself in the mirror at the end of this process in amazement. She rarely did her hair in anything other than a ponytail or simply hanging down and she almost never wore makeup. She didn�t think she looked like herself at all, but rather like some magazine cover version of herself.

�You�re beautiful, Teach,� Neesh told her with a smile. �Not that you�re not always beautiful, but you�re particularly gorgeous today.�

�Thank you,� Laura said shyly, feeling almost like an imposter. She then looked at Neesh and took her in. �It�s you who are beautiful though. My God.�

And this was true. Neesh�s dress was the traditional white with a wide, flowing hem. It was backless, showing the smooth, dark skin of her scapular region and, in front, it displayed a considerable amount of her cleavage�not enough to be gaudy or tasteless, but enough to show the bride�s assets.

�I can�t believe this dress cost ten thousand dollars and I�m never going to wear it again,� Neesh said with a shake of the head.

Just before noon, everyone was ready for their parts in the ceremony. The cosmetologists all packed up their things so they could retreat to their respective rooms. As they walked out the door, Tally grabbed the chubby, middle-aged woman who was in charge of them. �You�ll remain on standby until after the ceremony, correct?� she asked her. �In case something needs touching up?�

�Absolutely,� the woman told her. �I�ll be in room two-eleven until the reception is complete.�

�Very good,� Tally said with a smile.

Tally led the green dress girls over to her room on the fifth floor and the four of them settled in to wait for it to be time to report to the staging area. They drank bottled water and chatted for a bit and then Tally went over everyone�s positioning one last time, just to be sure they all knew what they were supposed to be doing. They did.

�All right,� Tally said. �I�m going to run back over to Neeshie�s room and wait with her there. Remember, down to the staging area at 12:45. Don�t be late.�

They promised they wouldn�t be late, and Tally left them to their own devices. The three of them continued to chat, playing the get to know someone you�ll probably never meet again game. Laura mostly listened, although both bridesmaids asked a fair number of questions about what it was like being married to Jake Kingsley.

At 12:15, the room�s phone began to ring. Everyone looked at it for a few moments and then Jessica finally got up and walked over and picked it up. �Hello?� She listened, nodded her head, and then said, �Okay, I�ll get her.� She looked over at Laura. �It�s Tally. She wants to talk to you.�

�To me?� Laura asked, surprised.

�She asked for you by name,� Jessica said.

Laura walked over and took the phone from her hands. She put it to her ear. �This is Laura,� she said.

�Hey, Teach,� said Tally�s voice. �We got a little situation here and I need you to come over and help.�

�What kind of situation?� Laura asked, wondering what could possibly be going wrong forty-five minutes before the ceremony.

�Neeshie�s having a little attack of nerves,� Tally said. �She needs to be chilled out a little.�

�Really?� Laura asked, surprised. Neesh had always been rock solid as long as she�d known her.

�Really,� Tally said. �Can you pop over here really quick?�

�What am I going to be able to do?� she asked.

�Talk to her,� Tally said. �You�re her best friend after me. Between the two of us, we can get her through this. We need to make it fast though.�

�Uh ... okay,� Laura said. �I�ll be right there.�

She told the other three girls what was going on and then headed out the door. A short walk down a corridor and up a flight of stairs took her back to Neesh�s room. She knocked on the door lightly. A moment later, it was opened and there stood Tally in her green dress.

�Come in,� Tally said, stepping aside to let her in.

Laura entered the room and saw Neesh sitting on the couch. She didn�t look like she was having an attack of nerves.

�Thanks for coming, Teach,� Neesh told her.

�No problem,� Laura said. �What�s going on? Tally said you were having some ... issues?�

�I�m a little nervous about going out there,� Neesh said. �Tally�s going to help me get through it. She thought you might be helpful for this too.�

�Uh ... sure,� Laura said. �What can I do?�

�Go sit on the couch next to her,� Tally said.

�Uh ... okay,� Laura said slowly. She walked over and sat next to Neesh.

Tally walked over as well. She remained standing, positioning herself right in front of Neesh. �Now,� she said to Laura, �I want you to take her hands in yours and hold onto them tightly.�

�Take her hands? What�s going on here?�

�Just do it,� Tally said. �Trust me.�

Neesh held her hands out to Laura. Laura took them in hers. �Uh ... why am I doing this?� she asked.

Tally smiled and then slowly, carefully dropped to her knees on the carpet, so she was kneeling before Neesh�s dress covered knees. �Because,� she told Laura, �Neesh has a hard time keeping her hands to herself during this maneuver. You can�t let her mess up my hair.�

�Maneuver?� Laura asked, feeling herself flush. �You mean you�re going to ... to...�

�I�m going to relax Neeshie the best way I know how,� Tally said. With that, she reached out and grasped the hem of the wedding dress. She pushed it upward, revealing bare knees, then bare thighs. �Open your legs, Neeshie,� she told her. �I need some room here.�

Laura was shocked, but also quite aroused. �Uh ... Tally ... Neesh ... are you ... uh ... sure you should be doing this?�

�I�m sure,� Neesh said with a smile. �Just hold onto my hands, Teach. You don�t need to do anything else.�

Laura nodded, letting her eyes drop back down. Neesh�s legs opened up as the dress went higher, revealing a pair of frilly white panties. Tally put her hand high on Neesh�s inner thigh and stroked the flesh there for a moment. She then slid her fingers higher, until she was touching the crotch of the panties. She slid her knuckle up and down a few times, smiling as she did so.

�You seem a little damp down here, Neeshie,� Tally observed lightly.

�Don�t fuck around,� Neesh said, her voice a pant. �Just do it.�

�Right,� Tally said. She looked up at Laura again. �Hold those hands for me.�

�Okay,� Laura said, panting a little herself.

Tally hooked her fingers into the elastic band of the panties� crotch and pulled it to the left, revealing Neesh�s womanhood. It was smooth shaven, the lips swollen and glistening with moisture. Her clitoris was already poking up. The smell of her arousal permeated the air, sending shivers down Laura�s spine.

She�s really going to do this, Laura thought, black arousal seething through her. She�s going to eat her pussy forty minutes before her wedding, while she�s in her wedding dress!

�Mmm,� Tally said with a smile. �You just gotta love girl-time.�

With that, she lowered her head and went to work. She licked up and down Neesh�s labia a few times and then fastened her lips to her clitoris and began to suck on it.

�Oh ... yesss,� Neesh moaned happily, her head falling back on her shoulders. �That feels so fucking good.�

Laura held onto Neesh�s hands and listened to the wet, slurping sounds coming up. Neesh�s grip tightened on hers as her arousal shot up, but she made no attempt to pull her hands free or touch Tally anywhere. Soon, Neesh was panting, her hips rising and falling slightly on the couch cushion.

�That�s it! That�s it!� she moaned. And then she exploded, her skin breaking out in goose flesh and flushing, her breath becoming ragged, her hands squeezing spastically on Laura�s.

�Okay, okay,� Neesh said. �I�m done.�

Talia brought her face out from between the bride�s legs. Her lipstick was now smeared everywhere, the makeup on her chin in disarray, moisture all over her upper lip and nose. She was smiling. �Feeling better now, Neeshie?�

�Yes, very relaxed,� Neesh said, nodding. �You can let go of my hands now, Teach.�

�Oh ... right,� Laura said. She was incredibly aroused by what had just happened. She let Neesh�s hands free.

Neesh stood up and pulled her dress down, covering her legs once again. She looked up at the clock. �I�d better go clean myself up a little down there,� she said.

�Probably a good idea,� Tally agreed.

Neesh headed into the bathroom and closed the door, leaving Tally and Laura alone. Tally was smiling contentedly.

�That was the hottest fucking thing I�ve ever done in my life,� she declared. �I just ate a bride out on her wedding day. How often do you get to do something like that?�

�Not very often,� Laura had to guess.

Tally smiled at her. �We still have a few minutes left. I�ll need to get the makeup woman back over here to fix me up a bit.�

�Yes,� Laura agreed. �You�re definitely going to have to do that.�

Tally made no move to the phone just yet. �However, it looks like you could maybe use a little relaxation yourself.�

�You mean...� Laura started, but was unable to finish.

�You know what I mean, Teach,� Tally said. �How about it? I�ve never licked a redhead before.�

Laura shuddered a little, felt temptation tugging at her, but was able to shake her head. �I can�t,� she said. �I�m married.�

�Of course you�re married,� Tally said. �I�m not talking about stealing you from your husband, I�m talking about girl-time. Girl-time doesn�t mean anything.�

�It does to me though,� Laura said. �I made ... well ... an agreement with my husband.�

�An agreement?�

Laura nodded. �He knows I like girls, and he�s okay with that, but ... I promised him I would never do anything with another girl without talking to him about it first.�

�Really?� Tally said.

�Really,� Laura confirmed.

�That�s wild,� Tally said, pondering that. �How many times have you talked about doing it with another girl with him and then did it?�

�Never,� she said. �It hasn�t happened yet.�

�It hasn�t happened yet?� Tally said. �How come?�

�I haven�t found the right girl yet.�

�Hmmm,� Tally said slowly. �But your agreement is that if you do, all you have to do is talk to him and let him know about it first?�

�That is the agreement,� Laura said.

Tally nodded her head a few times. �Tell me something, Teach,� she said. �Questions of marriage and girl-time and the ramifications of all that aside, do you want me to go down between your legs and lick your pussy?�

�It�s tempting,� Laura said, �but...�

�Screw tempting,� Tally said. �That�s not what I�m talking about. I want to know if you physically want me to go down and eat your pussy? Do you desire to feel my lips and tongue between your legs? I�m not saying you should let me do it, I�m just asking if you want it.�

�Yes,� Laura admitted. �I want it very much.�

Tally�s smile grew wider. �Well, maybe we can work something out here then. We�ll just have to do it quickly.�

It was 12:30 when the phone rang in G�s hotel room. The groom was there, dressed in his tuxedo, looking quite snazzy. Ricky, the best man, and the groomsmen were there as well, all dressed in their respective tuxes and ready to get on with the show. G was doing what he did to relax in circumstances such as these. He and the rest of the crew had just downed a few shots of J�germeister to mellow them out.

The phone began to ring. Ricky picked it up. �Talk to me,� he said into the mouthpiece. He listened and then turned to Jake. �It�s for you,� he said, holding out the handset. �Your old lady.�

Jake looked at the clock for a moment. What the hell does Laura want right now? he wondered. He walked across the room and took the handset. �Laura?�

�Hey, sweetie,� Laura�s voice said. �Remember how I was telling you that I got a vibe off of Tally last night?�

�Uh ... yeah,� he said. �I remember.�

�Well ... it turns out I was correct. She�s into girls.�

Jake blinked. �Uh ... I see,� he said slowly. �That�s very interesting, of course, but why are you calling to tell me this right now?�

�Because I�m in Neesh�s hotel room with her right this moment and she wants to eat my pussy out before we go to the staging area.�

Jake was too stunned to say anything for a moment. Had he really just heard what he thought he�d just heard?

�Jake, you there, sweetie?� Laura asked. �We don�t have a lot of time here.�

�Yeah,� he said. �I�m here. Is this a joke, hon?�

�It�s not a joke,� she said. �She�s standing in front of me right now, waiting for me to talk this over with you. That was our agreement, remember?�

�Yeah,� he said, his head swimming. �That was our agreement. Is this something that ... you know ... you want to do?�

�Very much,� she told him.

He briefly let a vision of Talia in her bridesmaid dress going down on Laura, his wife, flitter into his forebrain. It was a pleasant image that sent a little blood surging into his little head. �Well ... all right then,� he said. �It�s all right with me. Just be sure to make it to the ceremony on time.�

�Will do, sweetie,� Laura told him. �Thanks.�

�You bet,� he replied. The phone clicked in his ear. He held onto it for another few seconds and then slowly hung it up.

�What was that about?� asked G.

�Nothing,� Jake said dismissively. �She was just checking to make sure we�re all on schedule here.�

The wedding started on schedule. Jake and Laura met up with each other in the staging area just before it was time to walk out onto the lawn. He was paired up with Laura for the walk to the podium. They had a brief moment alone before showtime.

�Did she do it?� Jake whispered to her.

Laura smiled and nodded to him. �She did it,� she whispered back.

�While you were wearing your dress?�

�Yeah,� Laura said dreamily.

Jake nodded appreciably. �That�s pretty hot, hon.�

�It was,� she said. �It was very hot. Thank you for letting me do it.�

�Anytime,� Jake said.

It was time to go out. Since Ricky was G�s best man, he was paired with Talia. Jake took one look back at them before heading out the door. Talia�s eyes caught his. She smiled and gave him a nod. Jake smiled and gave her a nod in return.

I wonder how all this came about, Jake couldn�t help but wonder.

He couldn�t wait to hear the story.

Coos Bay, Oregon

July 20, 1995

It was another beautiful coastal Oregon summer morning. The sky was clear over the beaches, with the marine layer staying several miles offshore. The temperature was in the high fifties and the offshore breeze was light and gentle as the sun was just barely above the eastern horizon and had not yet had time to heat up the land and draw the cooler ocean air ashore. The tide was currently out, leaving the beaches around KVA�s cliffside house open and accessible. As was usually their habit when staying in town to record, Jake and Celia were making their morning run together on the beach route.

After reaching the state park to the south of them, they went up the stairs back to the roadway, the most difficult part of the run. Jake had been exercising regularly of late, having found a few trails near his Oceano home that led down to the sand dunes of Pismo Beach, so he took the stairs easily. Celia, on the other hand, had been a bit deficient in keeping up with her aerobic level exercise until coming to Coos Bay two weeks ago, and she was still sucking wind pretty good on the stair portion. Three quarters of the way up, she had to pause and rest to catch her breath. Jake stopped with her and patted her shoulder companionably.

�You�re getting better,� he told her. �You almost made it all the way up today.�

She nodded, her breath tearing in and out of her lungs, her face red and sweaty, her white t-shirt soaked with exertional sweat both on the back and the front. Even her legs, bare in her black running shorts, were glistening with a sheen of perspiration. She took a drink of water, swallowed it, and then panted for a few more breaths before answering. �I�m going all the way up this thing tomorrow,� she said. �Even if it kills me.�

�Hey,� Jake said lightly. �No dying until we at least get your basic vocal tracks down. That way the rest of us can finish your CD and cash in on you posthumously.�

She barked out a little laugh and shook her head. �Your concern for my welfare is moving,� she told him.

He put his hand between her shoulder blades and rubbed a little. His hand came away wet. �The show must go on,� he said.

�The show must go on,� she agreed. �Come on. Let�s get to the top of this perra.�

�Let�s do it,� he said.

They walked the rest of the way up. Celia was still sucking pretty good wind at the top, so, instead of resuming their jogging pace, they kept up a steady walk back toward the house to let her recover a bit. Gradually, her breathing became normal and she was able to speak a full sentence without gasping.

�Well,� she said, �at least this will get me back into shape for touring. As it stands right now, I don�t think I�d be able to last through a ninety-minute show.�

�What about two and a half hours?� Jake asked.

�Two and a half hours?� she asked. �What the hell?�

�Do you think you could work your way up to that?� he asked. �There would be a twenty-minute intermission about an hour ten in.�

�Jake, what are you talking about?�

�A little idea that Paulie and Obie planted in my head the other night,� he said. �Apparently this is the up-and-coming thing for A-list musical acts. Two to three hour sets and no opening band. Just the headliner. The Eagles are doing it, Rush is doing it, U2, Metallica, the Rolling Stones.�

�Really?� she asked.

�Really,� he confirmed. �Paulie asked me to talk to you about the possibility.�

�That�s a really long set,� she said doubtfully. �And I don�t think I�m quite in the same league with those other acts.�

�You�re not,� Jake said. �You�re in a higher league. You�ve sold more CDs in the past two years than all of them combined. You�re hot commodity. I would say�and Paulie agrees�that you are at the very top of the A-list as far as musical acts go.�

She smiled, pleased with his praise, but she was still doubtful about the idea. �What is the point of the longer set?� she wanted to know.

�You�ll have a chance to perform pretty much all of your material,� Jake explained. �All of the hits from the first two albums, all of the future hits from the new album, and as many La Dif songs as you want. You could perform all the La Difs that you wrote and maybe even throw in I Love to Dance for nostalgia purposes. The fans get to hear it all and we don�t get complaints about how you didn�t perform this song or that song.�

�Then it�s to give the people what they want?� she asked. �That sounds rather selfless of us.�

�Well ... it�s not entirely without a profit-oriented angle,� Jake admitted.

�What do you mean?�

�People are more willing to pay triple digit ticket prices for longer shows with more material being presented. Especially once the word of mouth about the set list starts to spread. That translates into increased tour revenue. And, as you know, we cleaned up pretty nicely on your last tour when we went with the higher prices. We�ll be able to rake in even more with the extended set.�

�How much more?� she wanted to know.

�Pauline and Jill put their heads together on this one,� he said. �They estimate we�ll be able to charge seventy dollars minimum for the worst seats in the house, one-twenty-five for the lower-level bleachers, and up to one-seventy-five for the front floor levels.�

Celia whispered appreciably. �That�s quite a lot,� she said.

�The theory is that people will be willing to pay that for an extended Celia Valdez set. Assuming sold out houses across the board�like you did on the last tour�we�re talking about a quarter million or so in profit from each show. And that�s just ticket revenue. That doesn�t even include the merchandising.�

Celia nodded thoughtfully. �A quarter of a million, huh?�

�That�s just a loose average,� Jake said. �It�ll be a little less at some of the smaller venues, a little more at some of the larger ones.�

�Is that KVA�s share of the profit, or the total of all profit?�

�The total,� Jake said. �Assuming we have our MD&P provider finance the tour like they did before, they will logically want to share in that profit, just like on the last tour.�

�Naturally,� she said. �So ... fifty-fifty split, like before?�

He nodded. �I don�t think either KVA or whatever record company we end up with would accept anything less than that.�

�I suppose that�s fair,� she allowed. �Although you know they�ll want to try to negotiate it anyway.�

�Undoubtedly,� he agreed. �But that�s another discussion for another day.�

�I guess so,� she said. �Well ... sign me up. If people really want to see me step up there and sing and play for two and a half hours, and they�re willing to pay for it, I guess I can do it. I have enough material now.�

�All right then,� Jake said with a smile. �I let Paulie know you�re aboard and we�ll start thinking tour once we get masters in hand.�

�Sounds good,� she said. She looked over at him meaningfully. �Why did she task you with asking me about this? Paulie�s never been squeamish about talking business with me before.�

Jake thought about giving her a bullshit answer for a moment then decided against it. �Well ... it seems that she feels you�ve been ... uh ... a little testy of late.�

�Testy?� she asked, frowning.

He gave a half shrug. �You know? Kind of flying off the handle at times, getting disproportionately upset over little things, being uncommunicative. That sort of thing.�

�She says I�ve been doing that?� she barked, a touch of anger in her voice.

�You kind of have been doing that, C,� he said. �You�ve got everyone walking on eggshells around you since we got here.�

She took a deep breath, as if she were about to start shouting at him, and then let it out slowly, her face softening. �I guess I have been a little bitchy lately, haven�t I?�

Jake held his thumb and index finger about half an inch apart. �Just a bit,� he confirmed. �Anything you want to talk about?�

She shrugged. �It�s just a little marital stress, that�s all. It�ll pass. I�m sorry I�ve been letting it out around people who don�t have anything to do with the problem. I�ll try to watch myself from here on out.�

�We appreciate that in advance,� Jake said. He thought about letting it drop here but decided to push just a bit further. �Is it the Greg and Mindy show that�s bothering you?�

She looked over at him, her eyes daggers for a moment, but then they softened. �Yeah,� she said. �What else?�

�What�s the issue?� he asked. �All that clusterfuck over Mindy�s ex doing his little interview has already come and gone, right? The reporters have stopped calling. You�re no longer the lead story on ER every night.�

�That was just a minor league annoyance,� she said. �They had nothing substantial to report except groundless inuendo.�

�Did something new happen? Greg�s been going on about how professional and straightforward Mindy is, hasn�t he?�

�He has,� she said. �That�s what�s bothering me. He tells me she�s playing no games with him, is nothing but the constant professional actress, dedicated to portraying the role she�s been cast in.�

Jake nodded his head thoughtfully. �I will say that Mindy always did take her profession seriously,� he said. �She is a great actress, and she does dedicate herself fully to her work when it�s in progress, just like Greg does.�

This earned Jake another sharp look. �You�re defending Mindy Snow?� she asked.

�Not at all,� he replied. �I�m just stating a fact. Mindy is a lying, cheating, backbiting snake in the grass who will do anything or hurt anyone to further even a minor cause that she�s involved in. There is nothing short of murder she wouldn�t do to gain an advantage, and I�m not even sure about that. But she is a dedicated and professional actress.�

�I think that�s what is troubling me,� Celia said.

�That she�s a good actress?�

�No. That I know what she is capable of, that she will lie, cheat, steal, and hurt anyone she needs to hurt, but that, so far, she is showing no signs that anything like that is going on. According to Greg, she�s this wonderful, delightful girl he gets to work with every day. He even told me they�ve developed a certain chemistry between them that will enhance the scenes they do.�

Jake raised his eyebrows a bit. �Are you worried that he�s getting a little infatuated with her?

�I�m beyond worrying about that,� Celia said sourly. �It�s quite clear when I talk to him that it has happened. I can almost hear him glowing when we talk on the phone and he tells me about the latest scenes they filmed, about how great the interaction between the two of them was.�

�Wow,� Jake said. �You don�t think that they�re ... you know...�

�Tuning each other�s instruments?� Celia asked, using a Jake-ism. �No. I don�t think he�d be able to talk so casually to me if that were going on. And I like to think he learned his lesson after the little makeup girl incident in Alaska.�

�He bought himself a whole lot of silent treatment after that one,� Jake recalled.

�He did,� she said. �And I�m sure he possesses the understanding that if anything like that happens again, it�s the end. I don�t think he would actually do anything with her if she offered, I�m just uncomfortable with this happy, respectful, relationship he�s formed with her. Everything he talks about is �Mindy this� and �Mindy that� and �Did I tell you what Mindy said?�.�

�Does he know that this is bothering you?� Jake asked.

�I don�t think so,� she said. �I keep up my happy voice when I�m talking to him; and Greg is sometimes annoyingly oblivious when he�s being offensive to someone.�

�That is true,� Jake agreed. He had been on the receiving end of that particular Greg Oldfellow personality flaw on multiple occasions. �How much longer will they be filming? They�ve been at it for a few months now.�

�At least another month of principal photography,� she said. �And ... well ... they�re getting ready to start filming the...� She trailed off to an incomprehensible mutter.

�The what?�

�The sex scenes,� she said.

�I see,� Jake said slowly. �And when they do that, they�re going to be like ... naked, right?�

�Well, their genitals will be covered since they�re not doing hardcore, but yeah. Pretty much naked. Bare asses, bare tits. The scenes are going to be a hard R rating. I read the script. They�re going to be putting their mouths together. Her boobs are going to be squished all over his chest. His hands are going to be feeling those tits up and squeezing her ass. At one point, he�s supposed to suck on her nipple while she bounces on top of him.�

�No shit?� Jake said, remembering for a brief moment what it had felt like to have Mindy Snow�s nipple in his mouth while she bounced on top of him. �They actually write out how the scene is going to go?�

�Of course,� she said. �Did you think they just threw them naked into bed and told them to improvise?�

�I guess I never really thought much about how a sex scene is filmed,� he said. �I�m assuming this is kind of bothersome to you?�

She frowned. �I didn�t think it would be at first,� she said. �I mean, I was never thrilled about the thought of my husband getting naked and rubbing against Mindy Snow, but I know it�s just acting and that they�re not really doing what they seem to be doing on the screen. He�s done scenes like that before�in So Others May Live and even The Northern Jungle�although those scenes were not quite as graphic. That never bothered me. Truth be told, it always got me a little hot to watch those scenes and I would always ... you know ... get aggressive with him after we would watch it. I thought I�d feel the same about these scenes with Mindy Snow too. And I did at first, but after all the listening to him talk about how wonderful and professional Mindy is and about this fucking chemistry they share ... it�s nagging at me now. I�m getting stressed out thinking about what they�ll be doing and how much that chemistry is going to come into play.�

�I can see where you�re coming from,� Jake said. �Kind of anyway. This is really a bizarre thing to have to deal with.�

�It is,� she agreed. �Something that normal married couples don�t have to go through.� She shrugged. �The life we choose, right?�

�The life we choose,� he agreed.

�Come on,� she said. �Let�s pick up the pace or we�ll be late for breakfast.�

�All right,� he said. �Let�s do it.�

They started running again, settling in on an eight-minute mile pace. It was easy to do as it was mostly downhill from this point.

In Chicago, it was another hot and muggy summer day. All of the daytime exterior scenes for Us and Them had already been filmed, so the cast and crew were now spending their days on a rented soundstage just east of the Loop filming the inside scenes that did not take place in the police station or Frank Haverty�s home. For the past three days now, the soundstage had been built up into the set of The Star Lounge, which was the fictional cop bar where the fictional Haverty and his fictional fellow patrol officers liked to hang out and drink after work. The production team and the actors methodically worked their way through each scene that took place in the bar, starting with the scene where Haverty gets drunk before going home and having the argument with his wife and culminating with the scene in which Lyndsay joins Haverty there after an emotional shift that involved watching a young pregnant woman die right in front of them after being shot by her psycho boyfriend. A slew of extras and supporting cast members were floated in and out of the set for each particular scene so that the bar always had different people in it.

At four o�clock in the afternoon they were almost done with the last bar scene. It was the one where Haverty and Lyndsay got drunk together after the pregnant woman call. It was this scene that would lead to the first of the sex scenes between the two of them and where the chemistry between the two actors was particularly important.

Greg and Mindy sat at a small cocktail table on the set, the primary camera looking at them in profile with the bar and the extras sitting at it in the background. Secondary cameras pointed at each of their faces. A boom microphone was over their heads, just out of the eye of the primary camera. Greg was dressed in blue jeans and a long t-shirt, green in color, that hung over his belt. He had Sergeant Mackle�s empty pistol holstered to the belt and covered by the shirt. Before him was a glass of ice water with a touch of brown food coloring in it that was supposed to be a scotch on the rocks. Mindy was wearing black slacks and a button-up white blouse. Her hair was now down (an earlier part of the scene involved her unpinning that hair after the emotional day) and she had a glass of plain water in a martini glass with an olive on a stick in it. The script supervisor had already made careful notes on the clothing they wore, their hair styles, and the level of liquid in each of their glasses so there would be no inconsistencies when the various takes of the scene were edited together, and so their clothing would be correct when it was stripped off for the first sex scene later.

�All right, people,� said Georgie Fletcher from the director�s chair just adjacent to the cameras. �Let�s try this last one again. I�d really like to wrap up these bar scenes so we can get a little rest before tonight�s fun, okay?�

Greg and Mindy nodded at him but did not speak. They were on the seventh take of the final three minutes of the last bar scene. It was a section where both Haverty and Lyndsay had to spew out a fairly lengthy bit of dark and meaningful dialogue. Greg had screwed up the first two takes by flubbing his lines. Mindy had screwed up two more. One of the extras over at the bar had screwed up another by tripping and knocking over a stool. Fletch himself had put the kibosh on what everyone else had deemed a good take just because he hadn�t thought it good enough.

�Greg, Mindy, you two dialed in?� Fletch asked.

�Tight as a nun,� Mindy assured him.

Greg simply gave him a thumbs up.

�Okay,� he said. �All you in the back, let�s do it just like before, without any tripping or dropping if you please.�

A chorus of agreement noises and thumbs up came back at him.

�Okay, let�s do it then,� Fletch said.

The camera assistant stepped forward with a digital clapperboard and held it up where all three cameras could read it. The readout denoted the name of the film, the scene number, and the take number. The operator read this information aloud and then clapped the top down so the beginning of the take would be marked for later editing (assuming this take was even used). He then backed quickly away, out of the camera eye.

�Action,� said Fletch.

At the bar, the extras began to sip from their near-beers or their colored water drinks. A female carrying a tray of drinks walked slowly through. A bartender began to mix things up while talking softly with two extras before him. Greg, who was no longer Greg, but Frank Haverty after three stiff drinks, slowly took a sip from his drink and then looked up at Mindy, who was no longer Mindy, but Lyndsay Brown, left-leaning, cop-hating reporter who had just spent a month getting educated in the real world.

�How do I do it?� Haverty asked her with a snort. He was responding to Lyndsay�s question, asked in the last take, about how he could see things like what they had seen today and not go crazy. He hefted up his glass, showing it to her. �This stuff helps a lot, even though it screws up the rest of your life. That�s a start. That�s why so many of us are alcoholics, or pill poppers, or both. It�s a crutch and most of us seem to need a crutch to do what we do every day.�

Lyndsay nodded, taking a drink out of her own glass. �I think I understand that now,� she said quietly.

�But that�s not the real trick to surviving this job,� Haverty said.

�What�s the real trick?� she asked.

�The real trick is to just not give a fuck,� he said. �To realize that nothing matters anyway. None of this shit. The world is a fucked-up place and we�re all just here to do the best we can to keep it from spinning completely out of control.�

Lyndsay was shaking her head. �I can�t accept that,� she said. �That girl today, she mattered, Frank! She was pregnant. Her baby mattered. And that asshole, the man who put that baby in her, shot her in the fucking chest because they were arguing over the TV! And she and her baby died right in front of us! Now he�ll go to prison for the rest of his life and she and the baby are dead. She was only nineteen, Frank! He was only twenty-one! Three lives were destroyed tonight in less than ten seconds. How can you possibly say that doesn�t matter?�

�Because it doesn�t,� he said softly. �Not to me, not to the world. You�re sitting there talking like they were taxpaying citizens and the world is going to be missing out on some fucking future Nobel Laurette or something. They were welfare scum, Lyndsay, three or more generations in and none of them had any hope in life. That girl was a high school dropout working in a mini-mart to pay for her vodka and cigarettes. That baby daddy was on parole for selling meth and was tweaking all over the place when we arrested him. That baby was going to be born into a fucked-up existence and grow up to be just like mommy or just like baby-daddy. Why in the fuck should I give a shit about what happened to them? Why should I let that shitshow get into my head and drive me crazy? Keep me up at night? What good does that do? It doesn�t make any of this shit go away, does it?�

�No,� she said quietly. �I guess it doesn�t.�

�And that�s how you do it,� Frank said. �You tell yourself it doesn�t matter, you learn to believe it, to know it, and you drown any doubts with alcohol if they try to surface. That�s the secret to surviving on the streets. It�s more important than that gun I carry or that vest I wear. It�s more important than all that training they give us, than remembering not to stand in doorways or how to walk up on a car you just pulled over. Three times as many cops have been killed by putting their own guns in their mouths because they couldn�t handle the job than have ever been cut down by some asshole on the streets.� He tapped his temple with his finger. �Survival starts here, Lyndsay, with learning not to give a shit about this fucked-up world and the fucked-up people in it.�

She looked at him across her glass for a moment and then shook her head. �I could never let myself get that cold,� she finally said.

He nodded. �That�s what makes you one of them, hon, and not one of us.�

Another nod. �I guess it is,� she said. She then finished off the rest of her drink and set the glass down.

Frank finished his as well. �Come on,� he said. �Let�s get out of here while we can both still walk.�

�All right,� she said. �That�s probably a good idea.�

They both paused, continuing to look at each other across the table, remaining in character. They�d reached the end of the scene, but the cameras were still rolling. Had they really just gone through it successfully?

�And ... cut!� Fletch called out.

The cameras were turned off. The extras stopped moving about. Greg and Mindy let their faces return to neutral expressions. They looked over at the director.

�That was good, guys,� he told them, giving a thumbs up. �Good expression, good delivery for both of you. We�ll see how it looks when I review the dailies tomorrow, but I think we got a wrap on this scene.�

Mindy smiled and stood up. �Fuckin� fab,� she declared, holding out her palm to Greg.

He high-fived her enthusiastically. �Nailed it that time,� he said. �I was so into character there that I almost feel drunk and pissed off at the world.�

�Me too,� Mindy said. �I was totally Lyndsay there. Feeling pity for you, sadness for the mother, fear for my own sanity. We really do have some chemistry, Greg!�

�Agree,� he said, nodding. �We were clicking really well.�

�That was a good flow on the take,� Fletch agreed. �Hopefully, that click holds for the parking lot scene tonight.�

�We�re still on for filming that tonight?� asked Greg, part of him nervous about the idea, part of him looking forward to it. The parking lot scene was to be the beginning of the first sex scene. Linearly, it would take place immediately after the scene they had just filmed, out in the parking lot of the Star Lounge (though they would actually be filming it in a closed off parking lot of a strip mall out in Oak Park) after Haverty saw Lyndsay safely to her car. They would stand beside it for a moment, telling each other goodbye for the evening, and then they would share a simple hug. The hug would turn passionate and lead to the two of them kissing and pawing each other before making the decision to return to Lyndsay�s condo on the lake and have sex. It would be the first truly intimate contact that the two actors would share.

�Tonight�s a perfect night for it,� Fletch said. �It�s a weekday, so everything will be closed early at the site. Oak Park PD has agreed to seal off the block for us if we give them three hours of warning time. It�s a clear night without much moonlight to interfere with the lighting.�

�Sounds good, Fletch,� Mindy said. �What time?�

�Sunset is 8:20 tonight,� he said. �We�ll need it to be completely dark for the shoot, so I�m thinking that 9:30 action would be about right. That means you two need to report for makeup and wardrobe at 8:30, here at the soundstage. We�ll have you go through the readings and then drive you out there in the limo. The auxiliary makeup and wardrobe trailer will be at the site for touchups. If it goes well, hopefully we�ll be back at the hotel before midnight.�

�Hopefully,� Greg said, pondering the thought of spending two hours or so hugging, groping, and kissing Mindy Snow under studio lights next to a car in a parking lot. It was not exactly an unpleasant pondering. It�s not like I�ll be cheating on Celia or anything, he thought. It�s my job. And it�s just make believe anyway. We�ll just be moving our mouths together and acting like we�re kissing passionately.

�Be sure to put those wardrobe items on hangers and keep them out,� said Lane Casper, the script supervisor. �It is imperative that you wear the same clothing for the parking lot scene as you did for the bar scene.�

�Understood, Lane,� Mindy told her. She then turned to Greg and smiled at him. �Looks like the fun�s about to really start, huh?�

Greg wasn�t quite sure how to interpret that. But he agreed anyway.

The temperature dropped into the low sixties after sunset, but the humidity held steady in the high eighties. It was muggy, with almost no wind coming off the lake, and there were mosquitos and gnats cruising around, occasionally lighting on skin for a quick bite. The parking lot of the closed down strip mall had been transformed by the crew. Oak Park police cruisers had sealed off the block and were keeping all traffic and all pedestrians out of the area. Special lighting towers had been placed around a thirty-foot square in the center of the lot and were providing an artificial brightness that would be damped down by camera settings, giving the illusion of a poorly lit locale. A leased BMW 5 series sedan�the car Lyndsay Brown drove�was parked in a slot in the middle of the square. Several other vehicles, all belonging to locally hired crew members, none of them as nice as the Beemer, were parked on either side to make the parking lot look occupied. The boom microphone stretched out and hung just over the BMW�s driver�s side, where the scene would take place. Two cameras were set up, one to catch a side angle of Haverty and Lyndsay, the other to catch an oblique angle. Behind the cameras were the director�s chair and the rest of the crew. Greg and Mindy, now dressed back in the same clothes they had worn earlier, their hair styled exactly the way it had been when they had filmed the end of the bar scene, slowly got into position for the first take.

The scripting called for the scene to go as such: Haverty walks Lyndsay to her car and they pause there at the driver�s door to exchange a few last words of farewell. She thanks him for taking her to the bar and talking her through her emotional ordeal as best he could. He tells her to go home and get some sleep and that if she does not show up for any more shifts, he understands. She assures him that she�ll be back for the next scheduled shift in three days. He smiles and nods and then, just before she can open the door, he steps forward and gives her a hug that starts out friendly. She returns the embrace in that vein for a few moments but then, as they hold each other, the sexual tension, which had been building in them for the previous six or seven scenes, comes to a head. They gaze into each other�s eyes for a moment and then suddenly they are kissing.

Fletch wanted to capture this entire first part of the scene in one take. From there, they could cut for later print and then move onto the next take, which would involve the progression of the embrace from just kissing to groping and raw passion. The third take would be their breathless discussion in which they decide that Haverty will follow her back to her condo.

�Okay, is everyone clear on what we�re trying to do here?� Fletch asked Greg, Mindy, and the crew. The crew for this session of filming was as minimal as possible, as this fell under the heading of an adult situation scene, the rules and procedures for which were heavily regulated and aggressively enforced by the Screen Actors Guild.

Everyone was clear. The actors took their positions. Fletch himself acted as the clapperboard operator since camera assistants were considered unnecessary for an adult situation scene. Action was called and they performed their roles.

It took seven takes and more than forty minutes of trying before Greg and Mindy were able to pull off the complete conversation between them without one of them flubbing a line or Fletch being dissatisfied with their projection. Greg, standing eighteen inches away from Mindy in the muggy night, sweat trickling down his back, was fighting down frustration, but, as always, this seemed to help him lock in his character as they tried and tried again. Finally, they reached the end of the dialogue portion without Fletch yelling �cut!�. It was time to start the embrace.

Greg, fully into the Haverty character now, looked into Mindy�s eyes, seeing Lyndsay in them, put a slightly nervous, slightly shy smile on his face, and then held out his arms, stepping forward. Mindy took in a slight intake of breath, let a doubtful look flitter across her own face, and then opened her own arms. The two of them came together in a hug. As soon as their bodies came into contact, Greg lost a little of his focus on this being Lyndsay. He felt the soft press of Mindy�s breasts against his chest, smelled the scent of her sweat, the press of her cheek against his shoulder. It felt pretty damn good.

�Cut!� Fletch barked out.

Greg instantly released her. Mindy did the same. They stepped back away from each other and then looked at their director for his explanation of why he had stopped the scene.

�Too quick,� he said simply. �You both jumped into the hug too eagerly. You got the shyness expressions right, but that was not the beginning of a friendship hug that will soon turn passionate. That was a hug that said you two want to start groping each other immediately.�

They both nodded, digesting the criticism he had offered. Greg did not know what Mindy was thinking, but he himself was forced to agree with the director. He really had been concentrating on generating the right emotional expression and had not really been thinking much about the mechanics of entering the embrace. And had he perhaps been a little overeager to finally get his arms around Mindy? To feel her against him? He was self-honest enough to suspect that that was entirely possible.

�Got it, Fletch,� he said, giving him a respectful nod.

�Understood, Fletch,� Mindy echoed. She then let a sour expression form on her face. �Do we have to go through the entire dialogue again?�

�Well,� Fletch said with a sigh, �it was my intention to capture the entire dialogue, hug, and first kiss connection as a single take, but, realistically, we�ll be here all goddamn night if I go for that. That last dialogue take was damn near perfect. We�ll keep the cut there and pick up just before the hug starts. Fair?�

The entire assembled cast and crew breathed a collective sigh of relief.

�Fair,� Greg said, nodding.

�Fair,� Mindy agreed.

They resumed their positions, receiving guidance from the script supervisor, who told them exactly where they had both been standing and the precise angle they had been facing each other when the cut had been called.

�All right. Picking up from the end of dialogue,� Fletch announced, picking up the clapperboard. He called out the scene and take, clapped it out in front of the cameras, and then called for action.

Greg put the nervous look back on his face. He opened his arms and stepped forward, concentrating on making the hug look innocent at first, the kind of hug two friends would share after a trying day. Mindy opened her arms in return. Once again, their bodies came together, her breasts pushing into his chest, the smell of her in his nose. She really did feel pretty good in his arms.

Fletch kept silent and the cameras kept rolling. Innocence turns to passion, Greg�s mind told him. That�s what this moment is all about. Project it. He didn�t have to dive very deep to embrace this projection. He rubbed his hands up and down Mindy�s back a few times. He could feel her bra strap under his fingers, could feel the firm flesh of her body. He felt her arms around him, her fingernails scratching lightly at him through his shirt. He let his upper body lean back a bit, so he was looking into her eyes.

I want her, he told himself, no longer sure if he was just staying in character and projecting onto Lyndsay or was a real human being expressing his thoughts about Mindy. It didn�t really matter when you came down to it. The goal was to carry off the scene in a believable fashion. It didn�t hurt a bit to tap into one�s true feelings in the name of projection, did it?

They stared into each other�s eyes for a long moment. Greg was able to see wanting in Mindy�s eyes, a reflection of his own. She nibbled her lip nervously. And then, by some unspoken signal that fired between them, they leaned toward each other and brought their lips together.

Jesus Christ, he thought, feeling a surge of passion blast through him as they shared their first kiss. He had kissed dozens of women in the line of acting duty in his career, starting with high school stage productions, moving onto off Broadway theater, and then working his way into television and film projects. It was a part of his job and he rarely, if ever, had felt anything other than mild embarrassment at the act. This was something different, however. Mindy�s lips were soft, sensual, and they moved against his in a way that an actress�s lips usually did not in such a situation. He could feel her hot breath against his, could taste the flavor of her lipstick, could feel the hunger radiating from her essence.

The kiss grew more passionate. They opened their mouths a little more, gripped each other more tightly, let their lips slide a little back and forth. Their tongues stayed firmly in their mouths as this was technically a simulated kiss of passion, not an actual one, and the camera (and therefore the viewer) would be none the wiser.

�Cut!� Fletch called out.

It took them just a little bit longer to break the embrace this time, but they did so, stepping back from each other and then looking over at their director once again.

�That looked pretty good,� Fletch told him. �Good projection of wanting from both of you, good embrace, good coming together of the mouths. But I think you can do it a little better, with a little more ... oh...�

�Appetite?� Mindy asked, her face considerably flushed.

Fletch nodded. �Appetite,� he agreed.

And so, they did it again, and then two more times after that. The hug, the rubbing and scratching of backs, the gaze into each other�s eyes, and then the coming together of the lips for the kiss. Each time they did it, they gave it their all, rubbing their open mouths against each other while their arms held each other tightly. To Greg�s embarrassment, he began to feel himself sprouting a fairly respectable erection from the contact. To his further embarrassment, he knew that Mindy was aware of it because it was pushing into her lower belly.

�Cut!� Fletch yelled after the fourth take.

The actors separated from each other once again.

�All of those were pretty good,� Fletch announced. �We�ll look them over with the rest of the dailies tomorrow and decide which one is the best.�

Greg and Mindy both nodded.

�Good job, you two,� Fletch told them. �Let�s all take fifteen. Greg, Mindy, head over to the makeup trailer and get yourselves touched up a bit for the next scene.�

�Right, Fletch,� Greg said.

�Sounds good, Fletch,� Mindy agreed.

They turned and headed across the parking lot, walking side by side. The unspoken etiquette of the acting profession kept them from discussing what they had just done, even in innuendo or allusion. Instead, they spoke of whether or not they�d be finished up in time for their traditional after shift drink in the lounge back at the hotel.

They entered the makeup trailer and, after spending a few minutes drinking water from bottles to rehydrate themselves, had their facial makeup retouched and their hair teased a bit. They spoke very little during this process, and when they did, their words had nothing to do with the scene they were filming.

When their fifteen minutes were up, they walked together back to the BMW and took their positions once again. Fletch talked them through what they were hoping to accomplish in this take: further passionate kissing, hands going beneath shirts, heavy breathing, and then finally, the breaking of the kiss and the staring into each other�s eyes with suitable and believable expressions of lust and wanting.

�All right,� Fletch said. �Go ahead and get into position.�

At the direction of the script supervisor, Greg and Mindy stepped back into each other�s arms, pressing their bodies together, putting their hands where they�d been at the end of the last take. This was a bit awkward since it took the better part of five minutes for them to assume the exact positioning. And through it all, Greg felt the delicious press of those breasts against his chest, the wonderful softness of Mindy�s body. He felt himself starting to stiffen up again down below. This time, he felt Mindy pushing herself a little more firmly into him, subtly moving her soft belly to encourage the response.

She�s doing that on purpose! he thought, feeling a combination of outrage and excitement at this realization.

�Okay ... mouths together,� Fletch said, holding the clapperboard in front of the cameras again.

They leaned into each other, pressing their lips together once again, but not moving just yet. Mindy giggled a little against his mouth, as if expressing the awkwardness between them. Greg closed his eyes for a moment and tried to maintain professionalism.

�Action!� Fletch called.

They continued their passionate kiss, moving their mouths together. Greg�s hands were stroking all over her back. He ran them down to the bottom of her shirt and then slid them beneath. He was now touching the bare flesh of her lower back. It felt incredible beneath his fingertips.

Focus! his mind screamed at him. Stop enjoying this and do your job! He tried to accomplish this, but after realizing that he could both enjoy this and do his job, he abandoned the effort. So I�m enjoying it? What�s the big deal? She�s a hot woman and I�m getting paid to put my mouth on her and touch her. Why shouldn�t I enjoy it?

Mindy, acting as Lyndsay, reached down and grabbed hold of his ass with both hands. She forcibly pulled his groin tighter against him and moaned into his mouth. This was scripted into the scene and Greg had been expecting it, but it sent another surge of lust through him all the same as his erection was ground more firmly against her body. He had to fight to keep from moaning himself.

�Cut!� Fletch barked.

They broke apart, both of them flushed and a little breathless. Greg hoped that the bulge in his jeans was not noticeable by sight. They looked at the director.

�You started off well,� he told them, �but I wasn�t convinced with the transition to the ass-grab.�

�I didn�t grab his ass right?� Mindy said lightly, a sexy smile on her face.

�It should be more of a slide and grab,� Fletch told her in all seriousness. �You just kind of slapped your hands down on him and pulled. Let�s try it again from the top.�

�Slide and pull,� Mindy said. �Okay. I can do that.�

They did it again, and then again, and then three more times before Fletch was satisfied that among all of the footage there would be at least one acceptable take to splice in. Greg and Mindy kissed and rubbed their mouths together until her lipstick and his lip gloss were completely worn off. They groped and grabbed each other time and time again, fingertips touching, scratching, feeling. Through it all, Mindy continued to subtly tease and encourage the throbbing erection Greg had developed.

Christ, he thought helplessly. What is happening to me? If I react like this just from the kissing scene, what�s going to happen tomorrow when we actually push our bare flesh together, when I have to suck her nipple into my mouth?

He employed some self-honesty and found that he was actually looking forward to the experience instead of dreading it.

Filming the dialogue scene in which they agreed to go back to Lyndsay�s house together only took three takes to complete. As such, Greg and Mindy were back at the hotel well before midnight. Both had showered and changed back into their normal clothes. That was a summer dress for Mindy and a dress shirt with slacks for Greg.

�Just enough time for a drink or two,� Mindy said as they strolled into the lobby and headed for the elevators.

�Uh ... well ... actually,� Greg said, �I think I�m going to take a rain check on that drink for tonight.�

Mindy looked at him, disappointment clearly in her eyes. �No drink?� she asked, pouting a little. �How come? It�s become kind of a tradition for us.�

�Yeah ... I guess it has,� he said, �but tonight I�m a little tired. It�s been a long day out in the humidity and the heat. And we�re expected to be at the studio by nine.� And I desperately need to take myself in hand, he did not say. It was true though. His balls were throbbing like those of a teenager after a makeout session.

�All the more reason to have a drink or two first,� Mindy said lightly. �Come on. It�ll help you sleep.�

�Well...�

�Tradition must be adhered to whenever possible,� she added.

He sighed. �Okay, I guess you�re right.�

She smiled and tussled his hair a little. �I knew I could count on you,� she said.

They made their way to the private lounge. It was moderately busy since a lot of the crew that had been working on the parking lot scene had stopped in for their own blast of the good stuff. They went to the bar and ordered their drinks. Once they had them in hand, they found a secluded table near the back corner.

�I think we did some pretty good work today,� Mindy told him as she sipped from her martini.

�Agreed,� Greg said. �It should look very ... you know ... provocative when they put it all together in post-production.�

�It�s going to be hot as hell,� she said slyly. �That chemistry that you and I have developed for this project was shining through tonight.�

�Yeah,� he said thoughtfully. �I guess it was.�

�Filming scenes like that can be so awkward sometimes. You know what I�m talking about, right? Most of the time it�s with someone you�re not really all that interested in being that close to, but you have to do it anyway. It can be difficult to project the proper passion required to convince the viewer that you really are hot to trot.�

�That is true,� he allowed.

�But it wasn�t like that tonight,� she said. �We really clicked out there in that parking lot. Our chemistry was driving it, making us mesh just like two parts of a machine.� She gave him a sly smile. �It was fun in ... you know ... a naughty sort of way, wasn�t it?�

�Uh ... well...� he stammered, �while I�ll admit that our chemistry did enhance the scene to some degree, we were, after all, just two actors out there playing a roll.�

�Oh, come off it, Greg,� she scoffed playfully. �I was pressed up against you for more than an hour out there. I could feel that you were having fun, if you know what I mean.�

He felt himself flushing at her words. �I ... uh ... know what you mean,� he said. �I did experience an unwarranted biological response to our close proximity, and for that I apologize.�

�An �unwarranted biological response?� Have you been hanging out with Nerdly Archer a little too much?�

�No, of course not,� he said. �I was just trying to explain how I got a ... an...�

�A hard-on,� Mindy said. �You got a hard-on rubbing up against me and feeling my body. And you don�t have to apologize for it. I would have been disappointed in you if you hadn�t gotten one.�

�Uh ... I see,� Greg said slowly, uncharacteristically at a loss for words.

Her smile got a little bigger, a little slyer. �I�m not trying to embarrass you, Greg, I just want things out in the open. And, in that vein, you should know that my panties were absolutely soaked when I took them off back in the wardrobe trailer.�

�Really?� he asked, feeling that flush of excitement overriding his embarrassment.

�Really,� she said sincerely. �I�m surprised you weren�t able to smell me though the door.�

Greg swallowed a large gulp of his scotch, hoping it would steady his nerves a little. She is going to invite me to go back to her room with her, his mind whispered to him. That�s where she is heading with this. He had no intention of taking her up on such an offer, of course, but things were going to get really awkward between them when he turned her down.

But she did not make the offer. She started talking about other things�neutral things like the upcoming SAG elections and their chances for Oscar nominations next year�almost without missing a beat.

They finished their drinks and then had one more apiece after that. And then they rode the elevator up to the top of the hotel.

�Good night, Greg,� Mindy said as she headed for her room. �See you in the morning.�

�Good night, Mindy,� he responded, watching her retreating derriere for a moment before heading to his own room.

He undressed and got into bed. His erection returned almost immediately and he took himself in hand, desperately needing some relief. It did not take him long to come up with a suitable fantasy.

Three nights later, in Coos Bay, it was closing in on eleven o�clock when Celia, dressed in a white robe and carrying a bottle of Napa Valley Merlot and a glass in her hand walked out onto the deck of the house for a little relaxation therapy in the hot tub. She was in a foul mood, worried, anxious, suspicious, and, even though she needed to get up in only seven hours to start getting ready for tomorrow�s session at the recording studio, she intended to drink the entire bottle of wine in her hands.

As she closed the door behind her and turned toward the tub, she noticed that, although the lights were out and it was pleasantly dark outside, the jets of the hot tub were running and the cover was thrown back. A closer look revealed that a shadowy human figure was already present in the water. She smelled the odor of burning marijuana overriding the smell of chlorinated water and sea breeze.

�Who is out here?� she called quietly. She had thought everyone else had gone to bed.

�It�s me,� a familiar voice said, just as quietly.

�Teach?� Celia asked, stepping a little closer.

�Yeah,� Laura said. �Just having a little wine ... and a little herb to go with it.�

She stepped closer still, until she was finally able to make out the redhead in the moonlight. She held a pipe in her hand. On the tray that hung over the tub was a bottle of chardonnay, a glass that was about half full, and a small baggie of marijuana.

�You okay, Teach?� Celia asked her carefully. Something in Laura�s voice sounded off.

�I guess,� she said, shrugging. �Are you coming in?�

�I was ... uh ... planning to,� Celia said, hefting her own bottle of wine. �Is that okay? If you�d rather be alone...�

�No, it�s okay,� Laura said. �Come on in.�

�Are you sure?�

�I�m sure,� she said. �The water�s good. The bud is even better.�

Celia set her bottle of wine and her glass down on the other tray and then shrugged off her robe, leaving her in her red bikini. She then climbed up the steps and sat on the edge of the tub, letting her legs dip into the water. She felt the bite of the 101-degree liquid against her calves and then slid in a little further, to the first step, which submerged her hips and lower stomach but kept her chest exposed to the night air. �Ahhh,� she sighed. �That feels good.�

�I see you brought some wine of your own,� Laura said, nodding toward the bottle.

�It seemed a good night for it,� Celia said, unable to keep all of the sourness out of her tone.

Laura noticed this. �Having a bad night?� she asked.

�You could say that,� Celia told her. �How about you?�

�I�ve had better,� the redhead replied with a grunt. She held out the pipe and the lighter to Celia. �Want to try a hit? Sometimes it helps.�

�I�ve told you,� Celia said, �that stuff doesn�t do anything for me.�

�Everything deserves a second chance,� Laura said.

�How about a third one?� she asked bitterly.

Laura looked at her carefully. �Are we still talking about pot?� she asked.

Celia chuckled a little but did not answer the question. �All right,� she said. �Give me some of that shit.�

She took the pipe and the lighter from Laura�s hands and then inexpertly mated the two objects together in the fashion intended. The smoke went into her lungs, tasting strongly of skunk scent, and she coughed all of it back out.

�Hit it a little slower,� Laura advised. �And don�t inhale as much of it at one time. This is pretty potent stuff. You don�t need a whole bunch of it.�

�Okay,� Celia said, and then tried again. She sucked the pipe more slowly, without as much force. This time she was able to fill her lungs with the aromatic smoke and hold it in for the better part of twenty seconds. She then repeated the procedure a second time, taking a little larger of a hit this time. By the time she blew that one out, she was starting to feel a little swimmy in the head. Time seemed to slow down to a crawl. She found she could hear the individual crash of each wave on the beach below and then could hear that echoing off the cliffside.

�Oh ... wow,� she said softly. �I think I�m feeling something here.�

�Yeah?� Laura asked with a grin. �I told you it was the good stuff.�

�Nice,� she said, nodding her head. �I guess the shit I smoked before was the bad stuff?�

�Jake says that South American and Mexican pot can�t hold a candle to the northern Cali stuff,� Laura said seriously.

For some reason, Celia found this extremely funny. She started giggling and then laughing. The humor was contagious because Laura started laughing as well, even though neither of them had any idea what they were actually laughing at.

�Madres de Dios,� Celia said when the two of them finally got themselves under control. �I really needed that. Thanks, Teach.�

�Anytime,� Laura said, putting the pipe down and picking up her wine glass. �To the giggles.�

�Oh ... wait, I haven�t poured any yet,� Celia said. She quickly rectified the situation and then picked up her glass. �The giggles.� They clinked their glasses together and then drank. Celia found the wine to be exceptionally good. She could taste the oak and the hint of chocolate that was reputed to be there but that she had never actually been able to appreciate before. Maybe there was something to be said for the whole marijuana thing after all?

�So,� Laura said as Celia sank further into the water, submerging to her chin, �you want to talk about it?�

�About what?�

�About why you�re out here drinking a bottle of wine in the middle of the night and hitting on my pipe?�

�I guess I just felt like it tonight,� Celia replied noncommittally.

�How about why you�ve been so mopey the last few days?� Laura then asked. �Why you�ve been talking to everyone in that monotone voice. About why you�ve been speaking in words of two syllables or less if you can get away with it? And then tonight, why you seemed like someone had told you your dog had died or something.�

�I don�t have a dog,� Celia said.

�Exactly,� Laura said. �So something else must be bothering you.�

She sighed, trying to hang onto the blissful feeling of THC intoxication that was still rising in her brain. �There is something bothering me, Teach,� she said. �But I don�t want to talk about it just yet. I came out here to try to forget about it. This wonderful pot you just gave me is helping with that quite nicely.�

�Fair enough,� Laura said with a shrug. �Glad I could help.�

�Me too,� Celia said with a nod and a smile. She then turned to Laura. �What about you though?�

�What about me?�

�I can�t help but notice that you�re out here in the middle of the night with a bottle of wine and a bag of really impressive pot as well. I�ve also noticed that there�s been ... well ... kind of a strain between you and Jake of late.�

�You noticed that, huh?� Laura asked, sipping from her glass.

�Yes,� she said. �I�m pretty sure everyone has noticed. You and Jake have always been a very happy couple. Ever since you came back from Gordon�s wedding, however, there�s been something ... oh ... off about the two of you. You don�t seem to smile as much. You�re not quite as affectionate with each other as you used to be.�

Laura frowned a little. �Very observant of you,� she said.

�Did something happen at the wedding?�

Laura sat in silence for a few moments, staring out at the stars and the moon. �Yes and no,� she finally said.

�What does that mean?�

Laura sighed. �It means ... that something did happen, but that what happened is not really the cause of what�s been going on between Jake and me. I mean, I thought it was at first�who wouldn�t think that after what I did?�but tonight, we had a little fight and he told me what was really bothering him about what happened and now I realize that I�ve backed myself into a corner to some degree and I don�t know how to get out of it and that every move I might try to make here is a bad move. Do you understand what I�m saying?�

�No,� Celia said simply. �I don�t have the faintest idea what you�re talking about, Teach.�

Laura looked at her again and then shook her head. �Yeah,� she said. �I suppose you really don�t, do you?�

�I�m willing to listen though,� Celia offered.

�This is a very personal story,� Laura said softly.

�More personal than that story you told me about what happened in South America out on tour?�

The saxophonist nibbled her lips a little�a nervous gesture she had that was adorably cute�and then nodded slowly.

�Wow,� Celia whispered, her imagination going wild at what could be more personal than that.

�I can tell you part of it, I suppose,� Laura said. �The part that Jake knows about.�

�The part he knows about?�

�Right,� she said. �The part that happened at G and Neesh�s wedding.�

�Okay,� she said slowly. �What happened there?�

Laura took another drink of wine, swallowed it down, hesitated for a moment, and then swallowed another drink. She set her glass down and then poured it full again out of her bottle. Only then did she turn to Celia and say: �I let the maid of honor eat my pussy out right before the ceremony.�

Celia was not exactly sure what she�d been expecting Laura to say, but it hadn�t been that. Her eyes widened almost comically. �You ... let the maid of honor ... eat your pussy out?�

Laura nodded. �That�s right,� she said.

�And ... uh ... you�re not talking in the symbolic or philosophical sense here, right?�

�Right,� Laura said. �She quite literally engaged in oral-genital copulation with me. We were in our ceremony dresses when she did it.�

�Madres de Dios,� Celia whispered, feeling a flush of sexual excitement at the thought. �And ... and ... Jake knows about this?�

�Of course,� she said. �He gave me his permission to do it before it happened.�

�He did?�

�That was our agreement,� Laura said.

�Guau,� Celia said, shaking her head in wonder. She quickly took a large drink of her own wine and then looked back at Laura. �You two agreed in advance that if the maid of honor wanted to eat your pussy out, it was okay?�

�Well ... we had a broader agreement at first,� she qualified. �Nothing as specific as that. We agreed that if I wanted to do something with another girl ... you know ... something sexual ... that we would talk about it first.�

�Maybe we should backtrack a bit,� Celia suggested. �Did this agreement come about because of you telling him what happened while you were out on tour? You know ... the bartender, the groupies?�

�Kind of,� she said.

�Kind of?�

�That�s what let him know that I was into girls to some degree,� she said. �But after a few months went by ... well ... he noticed that when I was around certain women ... well ... it would put me in a certain mood and ... and one night he asked me about it.�

�I see,� she said slowly. She had a pretty good idea of what the �certain mood� was, but she couldn�t help wondering what �certain women� she was referring to. Am I one of them?

�We talked about it,� Laura said, �and I admitted to him that I really ... you know ... wanted to do things with women from time to time. I mean, I told him I wouldn�t if he didn�t want me to�and I was sincere about that�but I was just clearing the air with him, letting him know where my mind was.�

�Okay,� she said slowly.

�And, well, we came to an agreement that I could do things with other women if I wanted, as long as I didn�t sneak around and do it behind his back. It was just a theoretical idea at that point. I didn�t have anyone in mind or anything.�

�But then you met the maid of honor at the wedding and something clicked between you?�

Laura nodded. �That�s right,� she said. �Her name is Talia, Tally for short. She�s been Neesh�s best friend ever since they were in grammar school.�

�And Tally is into girls?� Celia asked, just for clarity.

�Not exclusively,� Laura said. �She�s bisexual. And yes, something clicked between us. At the rehearsal dinner, she told me about some of her experiences with other girls throughout her life and ... well ... I told her about mine.�

�Is she cute?� Celia couldn�t help but asking, feeling a little surge of sexual excitement starting to develop.

�Yes,� Laura said. �She�s Israeli, used to be a soldier in the IDF. About the same height as Neesh, smaller boobs, pretty face, really cute accent.�

�Okay,� Celia said, trying to picture it. It was a little bit difficult since she had only met Neesh once before, at Jake and Laura�s wedding.

�Anyway, the next morning, after we were all dressed and ready for the wedding, Tally and I were in Neesh�s hotel room, waiting for it to be time to go to the staging area for the ceremony and ... and she told me that she wanted to ... you know ... do that to me.�

�She offered to eat your pussy out?�

�That�s right,� Laura said quietly.

�Just like that?� Celia asked. �She just blurted it out to you?�

�Well ... more or less,� Laura said. �And I really wanted her to do that to me, but there was the agreement with Jake that we�d talk about it first ... so ... so I called up Jake and told him about it.�

�Right then and right there?�

�Yeah,� she said with a nod. �He was in G�s room and they were getting ready to head down to the groom�s staging area, and I told him that Tally wanted to ... to do that ... and he said that if I really wanted to, I should let her.�

�Just like that?�

�Just like that,� she confirmed.

�And she did it?�

�She did it,� Laura said with a smile. �Right there on the couch while I was wearing my bridesmaid dress.�

�Madres de Dios,� Celia whispered, resisting the urge to touch herself between the legs, or maybe tweak one of her nipples a little. �That�s kind of hot, Teach.�

�It was very hot,� Laura confirmed. �It only took me about a minute or so to ... you know?�

�To come?�

�Yeah,� she said shyly. �To come.�

�Where was Neesh during all of this?�

This question had an immediate effect on Laura. Her little smile of pleasant nostalgia turned almost instantly to one of discomfort and indecision. �That ... well ... that�s a really good question, C.�

�What do you mean?�

�Jake asked me that same question,� she said. �And I told him that Neesh was out of the room during it, that she�d gone to freshen up one last time before the ceremony.�

�Okayyy,� Celia said slowly. �And ... was that not the truth?�

�Not ... not the entire truth,� she said quietly.

Celia�s eyes widened. �You mean ... Neesh walked in and caught you two ... doing that?�

�In ... in a manner of speaking,� Laura said.

�Laura,� Celia said. �What are you trying to tell me here ... or trying not to tell me?�

She sighed. �Yes, Neesh walked back into the room while Tally was down between my legs ... licking me.�

�And ... you kept going?� she asked, surprised.

Laura nodded. �We did, but ... but not because we were so involved in it that we couldn�t stop.�

�What do you mean?�

�Neesh wasn�t surprised by what we were doing when she walked back in the room,� Laura said. �In fact, I�m pretty sure she knew before she even left the room that it was going to happen.�

�Really?�

�Yeah,� she said with a sigh. �You see...� She shook her head. �I can�t believe I�m about to tell you this.�

�Tell me what?�

�Right before Tally did that to me ... she ... uh ... she did it to Neesh.�

Celia thought she�d been about as shocked as she could get by this unfolding story. She was wrong. �You mean ... Tally ... she ... she went down on Neesh first?�

�She did,� Laura said with a nod. �In her wedding dress. She spread her legs, pulled her panties to the side, and ate her out until she came.�

�Madres de Dios,� Celia whispered again, feeling that surge of sexual excitement suddenly ramp up by a factor of ten. �In her wedding dress? That�s so ... so...�

�Hot,� Laura said once again. �It was about the hottest thing I�ve ever witnessed in my life.�

�You were there when she did it?� she asked, just for clarity.

�I was there,� Laura confirmed. �I ... I held Neesh�s hands for her so she couldn�t mess up Tally�s hair.�

�Wow,� Celia whispered. This time she couldn�t help herself. She dropped her hand between her legs and gave herself a quick squeeze just to the side of her clitoris, sending a thrill through her. Only reluctantly did she pull those fingers free after one squeeze.

�So ... when Neesh was going to freshen up ... it was because ... she ... uh...�

Laura nodded. �Because she had just come all over Tally�s face,� she said.

�Then this wasn�t the first time that Tally and Neesh ... that they did this sort of thing?�

A shake of the head this time. �No, they�ve been doing it to each other ever since they were in high school basically. Since even before high school if you want to include when they used to feel each other�s boobs up on sleepovers. All those stories I said that Tally told me about her experiences with other women ... they were all the experiences she had with Neesh. And Neesh told quite a few of the stories as well.�

�I see,� Celia said slowly. �This is ... uh ... quite a tale, Teach.�

�Isn�t it?� Laura said bitterly, slugging down another healthy hit of her wine. She then picked up her pipe and her baggie and began to stuff more bud into it.

�What I don�t understand though,� Celia said, �is why Jake would be upset about this. You said you told him about it first, right?�

�Right,� she said, tamping down the bud in the pipe. �But I didn�t tell him about Neesh�s involvement in this whole thing. I told him that Neesh was out of the room while Tally and I were doing our thing, and ... and that she didn�t come back until it was over. And I didn�t mention anything at all about what happened between Neesh and Tally before she offered to ... you know ... service me.�

�Okay,� Celia said slowly. �Because you were trying to protect Neesh?�

Laura didn�t answer at first. She picked up her lighter, put the pipe to her lips, and took a tremendous hit. She held it in for quite some time and then slowly exhaled the fragrant smoke. Only then did she look back over at Celia. �Not exactly,� she said.

�What do you mean?�

�There�s still a little more to the story,� Laura said.

�Like what?� she asked.

And so, she told the story of the night after the Soul Train awards, when she and Neesh had gone skinny dipping on the beach, and then had ended up making out in the surf, and then how they�d gone over to the log with every intention of consummating the new relationship then and there until they�d been interrupted by the realization that the tide was coming in and their clothes were likely being carried out to sea. And that, of course, had led to the incident with the snoozing sea lion and the sneaking back into G�s house.

�Insane,� Celia whispered when the story was over. �That puts a whole new spin on the sea lion story.�

�Yeah,� Laura said with a nod. �Girl time, Neesh calls it; Tally too. To them it�s nothing. Just a little fun between girls; nothing that the guys need to concern themselves with.�

�An interesting point of view,� Celia said.

�One that I just can�t bring myself to agree with,� Laura said.

�And Jake doesn�t know about this part, right?�

�Right,� Laura said. �Or the next part.�

�The next part?�

Laura nodded. �The next part,� she said. �It happened when Jake and G got together at our house�the one in LA that we don�t live in anymore. They wanted to work on their new song. Neesh came along to visit me. It was the first time we were together since that night on the beach. I told Neesh when we were alone with each other that I didn�t want to have any more �girl-time� with her. That I couldn�t justify it the way that she did.�

�And how did she react?�

�It seemed like she reacted reasonably,� Laura said. �At first anyway.�

�At first?�

Another nod. �At first. And then, later that night, after a few drinks, while G and Jake were really involved in their tune ... well...�

She told the next part of the story, how Neesh had lured her into the spare bedroom and went after her.

�She attacked you?� Celia asked, shocked (and more than a little turned on by the thought).

�No,� Laura said. �She didn�t attack me. She told me that all I had to do to make her stop was to push her away.� She took another sip of her wine. �I didn�t push her away.�

�Wow, Teach,� Celia said, unsure what else to say.

�That was the last time,� Laura said. �At least until the wedding day. I felt guilty as hell about what I�d done; I still do. The next time Neesh and I got together, I told her very firmly that I didn�t want to do things like that with her anymore and that I wouldn�t be able to hang out with her or be her friend if she even tried. She agreed. She promised me that I would have to beg her before she tried to seduce me again. And she kept her promise too. We were able to move on after that, stay friends, and she never tried again, but ... the guilt never went away. Neither did the wanting.�

�And Jake doesn�t know about any of this?� she asked.

�No,� she said, �but he knows that I wasn�t truthful about how things happened on the night of the wedding.�

�What do you mean?�

�Well, naturally, after I called him up while he was getting ready to be a groomsman at G�s wedding and asked him if it was okay if I let the maid of honor eat my pussy out, he was a bit curious as to how that particular moment in time came to be. And he was also kind of curious about where Neesh was while this was going on.�

�Yes,� Celia said. �I can see how he would want to hear the details of that one.�

She nodded. �Unfortunately, I�m not a very good liar. I never have been. I�m not good at coming up with stories to cover what really happened or with telling such a story in a believable manner. I gave him some bullshit about how Tally had been flirting with me the night before and then how she had just flat out made the offer to me when Neesh left the room.� She sighed. �My tale was not believable. I could tell even as I was spinning it that Jake knew there was a lot more to the story. He tried to pry some of the details out of me, but I clammed up. That put a wall between us. It�s been getting bigger ever since that night. Things kind of came to a head tonight.�

�What happened?� she asked.

�Well ... I�ve been kind of thinking all this time that it was the fact that I�d let Tally do that to me that was actually upsetting him. He let me know tonight that this was not the case. He�s upset because I�m keeping something from him, he said. The trust that is supposed to be between us is damaged, he said. He tried to get me to tell him the real story.�

�And what did you say?� Celia asked.

Laura shook her head. �I didn�t say anything,� she said. �I just told him that the story I told that night is what happened and I�m sorry that he doesn�t believe it. I wasn�t very convincing, I�m sure.�

�And what did he say to that?�

�Nothing more,� she said. �He just turned off the light and got into bed. He turned his back to me and scooted all the way over to his side. When I tried to cuddle up to him like we always do in bed he ... he ... pushed me away.�

�Harsh,� Celia said sympathetically.

�Yeah,� she said. �And that�s why I came out here with a bottle of wine and a bag of pot.�

�It makes sense now,� Celia said.

Laura sighed deeply and took another drink of her wine. The glass was now almost empty again. �What do I do, Celia?� she asked. �I don�t see any way of making this right.�

�I�m not sure you can make it right, Teach,� she said. �You lied to your husband. You did something behind his back.� Oh, and listen to who is lecturing you on that, a part of her gleefully spoke up. The woman who slept with your husband one snowy night.

�Yes,� Laura said softly. �I did.�

�Now ... I�m not saying that a woman isn�t entitled to a little secret here and there. There are things I�ve done that Greg would be horrified by, but I don�t confess them to him.� And how!

Laura looked up at her. �Like what?� she asked.

�That�s not important to the discussion,� she said dismissively. We�ll just keep that can of worms nicely sealed shut. �My point is that Jake knows that something is not right about the situation. Remember when you told me about you and the trumpet player out on tour? What was his name? Spackle?�

�Squiggle,� she corrected.

�I assume Jake still knows nothing about that, right?�

�God no,� she said. �You advised me he didn�t need to know about that. And you were right.�

�Right,� she said. �That knowledge is of no use to him. It would only hurt, wouldn�t help anything. But you did tell him about the bartender and the female groupies, right?�

�Yes,� she said. �Right after he proposed to me in this very hot tub, as a matter of fact.�

�Well,� Celia said, �maybe the same situation applies here. You need to tell the truth to Jake to make things right with him. But you don�t necessarily need to tell him the entire truth.�

�A lie of omission is still a lie,� Laura said righteously.

�Of course it is,� Celia said. �But we live in the real world here, Teach, not Pollyannaville. Sometimes lies of omission are a necessary part of life.�

Laura thought that over for a moment and then nodded. �Okay,� she said. �I see where you�re coming from. What am I supposed to tell him?�

Celia smiled. �How about we put our heads together a little and come up with something? Something that tells most of the truth but that leaves out a few minor details?�

Laura still looked a little doubtful about this, but she nodded. �All right,� she said. �Heads together.�

They put their heads together. With the two of them working in tandem, and with a few more hits off the pipe for each of them, it didn�t take very long to come up with something simple, yet elegant.

West Covina, California

August 25, 1995

Paramedic Jim Ramos was sitting on the rear bumper of the Ford ambulance in the bay of Kaiser Hospital. A battered metal clipboard which opened up to store paperwork inside sat on his lap and he was composing a patient care report�called a �tag� in the vernacular of the job�about the patient he had just dropped off. It had a been a routine call�a lifelong smoker experiencing shortness of breath from his chronic lung disorder�and it was a routine tag. Jim had been in the paramedic business for nearly fifteen years now and most of his mind was elsewhere as he put the words to the pre-printed form.

Jim was thirty-six years old. Tall, thin, and lanky, he filled out the Southern Medical Services summer uniform of dark blue slacks and a light blue polo shirt reasonably well. He was considered a veteran medic at his seniority level and, though he had certainly not seen it all in his fifteen years, he had seen a lot of it. Working at SMS was, for many paramedics and EMTs, a springboard to higher paying jobs at one of the local fire departments, but, unfortunately, family genetics had cursed him with a case of stubborn, early onset hypertension that required a regimen of three separate medications to keep under control. And, since heart disease and cerebral vascular disease were both considered presumptive work-related maladies for firefighters under the civil service rules, and since hypertension was a huge risk factor for both of those diseases, no fire department wanted to have anything to do with hiring Jim. Of course, they never came out and said that was the reason they weren�t hiring him�oh no, that would be a violation of several anti-discrimination statutes�but it just seemed like he never placed very high on any of the lists once his preliminary medical report was taken.

He had given up even trying for a fire department job several years ago, tired of the frustration. Instead, he settled himself into SMS and, as a result, he felt himself to be in a bit of a rut these days. He loved being a paramedic, but he was now maxed out on seniority raises and there was really no room for advancement within the company itself. His was not an uncommon story among the ranks of private paramedics and EMTs.

�West-Co Medic Six,� his portable radio suddenly blurted. �Priority traffic.�

�Goddamn it!� Jim barked in frustration. Priority traffic could only mean they had another call for him and Carla, his EMT, who was currently inside the ER talking to the crew of the Pasadena Fire Department ambulance parked next to them, undoubtedly trying to coax one (or both) of them into a little hose coupling drill after her shift was over.

He pulled the portable radio from his belt holder and keyed it up. �West-Co Six,� he said, not bothering to hide the pissed-off tone in his voice. �Go ahead.� He lifted up his tag so he could write the latest call information on the log sheet taped to the front of the clipboard.

But they were not getting another call. �West-Co Six,� the dispatcher said. �We�re placing you out of service for a special assignment. Landline the West-Co supervisor for details.�

Special assignment? What the hell? This was certainly not a routine occurrence at SMS, where the philosophy was to have as few crews as possible running as many calls as possible at all times. He thought about asking the dispatcher for more details and then quickly reconsidered. She probably did not know anything anyway. He keyed up again. �West-Co Six copies we�re out of service. Will landline the sup.�

He thought about finishing his tag first, but curiosity got the better of him. He put the portable radio back in its holder and then, clipboard in hand, walked into the ambulance entrance of the hospital. He saw that Carla�a hot brunette with large, jiggling boobs and full, sensuous lips (called DSLs by the many firefighters who had experienced her skill with them)�was indeed chatting up the Pasadena crew, making all sorts of hair-twirling, eyelash batting, giggling signals of mating readiness toward them. She did not even notice his entrance. He walked over to an empty portion of the nurse�s station and picked up one of the phones there. He dialed nine, listened for a dial tone, and then dialed up the supervisor�s office number.

�Southern Medical Services, West Covina,� a male voice chirped. It was Steve Marx, a twenty-five-year-old ass-kissing up and comer who was padding his resume in the supervisor position under the assumption it would help him land a position with LAFD.

�Hey, Steve. Jim Ramos. Dispatch told us we�re out of service for a special assignment or something?�

�That�s correct,� Marx said and then, infuriatingly, said no more.

�So ... you gonna tell me what this special assignment is all about?� Jim asked him, fighting to keep his voice even.

�Oh ... right,� Marx said with a little laugh. �I guess you do need to know that, right?�

�Right,� Jim agreed, shaking his head a little. His suspicion that Marx might have a bit of a difficult time passing the general knowledge test for the LAFD occurred to him, not for the first time.

�Do you remember a couple of weeks ago when you ran that call on Matt Tisdale?� Marx asked.

�Uh ... yeah,� Jim said, rolling his eyes. �I do seem to recall that call.� Do I remember running a call on Matt fucking Tisdale? Yes, he remembered it well. Tisdale and his band�who were supposed to be releasing their latest CD early next week�had been rehearsing for their upcoming tour at a warehouse over on the west side of the city when Matt had an episode of SVT and got short of breath and hypotensive. One of the band members called 911 and Jim and Carla had gotten the call, along with Engine 4 of the West Covina Fire Department. The engine arrived first, but it was not a paramedic engine, so they had been able to do nothing but confirm that Tisdale�s heart had been beating at 240 beats a minute and his blood pressure was 86/38. The guitar player looked like absolute shit when Jim first assessed him and told Jim that this had happened to him before and that Jim should �just light me the fuck up if you need to�. Jim determined that he needed to, but that Matt was not so unstable that he couldn�t start an IV and give him a little Versed for sedation and amnesia first. He did that, cardioverted the guitarist successfully after only one shock, and then transported him with lights and sirens to West Covina Medical Center. Since Jim was an Intemperance fan�and he kind of liked what Tisdale had done on his last CD�the call was a brightly glowing orb in an otherwise drab last few years of his life. Almost as cool as Ted Duncan, who worked over in the Pomona Division, playing drums for Jake Kingsley and Celia Valdez. But what did Matt Tisdale have to do with the special assignment he was getting now?

Marx told him what it had to do with it. �Tisdale wants you to go back over to his warehouse so he can thank you for what you did.�

�Go back to the warehouse?� Jim asked. �You mean right now?�

�Right now,� Marx said. �As soon as you can get there.�

Jim raised his eyebrows. �You�re taking us out of service for this?� he asked in disbelief. SMS management did not like for units to go out of service. When they were out of service, they could not make the company any money. Everyone knew the story of when Julie Streng�s mother had died unexpectedly one winter night and the on-duty supervisor had tried to get her to work out the rest of her shift because: �it�s not like there�s anything you can do about it now, is there? And it�s really hard to get a replacement medic to come in for only half a shift.�

�That�s right,� Marx said. �This came from Bruce Graham himself.�

�No shit?� Jim said, whistling appreciably. Bruce Graham was the big guy, the CEO of SMS�s southern California operations from the Mexico border all way to Kern County. Jim had seen him in a mandatory meeting once a few years ago, spouting the company line, but other than that, he was nothing but a creature of legend.

�No shit,� Marx said, his voice almost awed. �He called me up not ten minutes ago and told me to take you out of service and send you over there. He said to keep you out as long as necessary and for this division to cooperate with Tisdale in any way possible. I�ve already let dispatch know what�s going on. I want you to drop whatever you�re doing and head over there now. Do you remember where it�s at?�

�Yeah, we remember where it�s at,� he said, giving another eye roll. �We�ll clear the hospital and go now.�

�You do that,� Marx said. And then, after a moment. �I wonder if I should head over there as well ... you know ... just to have a supervisory presence?�

�Were you specifically invited?� Jim asked.

�Well ... no.�

�Then I don�t think you should be there,� Jim said.

�But...�

�I�ll let you know how it goes, Steve,� Jim told him quickly. �Catch you later.�

He hung up before Marx could say anything else. He then went to go pry his partner out of the grip of the two firefighters.

Carla parked their rig in front of the rehearsal warehouse twenty minutes later, just a few minutes before four o�clock. In the parking lot was a limousine with a uniformed driver in front, two transport buses, and several higher end vehicles parked haphazardly. There was no signage or anything else to indicate that this building was Matt Tisdale�s rehearsal warehouse. Jim and Carla had been quite surprised when they had entered it on that fateful day. Today, however, Jim was more than a little awed knowing they were soon going to be talking to the legendary (and notorious) guitarist. Carla, on the other hand, was less than thrilled with their mission. She was not a music fan in general, and believed that Matt Tisdale in particular was a slimy, disgusting pig of a man. All in all, she would rather be back in service where she could be running calls and talking to more male firefighters about hose coupling drills.

They exited the ambulance, both of them instinctively carrying their portable radios with them despite the fact that they were out of service. They walked to the same man-door they had entered and exited through on their last visit. Then, it had been chocked open. Now, it was closed and locked. Jim knocked on it and a moment later it was opened by a large, tattooed man who introduced himself as Jack Ferguson, head of tour security. Jim had noticed the man hovering around when he had been here to treat Tisdale but had not been introduced to him on that occasion.

�Nice to meet you,� Jim said, shaking hands with him. �And you remember my partner, Carla?�

�I do,� Ferguson said with a smile.

Carla did not shake with him. She was looking at him with an unshielded expression that was half fear and half disgust. Ferguson seemed unoffended. He led them through the door and into the warehouse. As had been the case last week, the stage and all of the lighting were in place, though everything seemed to be powered down now. Longhaired men in t-shirts and jeans were everywhere. Some on the soundboard, some wandering around the stage area, many just sitting in chairs and talking. Most were drinking bottles of Corona beer. More than a few were smoking cigarettes, imparting the place with a haze of fragrant smoke.

Matt Tisdale was sitting on the edge of the stage just in front of one of the microphone stands. He was looking a lot better than the last time Jim had seen him. His skin was still a bit on the pale side, and he looked generally unhealthy, but nothing near the almost dead, sweaty mess he had been. He had his own bottle of Corona next to him and was munching on a fried chicken breast. His eyes lit up when he saw the EMS crew being led toward him.

�Hey!� he said happily, setting down the chicken on a plate and hopping down onto the warehouse floor. He wiped his hands quickly on his shirt and then headed over to meet them. �It�s the two people who saved my ass! How you motherfuckers doing?�

�Uh ... pretty good, Mr. Tisdale,� Jim said, holding out his hand for a shake.

�Fuck that �Mr. Tisdale� shit,� Matt said, grabbing Jim�s hand and shaking with him. Jim could feel the chicken grease on it. �Call me Matt. Anyone who saved my ass gets first name privileges.�

�All right,� Jim said, resisting the urge to wipe his hand on his uniform pants. �Matt it is. And I�m Jim. Jim Ramos.�

�Ramos huh?� Matt said with a nod. �You a beaner?�

Jim blinked a little. �Uh ... no, not really,� he said. �My family originally came here from Brazil, but that was three generations ago.�

Matt nodded thoughtfully. �I didn�t think you looked like a wetback,� he said. He then turned to Carla. �And you�re Jim�s partner. Carla, right?�

�Yes,� she said tersely, refusing to step forward far enough for Matt to offer his hand to her. �I�m surprised you remember my name.�

�I didn�t,� Matt said. �That corporate motherfucker I talked to on the phone earlier looked it up for me.� He let his eyes look her up and down for a moment. �You know, I was a little too busy getting lit up like a fuckin� car factory in Sarajevo to notice this before, but you�re kind of hot.�

�Uh ... thanks,� Carla said slowly, showing absolutely no sign of being flattered by this declaration.

�Just callin� it like I see it,� Matt said. �Now then. Can I get you two anything to drink? We got some beer and a full wet bar set up over here by the soundboard. Or maybe you�d like a couple lines of coke?�

Jim looked at him to see if he were joking. It certainly appeared he was not. �Uh ... no thanks, Matt,� he said. �We�re uh ... you know ... on duty.�

�Oh ... right, of course,� Matt said, nodding. �I guess you don�t do that shit on the job, huh?�

�No,� Carla said evenly, her eyes now looking at Matt as if he were a bug. �We do not.�

�I can respect that,� Matt said. �I don�t get fucked up before performing either. I guess it�s the same for you guys.�

�Right,� Jim said slowly. �We try to stay away from the cocaine when we might have to drive a five-ton rig through heavy traffic and then make life and death decisions when we arrive where we�re going.�

�Understood,� Matt said with a nod. �Anyway, the reason I asked you two to come here, first of all, is to say thanks for saving my ass. This is the third time now that one of you paramedic motherfuckers has helped me out when my heart started doin� that shit, the second time one of you had to light me up. And you�re the first one to use that Versed shit on me. That was all right, my man! I don�t even remember you frying my ass, don�t remember you putting them paddles on me, don�t remember screaming like some fuckin� bitch who saw a spider. Not only that, it was a halfway decent high too. So ... from the bottom of my fuckin� heart, thank you both for what you did.�

�No problem at all, Matt,� Jim said with a genuine smile. Perhaps Matt�s speech of gratitude wasn�t the most poetically expressed in the world, but it was a sincere thank you, something that was few and far between in their line of work, and Jim appreciated the sentiment.

Carla did not seem so impressed. She merely grunted.

Matt glanced at her, his eyebrows going up a tad, and then he seemed to shrug it off. �Anyway,� he said, �having said that, I�d like to actually show the two of you how grateful I am.�

�What do you mean?� asked Jim. Was he going to try to give them some money? It would be a shame if he did, as they were ethically and legally not allowed to accept it.

But money was not what he had in mind, not really anyway. �I don�t know if you know this about me, but I own a motor yacht. It�s an eighty-nine-footer and I have it docked over at Marina Del Rey.�

�Uh ... no, I didn�t know that,� Jim said, although this news was not particularly surprising. Tisdale had to be almost as rich as God.

�It�s the shit, my man,� Matt said. �It�s got a full bar, a hot tub, and five bedrooms, not including the master suite and the crew quarters. There�s even a place to land a helicopter on it�a small helicopter, you know�but I haven�t got me one of those yet.� He shrugged. �Maybe when the royalties start flowing in from this next album. Anyway, I hired up a whole crew to run this boat for me. I got some dago captain who used to drive cargo freighters or some shit like that, a chef and an assistant chef who used to work in some snooty French place, two beaner motherfuckers to work with the captain and keep everything running, a couple of old gook bitches to clean the rooms and pick up all the trash and shit, some fuckin� kraut marine mechanic to keep the engines running, and a couple of dick-smoking professional waiters from restaurant row to serve the food and make the drinks.�

�Wow,� Jim said slowly since some reply seemed necessary. He wondered why Tisdale was telling them all of this. �Sounds like it costs a lot of money to run this boat of yours.�

�Fuckin� A,� Matt agreed. �The gooks and the faggots and the frogs only come aboard when we actually take the boat out for more than a day. The wop and the kraut and the beaners, however, they�re full-time on my payroll to keep things running and maintained and all that shit, even if the boat is sitting in dock. And not only do I have to pay them, but I have to pay for all this fuckin� work comp insurance and their fuckin� healthcare plan and bullshit like that. So ... yeah, it�s pretty fuckin� expensive, but hey; I can afford it. Anyway, the reason I�m telling you this shit is that we�re taking the boat out tomorrow afternoon. Me and the boys just finished up with tour rehearsal this afternoon and we�ll be hitting the road for the first show in Seattle in ten more days. Since we got those ten days to kill, we�re gonna scrounge up some slutty bitches here in LA, sail down to my pad in Cabo, maybe do a little fishing, maybe have a few parties with some local gash down there, and then cruise back home. It�s gonna be one long, continuous fuckin� party.�

�Sounds like fun,� Jim said, trying to picture the drunken debauchery of a Matt Tisdale yacht party. His imagination was not quite up to the task. It was like trying to wrap your brain around the Theory of Relativity.

�Like I said,� Matt told them, �it�s going to be fucking epic. And, since the two of you saved my ass, I�d like to invite you both to come with us.�

Jim was a little surprised to be issued such an invitation, and a little flattered, but his instinct was telling him that this was a jerk-off invitation that Tisdale did not really want or expect them to accept. Not that they could accept it even if it were sincere. �Uh ... that�s very nice of you to offer, Matt,� he said, �but I�m afraid we won�t be able to do that. We just started our work rotation and we�ll be twelve-on twelve-off for the next three days.�

Matt shook his head, smiling. �Nope,� he said. �You�re both off for the next two weeks, starting at the end of your shift today.�

Jim wasn�t sure he had heard correctly. �How�s that?� he asked.

�What do you mean we�re off for two weeks?� asked Carla suspiciously.

�I arranged for you both to have some vacation time,� Matt said. �I talked to that corporate asshole of yours and he agreed to grant you emergency leave starting at seven o�clock tonight.�

�You did what?� Carla asked, anger in her voice now.

�Emergency leave?� asked Jim. �I can�t afford that, Matt. I only have about twenty hours of PTO in my bank. I can�t cover two weeks off.�

�You don�t have to cover it,� Matt said. �I covered it for you.�

�Huh?� Jim asked. He had covered it for them? What did that mean?

�What the hell are you talking about?� asked Carla.

�It�s simple,� Matt said. �Kind of, anyway. I told that suit that I wanted you two freed up for my boat trip. He hemmed and hawed and started spewing a bunch of corporate bullshit at me, but you know what they say. Money talks and mine was speakin�. I funded a so-called �EMS conference� in Vegas for his ass and just like that, he�s making sure you�re both pulled from the schedule and good to go. Of course, he wasn�t going to pay for you to have those two weeks off, so I�m paying for it for you. I was just going to give you the money�cash in fuckin� hand, you know what I�m sayin�? �but Mr. Suit said I can�t do that. Some ethical bullshit apparently. But I can donate money to fund your paid time off banks. Apparently that shit isn�t unethical.� He shook his head. �Who comes up with these fuckin� rules anyway? It�s okay to send him to a first-class hotel suite in Vegas, pre-pay for a couple of hookers to slurp his schlong for him, and call it an EMS conference; it�s okay to donate money to your time off fund; but I can�t just give you cash? What the fuck?�

Jim was still trying to process that he had just been given two weeks off with pay. Was this some sort of joke? Carla, on the other hand, was clearly offended by what she had just been told.

�You ... you paid for us to have two weeks off so we could go on your yacht with you?� she asked, her voice cold and steely.

�That�s right, baby,� Matt said with a grin. �I bet you look smokin� hot in a bikini.�

She gritted her teeth a little and took a deep breath. �And ... and ... you just assumed that I ... that we would go with you?�

�Well ... yeah,� Matt said. �Why wouldn�t you?�

�Oh ... I don�t know,� she said sarcastically, �because I�m not a fan of being plied with booze and God only knows what kind of drugs and subjected to gang rape by degenerate musicians in international waters?�

Matt chuckled. �Would you prefer to have it happen in territorial waters?� he asked.

Carla actually shuddered for a moment, her fists clenching, her mouth opening to say something that her mother probably would not approve of.

Tisdale headed her off at the pass, however. �Don�t sweat it, baby,� he told her, giving a shrug. �If partying with me and the boys for a few days ain�t your flavor of bongwater, that�s cool with me. Nobody was gonna rape you or anything like that, but I�m not here to try to force anyone to have a good time if they don�t want one. I�m still giving you those two weeks off though, whether you want them or not. I repay my debts, you dig?�

Now Carla was not sure how to react. �Uh ... well ... yeah, I dig.�

�And check it out,� he said. �Since you don�t want to party with us, and since you got the next two weeks off anyway, how about I set you up with something else to occupy your time?�

Carla shook her head, �No,� she said. �That won�t be necessary.�

�Of course it�s not necessary,� Matt scoffed, �but I want to do it anyway. Let�s see ... how about Vegas? You like Vegas?�

�I�ve only been there a few times,� she said. �Really, Mr. Tisdale...�

�Matt,� he corrected. �Call me Matt. And I�m determined that you have some fun for helping to save my ass. How about this? I�ll get one of my limo drivers to cruise you and a guest to Vegas. I�ll book you a suite at that new place they just built ... the MGM Grand on the strip.�

You could see Carla thawing out by the second. �A limousine?� she asked. �A suite?�

�Fuck yeah, a suite,� Matt said. �It�s the only way to go. Four days, four nights and then the limo will bring you back home. Any drinks, any food you want, you just fuckin� sign it to your room and it�s covered. And how about ... oh ... say twenty grand in casino chips? Ten for you, ten for your guest. That do you for four days and four nights?�

�Uh ... well ... yeah,� Carla stammered, looking a little dazed and confused now. �That should be enough.�

�All right then,� Matt said, smiling at her. �It�s settled. Just let my man Jack over there�he�s that big, scary looking motherfucker that let you in�know what days you want to go, and he�ll make sure it happens.�

�Okay,� she said slowly. �I�ll do that.�

She wandered off in a continued daze, heading over to where the large security chief was standing, his eyes watching over everything.

�Kind of a hot piece of trim,� Matt commented to Jim as she walked away. �You ever bone her?�

�No,� Jim told him. �She doesn�t want anything to do with me. She�s a hose bunny.�

�A hose bunny?� Matt asked, seemingly intrigued. �What�s that?�

�A firefighter groupie,� Jim clarified. �Those without a pair of turnouts need not apply for entry.�

�Ahhh,� said Matt, nodding, understanding now showing. �I guess that makes sense. Those guys get a lot of pussy then?�

�Probably not as much as you do,� Jim allowed, �but they don�t want for it much.�

Matt nodded. �Good for them. I�m in favor of everyone getting all the pussy they can�even dykes. What about you guys? Are there paramedic groupies?�

He shrugged. �We do okay with the night shift waitresses and the nurses in the convalescent homes. Not quite the same league as the hose bunnies, but when I need to get laid, I can.�

�That�s good to know,� Matt said seriously. �Anyway, are you up for the boat trip? If you�re not, I�ll set you up with the same deal as your partner there.�

Jim was torn. Four days in Vegas in a hotel suite did sound like a pretty damn good time, especially with free drinks, free food, and twenty grand in casino chips thrown in. But on the other hand ... cruising on a yacht with Matt Tisdale and his band ... well ... how often did an offer like that come around?

�Are you sure you really want me there, Matt?� Jim asked meekly. �I�m probably kind of ... you know ... square compared to the people you�re used to hanging out with. If you�re just making the offer to be polite...�

�I ain�t making the offer just to be polite,� Matt said. �I really want to thank you for saving my ass, and I really want you to have a good time. Come party with us, dude! Seriously. There�s gonna be good booze, good blow, good weed, premo fuckin� chow, and some of the hottest, sluttiest, nastiest bitches I can scrounge up on short notice. Shit that�ll make those night shift waitresses of yours look like fucking prudish nuns in comparison.�

�Well ... I don�t do weed or blow,� he said carefully.

Matt simply shrugged. �More for the rest of us then,� he said. �I�d really like you to be there, Jim. And for more than one reason.�

�What�s the other reason?� Jim asked.

�You�re a paramedic,� he said. �We�re going to be out on the high fuckin� seas for part of the time and in a fuckin� third world country with shitty healthcare the rest of the time. If my heart starts doing that funky shit again, it would really be nice to have you there to help me out.�

Understanding flooded into Jim�s brain. Now things were starting to make sense. Unfortunately, Jim was afflicted with the curse of honesty. �Well ... to tell you the truth, Matt,� he explained, �there wouldn�t be much I could do if I�m off duty. If I don�t have my monitor and defibrillator with me, I can�t do anything about SVT.�

�I bought one of those Lifepak things you carry,� Matt told him. �It�s already on the boat. I also got my hands on twelve doses of Adenosine in case I go into SVT and you can stop it without having to light me up.�

�You ... you bought a Lifepak?� Jim asked, astounded.

�Fuckin� A,� Matt said.

�Wow,� Jim said. �I didn�t know you could just buy one of those like a pack of cigarettes.�

�When you have enough coin, you can buy anything,� Matt assured him. �The fuckin� thing cost me twelve grand, and the Adenosine was another grand, and then I had to buy some IV fluids and tubing and all that other shit to go with it, but I�m now equipped for you to deal with my heart if you need to.�

Jim was still shaking his head. �That�s all good and everything,� he said, �but I can�t just treat you out on your boat.�

�Why not?� Matt asked.

�Well ... even if I have the equipment, I�m only allowed to act as a paramedic when I�m on the clock. It�s a legal thing, you see. I act under a medical director�s license following written orders known as protocols. They don�t apply when I�m outside of Los Angeles County or off duty. And I�m not allowed to administer Adenosine at all. It�s not in the California scope of practice for medics.�

�But you know how to use the monitor to light me up, obviously, since you�ve done it.�

�Right,� Jim agreed, �but that was when I was on duty acting as...�

�And you know when and how to use the Adenosine, right?� Matt interrupted.

�Well ... yes,� he said. �It�s pretty straightforward. We�ve been arguing to put it in our scope for years, but...�

�So...� Matt interrupted again, �correct me if I�m wrong, but these rules and regulations about scope of practice only apply when you�re actually in the state of California or the nation of the USA, right?�

Jim�s eyes widened a little. �Uh ... yeah ... that�s right.�

Matt nodded. �So, once we leave Marina Del Rey tomorrow afternoon and make it more than twelve miles offshore, we�ll be in international waters. The rules won�t apply then, right?�

�Uh ... well...� He hesitated, his brain trying to find a hole in Matt�s theory and failing. �Right. I guess that�s true.�

�All right then,� Matt said with a smile. �So ... you my man, or what?�

�What about ... you know ... the drinking and the partying? Am I supposed to stay sober the whole trip just in case you go into SVT again?�

�I do not expect that of you,� Matt said. �Party as hard as you want, fuck anything that will let you fuck it back, just stay coherent enough to do what needs to be done if and when it needs to be done. Fair?�

Jim smiled back. �I guess I�m your man,� he said.

In the late afternoon of August 26^th, a chartered Gulfstream IV jet landed at North Bend Municipal Airport outside of Coos Bay after flying nonstop from Midway in Chicago. The single passenger was Greg Oldfellow, who had just finished his duties during principal photography of the film Us and Them and now had a two-week break before the start of postproduction in Los Angeles. Since Greg�s wife was currently mired in the duties of recording her third album at Blake Family Studios, and since he had not seen her in the flesh in several months, and since ground had finally been broken on the golf resort just south of Coos Bay that Greg was a primary investor in, his choice of destination was unsurprising.

Celia was done with her recording duties for the day and had been given the next day off�they were working primarily on distorted electric guitar and percussion overdubs at this point and did not really need her anyway�so she and her husband could have some alone time. She drove her Mercedes to the airport by herself and loaded Greg and his four bags into the trunk.

�Are you sure you don�t want to go by the house first?� Celia asked him as she climbed behind the wheel. �Everyone is looking forward to seeing you. And Jake is making burgers and French fries tonight.�

�I�m sure,� he said. �We�ll visit tomorrow night; take everyone out of dinner. For now, I just want to get to that hotel room and get reacquainted with you.�

Celia smiled warmly. �I�ll send them our regrets,� she said.

She drove directly to the Seaside Resort, the nicest hotel in the bay area, where she had reserved for them the Presidential Suite for the next week. They checked in, let the bellboy bring up their luggage, tipped him, and then they went directly to bed. They did not leave the room for the next nineteen hours.

It was a good reunion.

As promised, Greg took the entire houseful of musicians and the sound team out to dinner the following night. They met at The Dancing Pelican, one of the nicer Coos Bay establishments. Greg booked the entire upper floor of the dining room and spent the better part of the evening regaling Jake and Laura, Nerdly and Sharon, Pauline and Obie, Liz, Natalie, Coop, Charlie, and Celia with tales of Chicago and his portrayal of a hardened street cop there. No one asked about Mindy Snow and he volunteered no information about her.

Jake watched the two of them carefully as the evening went on. They seemed happy enough to be in each other�s company. He knew from his discussions with Celia�usually during their morning runs�that Greg had stopped talking so much about Mindy in the past three weeks and that Celia believed this was a good thing.

�There�s no way he did anything with her,� she had proclaimed firmly to Jake on several occasions. �He would not be able to talk so easily with me on the phone if he�d put his chorizo someplace it didn�t belong.�

�And they�ve already shot all the sex scenes?� he�d asked the last time the subject had come up.

�That�s right,� Celia replied. �They�ve all been shot. He said they were awkward as hell, even uncomfortable at times, but that everyone was professional about it.�

�Fair enough,� Jake said.

And he had given both Greg and Celia the benefit of the doubt, because there was really nothing else he could do, but he continued to wonder about it. Greg, after all, was an actor, and a pretty good one at that. Jake had experience in how a good actor could make you believe anything he or she wanted you to believe.

Looking at the couple now, however, that speculation mostly faded away. The two of them seemed genuinely happy to be in each other�s company. They looked and acted exactly as one would expect a couple in love to look and act when they were recently reunited after a long time apart.

�Everyone is off tomorrow, right?� Greg asked Jake as they sipped cognac while waiting for dessert to be served.

�That�s right,� Jake said. �We always take Sundays off on this round. Sometimes even Saturdays too.�

�How about you and I take a drive out to the site tomorrow then?� Greg asked him. �I�m anxious to see how the work is going.�

�Uh ... sure,� Jake said with a shrug. He turned to Laura, who was sitting next to him. �How about it, babe? Feel like seeing how Greg�s golf course is shaping up?�

�I can�t,� she said. �Nat and Liz and I are driving up to Newport tomorrow to check out that aquarium they have there, remember?�

�Oh ... yeah,� he said. He did vaguely remember her mentioning something about that.

�I was actually planning to go with them,� said Celia. �There are two lighthouses on the drive that I want to check out.� Celia, since she started spending time on Oregon�s coast, had developed an affinity for lighthouses, collecting pictures and statues of them, buying calendars that featured them, and, when she could find the time and inclination, touring them if such tours were available. She had already hit the ones south of Coos Bay and was ready to start working her way north. She looked at her husband. �Do you mind? I promise I�ll visit the site with you before you head back to LA.�

�I don�t mind at all,� Greg said with a shrug. �It can be a guy trip. We�ll have some beers, smoke some cigars, talk about hunting and fishing and women and how annoying they are.� He turned to Nerdly. �How about you, Bill? You up for a guy�s trip to a construction site?�

�Uh ... well ... as appealing as that sounds,� Bill said, �Sharon and I plan to take advantage of our day off to work on our own construction project�� He winked in a manner that could only be interpreted as lascivious� �If you know what I mean.�

�Ahhh,� said Greg, grinning. �I see. You�re planning to have another child already?�

�Another child?� Sharon asked, frowning. �Absolutely not. Kelvin is quite enough for us to handle currently.�

�That is correct,� Nerdly said. �Whatever in the world gave you the idea we were planning further reproduction of the species?�

�Uh ... well ... you said you had your own construction project to work on,� Greg said. �And then you winked. I kind of assumed that ... you know ... that was what you were talking about.�

Nerdly gave the nerd laugh for a moment and shook his head. �No,� he said. �I was speaking almost literally. Sharon and I are constructing our own website on the worldwide web.�

�A website?� asked Greg. He had heard of such things but was uncertain exactly what they were.

�That�s right,� Nerdly said. �NerdlyandSharon.com. It will be a site dedicated to our lives, our stories, and our theories about sound reproduction, audio engineering, and quantum physics.�

�Nerdly and Sharon dot com?� asked Jake.

�That is correct,� Sharon said. �We secured the domain name several months ago and have been working on construction of the site ever since.�

�And so ... you would rather work on your website than go visit a golf course being built?� asked Jake.

Nerdly looked at him as if he were an idiot. �I would think that would go without saying,� he said tersely.

And so, it came to pass that Jake and Greg climbed into Jake�s BMW for the thirty-minute drive to the huge, empty expanse of dunes that Greg and his investors had purchased just north of the town of Bandon. The drive was pleasant enough, a short trip down Highway 101 through forests of shore pine and cedar trees and along scenic cliffsides overlooking the Pacific Ocean. The weather was clear and pleasant, with the temperature in the low sixties and a mild ocean breeze blowing. The marine layer that could make it cold and foggy was sitting well offshore today.

The property itself was accessed by means of a recently paved two lane road that led west from the highway and into the rolling dunes that defined this part of the coast. The road ended abruptly in a large, circular staging area with a diameter of several hundred feet. A collection of tractors, bulldozers, dump trucks, and other heavy vehicles were parked near the road�s end. A doublewide mobile home on concrete stands stood near the far end and seemed to be the construction office. Approximately two dozen vehicles, most of them work trucks, were parked in front of the office. Leading off in various directions were several unpaved simple roadways that led further into the dunes and rolling hills. Off in the distance, other heavy equipment was operating, either digging, leveling, or hauling. The only human being visible was an unarmed guard in uniform who was sitting in a shade structure just beyond the roadway. He stood when Jake pulled in and stepped forward, putting himself in front of them and holding out a hand.

Jake stopped the car and the guard approached his window. He rolled it down and looked up at the late twenties male who was looking down at him. He saw the guard�s eyes widen in recognition as he took in the two visitors.

�Howdy,� Jake greeted.

�Mr. Kingsley ... Mr. Oldfellow,� the guard said. �I was told that you might be dropping by today.�

�You were told correctly,� Jake said lightly. �Can we park somewhere?�

�Of course,� he said. �Anywhere you can find a place over by the office.�

�Thanks,� Jake said.

�Of course,� the guard said. �It�s an honor to meet you both.�

�Yes, it is,� Greg agreed with a nod.

Jake rolled up the window and pulled forward, parking between an F-150 and a Dodge Ram. He and Greg got out of the car and Jake followed the actor up the short flight of rickety steps to the door of the office. Greg opened the door without knocking and they stepped inside a fairly large construction office. In the center of the room, sitting at chest height on a mahogany stand, was a four-foot square three-dimensional scale model of the project underway, including the buildings that would one day stand. Against the far wall was a bank of vending machines and a cafeteria style table. Four men in jeans and work vests were sitting at the table, eating sandwiches and drinking from bottles of Gatorade or water. They looked up at the two visitors entering and recognition flared in their eyes after a moment or two.

�Gentlemen,� Greg said, nodding at them.

�Uh ... hi,� the oldest of the men stammered. The others then muttered their own greetings.

Greg then led Jake over to the model. Without another word of acknowledgment to the workers in the room, he explained to Jake the layout of the course being built and the plans for the surrounding land.

�All in all,� Greg said, �we have enough land to build at least four separate courses. We hope to construct them sequentially, using the profits from the previous courses to finance the subsequent ones. For right now, however, we�re just concentrating on the first course and the main clubhouse. This is what we have in mind.� He waved at the model.

Jake took it in with genuine interest. He was one to appreciate a good golf course, and the model indicated it was going to be both a nice one and a tough one. It was set up in the links style, with no adjoining fairways. All of those fairways were narrow, most of them with doglegs, many of varying elevations, all influenced by the dunes or the ocean to some degree. It was plain to see that most of the holes would enjoy views of the Pacific. In addition to the ocean, three large lakes and four smaller ones, all connected by a winding creek, were scattered throughout and one form of water or the other (or even all three) would come into play on fourteen of the holes.

�I like it,� Jake said, nodding approvingly. �I assume it�s going to be private?�

�Not private,� Greg said, �just exclusive. We�re planning green fees in the upper two hundreds per round for the on-season, eighty dollars during the off-season. Caddies will be a hundred per round, plus gratuity, all year. That should serve to keep the local riff-raff hackers away. Our target clientele will be wealthy individuals who have the means to fly into your airport by private aviation and stay in one of the exclusive lodges or the five-star hotel that some of the other investment groups are planning just outside Bandon itself. And, of course, our primary goal is to attract PGA and LPGA tournaments several times per year. Those can bring in millions of dollars in revenue if they are planned and carried off correctly.�

�That sounds very lucrative,� Jake said with a nod.

�It will be,� Greg assured him. �We plan to be operating in the black within six years of the initial course opening. And, of course, my group also has a large, though not controlling interest in the hotels and lodging to support the project.�

�And you�ll get to golf for free, right?�

�Yes,� Greg assured him. �As one of the owners, I will get to golf for free. As will you if you choose to play with me.�

�What if you�re not here but I am and I want to play a round?� Jake asked with a smile. �Do I get to play for free then? You know ... since we�re buds and all?�

Greg scowled at him a little. �You can afford to pay the green fees in my absence, Jake,� he admonished.

�Well, of course I can,� Jake said, �but don�t I even get a discount? Say twenty percent off?�

�No, you do not get a discount!� Greg told him.

�What a rip,� Jake said, shaking his head sadly. He turned to the construction workers, who were all monitoring the conversation while pretending that they were not. �Can you believe this guy?� he asked them. �We�ve been friends and business partners for years. I sang a song I wrote at his wedding. He never would have even found this place if it weren�t for me dragging him and his wife here a few years back, and he won�t even cut me a twenty percent discount.�

�All right, all right!� Greg said, exasperated now. �Mention my name and you�ll get twenty percent off! Are you happy?�

�Naw,� Jake said dismissively. �I would never do anything like that. You know I�m not a name-dropper.�

�Then why were you going on about it?� Greg asked.

�I was just fucking with you.�

Greg shook his head and headed to the closed door on the other side of the room that read FOREMAN. Jake followed him over, still smiling.

The foreman was a beefy, balding man in his early fifties, tough as nails looking, with a strong, gravelly voice. He shook hands with the two of them, welcomed them to the site, and offered to give them a guided tour of the construction in progress.

�No, we�ll just wander around on our own, if that�s acceptable,� Greg said.

�Well ... I guess,� he said, plainly reluctant. �But you�ll need to stick to the travel areas and avoid actually going into the dunes. And stay away from the actual places where there is work in progress. And keep a sharp eye out for heavy equipment on the travel areas.�

�Of course,� Greg said.

�And you�ll need to put these on,� the foreman said, holding up two construction helmets and two orange vests.

�Why do we have to wear helmets and vests?� Greg asked.

�It�s a construction zone, Mr. Oldfellow,� he replied. �O-OSHA requires it.�

�But...�

�It�s okay,� Jake interrupted, taking the helmet and the vest. �I�ve always wanted to wear one of these.�

�Really?� Greg asked, raising his eyebrows.

�Hell to the yeah,� Jake said. �Didn�t you ever want to be a heavy equipment operator when you were a kid and watching them work a construction site? Didn�t you ever dream of being the guy who drives the tractor or runs the excavator?�

�No,� Greg said sternly. �I never wished to do that at all.�

�Not even when you were like twelve years old?� Jake asked.

�No,� Greg insisted. �I have always known I was going to be an actor. I have never wished to do anything else.�

Jake pondered that for a moment and then nodded. �That explains a lot about you,� he said, putting the helmet on his head, liking the way it felt there.

They spent the better part of two hours out on the site, walking around down the access roads that led in between the dunes, and then, despite the admonishment by the foreman, climbing over the dunes themselves until they were standing on the beach where the sixth and seventh holes would one day be. Greg viewed the trek as something akin to a religious pilgrimage, pointing out various hills, valleys, and channels and explaining how the construction crews were going to level or enhance them into the vision put forth by Norman Clark, the man who had designed the course.

�He�s a good golf course architect then?� Jake asked.

�He�s one of the best,� Greg said.

�No shit? What other courses has he done?�

�Well ... this is actually the first project that he designed himself,� Greg said.

�Really? Then how do you know he�s one of the best?�

�Because he�s from Scotland,� Greg said, as if that explained everything. And to Greg, it did.

�I see,� Jake said with a shrug.

By the time they got back to the office to drop off the helmets and the vests, they were both perspiring and thirsty.

�Let�s go get some beer,� Jake suggested as they climbed back in the BMW. �Is there a good place around here for that?�

�I�ve never actually patronized a business in the town,� Greg admitted. �There are some tourist-oriented bars along the highway though.�

�Let�s go check it out,� Jake said. �I�ll buy since you were nice enough to offer me that twenty percent discount at your course.�

�Deal,� Greg said.

They found a waterfront bar and grill called, appropriately enough, The Edgewater, that sat along the mouth of the Coquille River near the town of Bandon�s marina. Since it was still before noon�just barely�the bar was lightly populated as they entered, and they managed to find themselves a seat on the deck overlooking the river and the marina without any of the customers recognizing them. The waitress who came to take their orders, however, immediately became star-struck and tongue-tied when she saw who was occupying her table.

�Oh my god, oh my god, ohmygod!� she gushed. She was a mid-twenties bleach blonde, not exactly unpleasant to look at. Her body was well proportioned and her face pretty. �Jake Kingsley and Greg Oldfellow at my table! It�s really you!� She hesitated a moment. �Uh ... isn�t it?�

�Well,� Jake said lightly, �I�m really me,� He nodded toward Greg. �And he�s really him. The question is, are you really you?�

�Huh?� she asked, confused.

�Never mind,� Jake said. �We�re looking to score a couple of beers, hon. What do you got on tap?�

�Beer?� she asked, as if she had never heard of such a thing.

�Beer,� Jake confirmed. �You know? Fermented barley and hops?�

�Oh ... right!� she said, giggling nervously. �Beer. Yes, we have Coors, Coors Light, Budweiser, Bud Light, and Heineken on tap.�

�Hmmph,� Jake grunted, unenthused by the selection. �I guess I�ll have to go with the Heineken if that�s all you got.�

�Me as well,� said Greg with a shrug. He was not much of a beer drinker, as he considered it �common� and did not really know one brew from another.

The waitress seemed to be getting herself under some sort of control. �We do have a local microbrew available,� she said, �but it�s only in a bottle.�

�A microbrew?� Jake asked. �What�s that?�

�It�s beer,� she said, �but it�s brewed locally, at a small brewery in Coos Bay that�s owned by a couple of brothers.�

�Brothers?� Jake asked. �You mean black guys, or literal brothers?�

�Uh ... literal brothers,� she said slowly. �There aren�t really many black people in Coos Bay.�

�I see,� Jake said. �Anyway, they make their own beer there? And sell it to you?�

�That�s right,� she said. �They only make a few thousand cases a year and sell it here in the bay area, either to the local bars and restaurants or to the people who drive out to their business. It�s a little pricey, naturally, but it is really good beer.�

�No kidding?� Jake said, becoming intrigued, but still a little dubious about trying a beer that �two brothers� just whipped together in some basement somewhere.

�The alcohol content is quite a bit higher than in commercially produced beer,� the waitress said. �I should warn you about that if you�re driving.�

�How much higher?� Jake asked.

�It�s around seven and a half percent,� she said. �Budweiser and Coors are both around five percent.�

�You talked me into it,� Jake said. �I�ll have one.�

�Very good,� she said. �And you ... Mr. Oldfellow?�

�Sure, I�ll try one as well,� he said casually. �I trust you�ll bring me a glass to drink it out of?�

�Of course,� she said. �Two Lighthouse Ales, coming up.� She disappeared back into the building.

�Do you think she is going to tell everyone inside that we are out here?� Greg asked tiredly.

�Undoubtedly,� Jake said.

�Wonderful. We�ll be mobbed inside of a minute.�

�Perhaps,� Jake said with a shrug. �The life we choose, right?�

�I suppose.�

They did not get mobbed, however. The deck remained empty except for them. A few minutes later, the bleach blonde waitress returned with two frosty beer glasses and two bottles of ice-cold beer. Jake had been expecting home-style bottles with the little flip tops sealing them and a handwritten label, but the bottles were perfectly normal looking, with a professional label that primarily featured a picture of what Jake recognized as the Cape Arago lighthouse just outside of Coos Bay. He and Laura and Celia had, in fact, toured that very lighthouse only a month before.

�Here you go, gentlemen,� the waitress said with a smile as she set the bottles and the glasses down before them. She pulled a bottle opener from her apron and removed the caps from their bottles.

�Not twist-offs, huh?� Jake asked.

�No,� she said. �The Ravens�they�re the brothers who own Lighthouse brewery�use only pry-caps for their beer.�

�Now that�s class,� Greg said with a roll of the eyes.

�I know, right?� the waitress said, failing to pick up his sarcasm.

Jake chuckled a little. �I�m ready to give this hooch a try.� He picked up his bottle and began to pour, tilting the glass and the bottle to avoid producing too much of a head.

�Will there be anything else, gentlemen?� the waitress asked. �Do you want to see the food menu?�

�No, thank you,� Greg said. �We�re just going to have a beer or two and then head back to where we came from.�

�Okay,� she said, seemingly a little disappointed.

�There will, however,� Greg added, �be a considerable gratuity for you if you can see to it that we are undisturbed and unmolested by other patrons of the establishment for the duration of our patronage.�

�Huh?� she asked. That had sailed right over her head without even ruffling a hair.

�We�ll give you a big-ass tip if you keep the other customers away from us,� Jake translated.

�Oh,� she said brightly. �Of course, Mr. Kingsley! Enjoy the beer.�

�Hopefully,� Jake said as she retreated back inside.

Jake finished his pour and then set the glass back on the table. He then examined the beer bottle for a moment, reading the label. Sure enough, it said the brew had come from Lighthouse Brewing in Coos Bay, Oregon, established 1993. Jake wondered where the brewery actually was. Coos Bay was not a large town and he thought he had explored all of it, but he had never noticed a brewery before. In his mind, however, a brewery was a large, factory-sized building with large smokestacks and perhaps some railroad tracks and a warehouse nearby. That was what the Anheuser-Busch brewery in the San Francisco bay area looked like.

He set the bottle back down and then picked up the beer glass. The beer inside of it was a rich amber color, considerably darker than Bud or Coors or any regular beer. He sniffed it. The aroma was rich and pleasantly fragrant. A good sign. He put the glass to his lips and took a sip. The taste was incredible. It was, without a doubt, the best beer he had ever sampled.

�Oh my god,� he said, incredulous.

�That bad, huh?� Greg said sourly.

�No,� Jake said. �It�s great! Incredible even. This tastes like beer!�

�Beer that tastes like beer,� Greg said, starting his own pour now. �Who would have thought?�

�No,� Jake said, �you don�t understand. I mean it tastes like beer! Like beer is supposed to taste! This stuff is to beer what Jamaican Blue Mountain is to coffee!�

This was an analogy that Greg understood. Like Jake, he was a coffee snob and only drank the best. �Really?� he said, showing interest now.

�Try it,� Jake suggested. He then took a bigger drink, savoring every caress of his taste buds.

Greg tried it. He did seem to appreciate the flavor, but not quite on the same level as Jake. �It�s not terrible,� he said with a shrug. �A lot better than that swill you usually serve when the male bonding ritual requires beer.�

Jake laughed. �That�s why I stay friends with you, Greg,� he told him. �You�re such a pretentious snob, but you manage to pull it off in a manner that�s almost endearing.�

�Thank you,� Greg said stiffly. � ... I think.�

They male bonded and drank their beers, talking of the golf course project and the progress being made on the two albums being recording. Greg was particularly interested in the projected numbers for the MD&P negotiations that would follow the completion of the mixing and mastering process.

�Jill and Paulie think we�ll be able to secure twenty-five percent from Aristocrat on this round,� Jake informed him. �And Celia told you about the ticket prices on the upcoming tour?�

�She did,� Greg said, nodding. �That should be quite profitable. It�s a shame we�ll be apart so long again, however.�

�Yeah,� Jake said. �I think this last separation was a little hard on her.�

�It was,� Greg agreed. �But I do not think the primary reason was the separation itself.�

�No?�

�No,� Greg said. �I think you know what I�m referring to.�

�Mindy Snow?�

�Mindy Snow,� he confirmed. �Celia was not happy that I was working with her. Not a single bit.�

�Yeah,� Jake said, having another slug of his beer. �She did mention her disconcert with your costar on a few occasions. Especially when...� He stopped and shook his head. �Never mind.�

�What were you going to say?� Greg asked.

�Nothing. It�s not important. This beer just has a little more bang for the buck than I�m used to.�

�It does seem to be rather strong,� Greg agreed. �Even so, you cannot start a point with �especially when� and then not follow through.�

�I can�t?�

�You cannot,� Greg insisted. �What were you going to say?�

Jake sighed and took another drink. �Well ... I was just going to say that Celia did not particularly enjoy it when you would mention to her how fabulously you and Mindy were getting along during the shoot; about how much chemistry you were sharing; about how you were �clicking� together as a team. I mean, seriously, Greg. You�ve been married a lot longer than me and even I know you don�t tell your wife shit like that.�

�It was the truth,� he said.

�The truth,� Jake scoffed, shaking his head. �Amateur.�

�I am not!� Greg protested. �You�re saying I should have lied to Celia and told her that I hated working with Mindy?�

�You should have implied it,� Jake suggested. �And you definitely shouldn�t have gone on and on about how much fun you were having with her. Dude, seriously, we�re talking about women here! They�re not rational about that kind of shit!�

Greg thought it over for a moment, took a few more drinks of his own beer, and then slowly nodded. �All right,� he said. �Maybe you�re right.�

�Well, live and learn,� Jake said. �It�s over now, right?�

�Well, I�m still going to be in considerable contact with Mindy through postproduction and promotion.�

�But you�re all done getting naked with her, right?� Jake asked.

�Yes,� Greg said. �The sex scenes have all been shot and edited. There will be no need to revisit that particular part of production.�

�That�s good,� Jake said. �And you did manage to do the right thing and imply that you were uncomfortable filming those scenes. You get a point on your husband card for that, at least.�

�I was uncomfortable filming those scenes,� Greg insisted. �It was very awkward.�

�I bet,� Jake said. �Getting naked and rubbing against Mindy Snow is awkward indeed, isn�t it?�

�Well...�

�Don�t bullshit me, Greg,� Jake said, lowering his voice to a whisper. �She has a fantastic body, and she is sexy as hell. Don�t even try to tell me you didn�t enjoy that shit.�

�Well ... okay. I won�t try to say I didn�t enjoy it, but ... that�s what was awkward about it.�

�That you enjoyed it?�

�No,� he said. �That ... well ... that she went out of her way to make it enjoyable.�

�Really?�

He nodded. �Really,� he said. �Up until we started putting together the sex scenes, she was very professional with me, just like I said. We really did have a chemistry together and we really did click on that level. I enjoyed working with her.�

�Uh huh,� Jake said.

�But once the sex scenes started ... something changed in her.�

�What did she do?� Jake asked.

�She started ... rubbing herself against me during the filming, started trying to turn me on. It was always subtle. Nothing that anyone would notice or comment on, but it was there. When we were up against each other, she would ... squirm a little, making sure I could feel her against me. She would ... you know ... grind herself against me ... against my ... you know?�

�Your dick?�

�Yes,� he said softly. �My dick. She would try to give me an erection whenever she could, and she generally succeeded. And then she suggested during one part of the main scene ... while we were naked against each other except for the crotch coverings that don�t show on camera ... that we actually tongue kiss to make it more realistic looking, more passionate. Fletch�he�s the director�agreed with her.�

�So, you did it?� Jake asked.

�We did it,� he said with a sigh. �And then she kept screwing up the take while we were doing it�deliberately I�m sure�so we had to keep French kissing each other over and over again while we were pretty much naked against each other.�

�Now that sounds like Mindy,� Jake said. �She can be an incredible tease.�

�It was actually quite maddening at times,� Greg said. �I would get back to my hotel and have to ... you know...�

�Whip your weasel?� Jake suggested.

�Uh ... yes,� Greg said, blushing now. �She would have me feeling like a teenager who had just made out in the back of a car every time I got back to my room.�

Jake nodded sympathetically. He remembered his first few dates with Mindy back in the day. That was pretty much how he had come home from all of them. �But you never did her, right?�

�I never touched her outside of the sound stage,� Greg said. �It was tempting, but I never did it.�

Jake believed him. �Did she offer?� he asked.

�Never blatantly,� Greg said. �But the implied offer was there from the first night of filming those scenes. It was so obvious that it might as well have been written in neon fifty feet high on top of the hotel. Her suite was right next to mine. I knew that all I had to do if I wanted to have her was to walk to her door and knock on it. I knew that, Jake.�

�But you resisted,� Jake said. It was not a question.

�I resisted,� he said. �It was very close a few times, but I always stayed in my room once I got there.�

�Good for you,� Jake said, feeling mixed emotions. Greg, after all, seemed to have a little more willpower than his wife and Jake himself.

�I only hope that Celia knows that I stayed faithful to her,� Greg said. �After that stupidity I did in Alaska, I know that trust is an issue.�

�She knows,� Jake said.

�How can I be sure about that?� he asked. �I mean, she seems normal to me, and she was happy to see me, and very ... you know ... enthusiastic the other night, but...�

�She knows, Greg,� Jake insisted. �She talks to me about this stuff a lot.�

�She does?� he asked, seemingly surprised by this revelation.

�She does,� he said. �And she told me before you even got here. She knows you were faithful. She says there would be no way you could talk so casually to her on the phone if you were banging Mindy Snow or anyone else. You have too much of a guilty conscience.�

Greg seemed astounded by this suggestion. �She said that?�

�She did,� Jake assured him. �You did well, Greg. You went up against Mindy Snow and walked away with your sanity and relationship intact. Not many people can say that.�

�Yeah,� Greg said, considering. �I guess I did.�

The waitress came back out, effectively ending the topic. She asked if they wanted another round.

�Hell yes,� Jake assured her. �Two more.�

�Two more coming up,� she said. �I guess you enjoyed it?�

�The best beer I have ever had,� Jake said. �Tell me something, hon. Where exactly is this brewery?�

�Are you familiar with the bay area?� she asked.

�Very,� he assured her. �But I�ve never seen this brewery before.�

�It�s on Alamontro, just past the bridge, before you get to the wharf building and that place they do the helicopter rides.�

Jake knew exactly where she was talking about. It was on the route he took to drive to the airport from the house. But he had certainly never noticed a brewery there before. �Over by the Shell station?� he asked, trying to pin it down a little closer.

�It�s behind the gas station,� she said. �Right next to the fish market.�

�No shit?� he asked, shaking his head. He had bought fish in that fish market many times.

�No shit,� she said. �It�s kind of a small building, just a shack, really. Not much in the way of signs out front.�

�And they sell the beer in bulk in there?�

�By the twelve pack or the case,� she assured him.

�Interesting,� he said. �And what time do they close?�

Two days later, at ten o�clock in the morning, Jake loaded three cases of Lighthouse Ale into the trunk of his BMW along with his Les Paul, his Fender Grand Concert, and a large suitcase full of belongings. It was Tuesday, and all of Jake�s overdub duties had been completed. There was no real need for him to be back in the studio until they started the mixing process in a week or so. And, since Bigg G and his band were finishing up their tour rehearsal in preparation for the upcoming release of the new CD, and since Jake had plans to join G and his boys for selected portions of that tour, it was a perfect opportunity for him to join up with them and rehearse his portion.

�You got everything?� asked Laura, who was going to the airport with him, but only so she could drive the car back to the Coos Bay house after he left. She still had overdubs she needed to do and could not be spared, but even if she could, the trip might have been a little awkward for her.

�I got it,� he said, slamming down the trunk lid. �And if I don�t, I�m rich enough to buy it.�

�Uh huh,� she said, giving him a knowing wifely look. �Do you have the keys to the house?�

He blanched a little. �Oh ... actually, I didn�t grab those,� he said. �Hang on.� He turned to go back inside, feeling a little embarrassment. It wasn�t the first time he had come home from Oregon without the house keys, after all.

Laura smiled sweetly at him. �Way ahead of you, sweetie,� she said, holding up the set of keys.

He smiled and reached to take them from her. She pulled them out of reach. �It�ll cost you a kiss,� she said.

�I gave you one hell of a kiss this morning after you showered,� he reminded her.

�Not that kind of a kiss,� she said. She pointed to her lips�the ones below her nose. �Up here this time.�

�Right,� he said. He gave her the kiss, letting it linger for a few moments, and then she gave him the keys.

�Anything else you need?� she asked.

�Anything else I really can buy,� he said. �Let�s hit it.�

They climbed into the car, Jake behind the wheel, and started the ten-minute drive to North Bend Municipal Airport, where Jake�s plane had just finished a maintenance cycle. It would have been quicker to fly back home private, but he had not been behind the controls in a while and was looking forward to taking to the sky.

�You�ll give Neesh my regrets that I couldn�t be there?� Laura asked softly.

�I will,� he agreed.

�Thanks,� she said. �And ... you�re not going to say anything to G about ... you know?�

He knew, or at least he thought he did. Laura had finally confessed the whole story to him about what had actually happened the day of Gordon and Neesh�s wedding. Neesh was bisexual as well as Tally, her best friend and maid of honor. And the two of them had apparently been carrying on a sexual affair with each other since they were teenagers (a thought which was more than a little hot when pondered). On the night of the wedding rehearsal, the two of them had confessed this relationship to Laura while they were drunk and Laura had, in turn, confessed her dalliances with the bartender and the groupies in South America. That had been what had led to Tally�s offer to service Laura on the day of the wedding in Neesh�s hotel room. But that had not been the whole story.

�So ... Neesh was there when Tally ate you out?� Jake had asked the night she told him this�by this point in the story, he had been sporting a respectable hard-on.

�Not at first,� Laura said. �You see ... uh ... Neesh had to go get cleaned up a little because ... uh ... Tally had ... had just done that to Neesh.�

Jake�s erection took a bit of a lurch at that point. �She ate Neesh out ... in front of you?�

�Yeah,� Laura said, her eyes shining at the memory. �While she was in her wedding dress.�

�Jesus, hon,� Jake whispered, in awe. �That�s hot.�

�I held Neesh�s hands for her while Tally did it,� she said. �You know ... so Neesh wouldn�t mess up Tally�s wedding hair when she ... you know ... came.�

�But you and Neesh didn�t ... you know...�

�No,� Laura assured him. �Neesh and I only touched hands in that hotel room. I ... I smelled her though.�

Another lurch down below. �She smelled good?�

�She smelled amazing,� Laura said. �Anyway, once Tally made her come, and Neesh went to clean herself up before the ceremony, that was when Tally offered to do me as well.�

�And that was when you called me to talk about it?�

�That�s right.�

�But ... Neesh didn�t stay out of the room the whole time?�

Laura shook her head. �No,� she whispered. �She came back just when Tally was really getting me worked up.�

�And she watched?�

Another nod. �She watched. And ... I have to tell you, Jake, it was really hot having her watch. I mean ... the whole thing was hot, but that was particularly hot. That was what finally pushed me over the edge.�

�Wow,� Jake said.

Less than a minute later, his pants had been shucked and he was buried inside of his wife. It had been some of the best sex they had ever had.

And her dishonesty toward him had been forgiven. After all, it had been understandable. She had not wanted him to know that his close friend�s new wife was a bisexual who had been carrying on a long-term affair with another woman, including on the very day of the wedding.

�Don�t worry,� Jake said now, as they drove through Coos Bay. �I won�t say a word to either of them.�

�I appreciate that,� Laura said, relief in her voice. �I know it�s a hell of a thing to keep secret, and I feel a little bad for G, but ... when you come down to it, it�s not our place to let G know about this. It�s Neesh�s.�

�I agree,� he said, patting her leg affectionately. �Still, it is going to feel a little awkward.�

�I can imagine,� he said.

They said no more about it for the rest of the drive.

Once at the airport, they loaded everything into Jake�s airplane and secured it. His plan was to fly to Oceano, spend the night at home, and then fly on to LA in the morning for the first rehearsal.

�I�d better get my flight plan put together and then get some fuel in this beast,� he told Laura.

�Okay,� she said. �I�ll head on back then.�

He walked her to the car and they embraced warmly.

�Fly safe, Jake,� she told him. �And call me when you land.�

�Will do,� he assured her.

They kissed deeply and held each other tightly for a few moments before breaking apart and going their separate ways. Laura headed back to the house on the cliff. Jake prepared his plane to fly to another house on another cliff.

West Covina, California

September 7, 1995

It was ten o�clock on a muggy and warm late summer morning and, for the third time in the last six weeks, Jim Ramos pulled into the parking lot of the West Covina warehouse where Matt Tisdale and his band rehearsed. His first visit had been when he responded to a 911 call that had turned out to be Tisdale himself having an episode of symptomatic SVT. The second had been two weeks later, when he and Carla, his partner, had been requested back so Tisdale could properly thank them for saving his life. Tisdale�s gratitude had led Jim to a ten-day motor yacht trip with the guitarist and his band and a collection of rock and roll groupies who would (and did) do anything asked of them. Jim was still reeling from that trip, still in semi-disgusted, semi-shameful awe at the things he had witnessed (and done) on that little trip to Mexico and back. And now he was here again, only this time he was dressed in a pair of jeans and a tee shirt instead of his paramedic uniform and he was driving his eight-year-old Nissan instead of a Ford ambulance. Carla was not with him for this visit. She was back at work after her own two-week vacation and Las Vegas trip. Jim, however, was now on an extended, open-ended leave of absence that had been arranged by Matt Tisdale and his money. Jim was now the official �tour paramedic� for the Matt Tisdale North American tour. And today was his first day in his new assignment.

The entire situation was more than a little surreal to him. Six weeks ago, he had been just another obscure private paramedic, barely scratching out a meager existence of living paycheck to paycheck, up to his ears in credit card debt and outrageous rent payments. And then Tisdale had come into his life, taking him with him on an outrageous drunken party full of debauchery, food, and even fishing. All because Tisdale had a bad heart and wanted a trained medic to hang out with him just in case. Nothing had happened involving Matt�s heart on the trip. Jim had never once had to employ the LifePak monitor/defibrillator or the Adenosine Matt had purchased. But he had experienced a threesome for the first time in his life, had watched two women have passionate lesbian sex, had participated in what could technically qualify as an orgy, and had personally reeled in a seventy-pound marlin off the southern tip of Baja California. And then, just before the boat had docked back in its berth at Marina Del Ray, Matt had offered him the �gig� (as he called it) he was now reporting for duty for.

�I want you to be my tour medic,� Matt told him on that fateful day. �You�ll be like that dude who follows the fuckin� president around with that briefcase full of nuclear attack codes. They call it the football. You know what I�m talking about?�

�I do,� Jim told him. �But...�

�You�ll be my football carrier,� Matt went on. �You�ll never be more than thirty seconds away from me the whole fuckin� time we�re on tour. Only, you won�t have to wear a fuckin� uniform or shit like that. And, instead of nuclear attack codes so Slick Willie can rat-fuck Russia or Libya or some other shithole, your football is gonna have that LifePak and all of the medications and IVs and shit that you�ll need to get my heart out of that fuckin� SVT shit if it goes into it again.�

�Uh ... well ... I appreciate the offer and all, Matt,� Jim said. �Really, I do, but I have to go back to my regular job.�

�I�ll arrange for an unlimited leave of absence for you,� Matt promised. �All I�ll have to do is fund another trip for that corporate asshole of yours. He�ll play ball.�

�Well ... maybe, but I�m not sure...�

�No more than thirty seconds away,� Matt interrupted again. �Do you know what that means?�

�Uh ... no. What does it mean?�

�It means you�ll be hanging out with me and the boys everywhere we go,� he explained. �You�ll ride the fuckin� airplane with us from city to city instead of sitting on the bus with the roadies. You�ll have your own fuckin� hotel room on the same floor as mine wherever we stay. You�ll be backstage with us at every fuckin� show, an all-access VIP pass around your neck just like what me and the boys wear. You dig what I�m laying down here, dude?�

�Uh ... yeah,� he said slowly, pondering what he was being offered. He already had a taste of what hanging out with Matt and the band was like: One long, endless, drunken party full of debauchery and sin. It had been fun and eye-opening to say the least, but was it really something he wanted to do full-time?

�I�ll pay you seven-fifty a day for the gig,� Matt told him.

�Seven-fifty? Do you mean ... uh ... seven hundred and fifty dollars? Per day?� That was considerably more than what he was paid for working a shift at SMS.

�That�s right,� Matt said. �Plus, your lodging, food, booze, and anything else you want to indulge in is covered as well.�

�That is pretty generous,� Jim said. �But when you say seven-fifty a day, are we talking like four days of the week here?�

�No,� Matt said. �We�re talking seven days a week. Out on the road, we generally have a show every night for weeks at a time. Of course, we occasionally get an extended travel day when it�s a big haul between cities for the trucks and the buses, but I�ll still want your ass within thirty seconds of me when that happens. You�ll be out there with us to save my ass if it needs saving. You�ll be on the clock every fuckin� minute of every fuckin� day, so you�ll be paid seven-fifty for every fuckin� day you�re out there with us.�

�I see,� Jim said, warming quite nicely to the idea now that he had this information. �And ... exactly how long will this uh ... gig last?�

�We�ve got three legs of the North American tour scheduled right now,� Matt said. �That�s going to run us into early March at the very least. The suits over at National Records have let me know that if the album sells well�and I have no reason to think it won�t�and we sell out the arenas here in the states and Canada�which we fuckin� will�we might go hit up Europe and South America next summer.�

�That�s ... six months,� Jim said.

�At least,� Matt clarified.

Jim�s brain did some quick, dirty mental arithmetic. Six months times thirty days per month times seven hundred and fifty dollars per day ... was ... He shook his head. No, that can�t be right! A hundred and thirty-five thousand dollars? Well over triple what he normally made in a year, even with overtime shifts thrown in! And for only working six months? That could not possibly be right.

�It�s almost a hundred and forty grand,� Matt said, as if reading his mind. �I�ve already had my accountant do the math on this shit. You say yes, and he�ll take that coin and put it in a special account with your fuckin� name on it. He�ll take out the taxes and shit just like your regular employer does, he�ll cover whatever it costs to keep up your health coverage and all that shit while you�re on the leave of absence, and he�ll make sure your rent and other bills get paid while you�re gone.�

�Wow,� Jim whispered, overwhelmed, that number�a hundred and forty fucking thousand!�still echoing in his head. Something suddenly occurred to him. �Were you planning to offer me this the whole time? Is that why you wanted me on this yacht trip?�

Matt shook his head. �No fuckin� way,� he said. �I mean, I wanted you on the yacht trip because you�re a medic�I already told you that shit�but I was sincere about the underlying reason. I wanted to thank you for saving my ass. It didn�t occur to me that you should go with us on tour until we were at my pad in Cabo. Do you remember our first night there?�

�Uh ... sort of,� Jim said. He had been pretty hammered that night (as he had been most nights on the trip). He had a fuzzy memory of getting a blowjob on Matt�s couch from an extremely attractive nineteen-year-old Mexican girl while Matt and the band played quarters with shots of tequila at the dining room table. Other than that, he did not remember much.

�That was when I got the idea,� Matt said. �Me and Austin were out on the deck taking a few bonghits with the bitches and I realized I wasn�t fuckin� scared about my heart doing that funky shit because you were there. I knew if it started fuckin� jittering again, all I had to do was get you and you�d make it stop doing that shit. It was fuckin� comforting, dude. You know what I�m saying?�

�Uh ... yeah, I guess,� Jim replied.

�And then I started thinking that I want that feeling of comfort to be with me while we�re out on tour and shit. While we�re flying in airplanes, while we�re performing on the stage, while we�re banging local gash in the hotel rooms after the shows. That�s when I got the idea to hire you to be the tour medic. The very next day I called up that weasel motherfucker that counts the beans for me and told him the plan and he did the math and started putting things together. Everything is pretty much arranged, dude. All you have to do is say yes.�

And so, he said yes. And now, here he was, about to start his first day on his new gig.

The large rollup door for the rehearsal warehouse was now standing open. Jim, per instructions he had been given several days ago, drove his car through it, to the inside of the building. All of the band�s gear, all of the lighting and scaffolding, the miles of cables and wires, even the stage itself, were all gone, presumably in Tacoma being set up in the Tacoma Dome for tonight�s opening show. Parked inside already was a black Mercedes sedan, a Corvette, a 5-series BMW, and a Lexus. Sitting in folding chairs around a card table near where the sound board had once sat, were Matt�s band members�Austin Jefferson, the bass player; Steve Calhoun, the drummer; and Corban Slate, the young, baby-faced rhythm guitarist. Matt himself was nowhere to be seen. Sitting in another chair, well away from the band members, was a mid-forties man wearing a suit and tie and keeping a leather briefcase close by him. Jim had never met this man before, but he had been told that their road manager would be traveling with them. His name, Matt had told him in a previous conversation, was Greg Cahn, or Grand or something like that.

�He�s a back-stabbing, ass-sucking, Book of Mormon thumping hypocrite who would probably kill his own grandmother for a little sniff of my blow,� Matt had advised. �Never trust him about anything, and always keep your ass firmly covered when he�s around.�

Not exactly a glowing character recommendation, Jim thought, eyeballing the man nervously.

He parked next to the Corvette and got out of his Nissan. He walked around to the back and opened the trunk. Inside was the single suitcase he had been instructed to bring. Inside of it were all of the jeans and most of the t-shirts he owned, eight pairs of underwear, ten pairs of socks, a couple of sweaters, a winter coat, his shaving and toiletries equipment, and about a dozen of his favorite books. He set the suitcase down on the floor and then closed the trunk again. He was trying to figure out what to do with his keys when the man in the suit walked over to him, a large grin on his face.

�You must be the paramedic that Matt hired,� he said.

�That�s right,� Jim said, keeping his voice monotone.

�I�m Greg Gahn, the road manager,� he said, holding out his right hand.

Jim shook with him. �Jim Ramos,� he said. �Nice to meet you.�

�Of course, of course,� Greg said, his grin getting wider. �Welcome to the crew. I�m very excited to be working with you. It will be nice to have a paramedic on standby to help supplement the medical treatment that I sometimes have to carry out.�

�You do medical treatment?� Jim asked carefully. �You�re not a doctor, are you?�

�No no,� Greg said, chuckling. �I�m not a doctor. My education is in entertainment production and religious studies. I do, however, have a fairly extensive informal training in advanced first aid and various pharmacological treatments.�

�I see,� Jim said, wondering exactly what he meant by �informal�.

�Anyway, if you�ll just put your car keys on the front seat of the vehicle and leave the door unlocked, I�ll take you over to your �football�, as Matt calls it, and we can go over what is in it.�

�Uh ... wait a minute,� Jim said. �Just leave my keys in the car?�

�It will be perfectly safe,� Greg said. �National pays for a service that will come in after we depart. They will hook all the vehicles up to trickle chargers to keep the batteries healthy and they will secure the keys at that time. They will also come in weekly to dust off the vehicles and check on their status.�

�No kidding?� Jim said. �There are people who get paid to do things like that?�

�Yes, of course,� Greg said.

�Interesting,� Jim said, and then shrugged. He opened the car door and tossed his keys inside. �I guess any thieves wouldn�t bother much with my car with all of yours sitting here anyway.�

�I would think not,� he said. �Now, shall we go see your football?�

�I guess we should.�

His football was a medium sized suitcase that looked pretty much like any other piece of luggage. It had an extendable handle and wheels on the bottom so it could be rolled from place to place instead of carried. It latched shut with a simple locking mechanism that required a four-digit code be input. Currently, that code was set at 0000. Greg dialed it in and then opened the case.

�This is everything that you requested for this assignment,� Greg told him, waving at the inside of the case.

The largest piece of equipment inside was the LifePak 10 monitor/defibrillator; the exact model that SMS equipped their ambulances with. There were two batteries installed in the monitor and four spares, along with a plug-in battery charger. Jim turned the machine on and watched as it went through a brief series of self-checks before gracing him with a flat line rhythm since it was not currently connected to a human body with a heartbeat. He picked up the paddles that would be used to defib Matt if such a thing became necessary, set the output to one hundred joules of energy, and then pressed the charge button. A high-pitched whine sounded as the machine powered up. Once fully charged, Jim pointed the paddles away from each other and pressed the two thumb buttons, releasing the charge harmlessly into the air. He then opened the zipper pockets on the LifePak�s case, finding multiple packages of electrodes and a large bottle of conducting gel. He zipped everything back up and then turned the machine off, satisfied.

Next, he inspected the other supplies in the football. Matt had told him to write out a shopping list of everything he would conceivably need, focusing primarily on the guitarist�s heart issue and not so much on basic first aid. He saw that everything he had asked for was there. Three one-liter bags of normal saline for intravenous fluid. Six sets of IV tubing. Ten each of 18, 20, and 22-gauge IV catheters. Ten commercial IV start kits. A bag valve mask. A laryngoscope and three 7.0, 7.5, and 8.0 endotracheal tubes. Three commercial ET tube fasteners. A dozen each of 10-milliliter, 5-milliliter, and 3-milliliter syringes. A dozen needles of varying gauge to put on the syringes. And then there were the drugs. Five prefilled syringes of epinephrine, three of atropine, two of sodium bicarbonate, six of lidocaine, two of calcium gluconate, two of magnesium sulfate, and two of Narcan. In addition to the prefilled syringes, there was a premixed bag of dopamine, twelve vials of Adenosine, and six vials of Versed.

It was the Versed that brought a little bit of Jim�s nervousness about the legality of this gig back to the forefront of his mind. Versed, a potent benzodiazepine, was a Schedule IV controlled substance with high potential for abuse. On the ambulance, the Versed and the morphine were both carefully tracked from medic to medic, shift to shift, with both oncoming and offgoing medic required to sign for possession of it and keep it inside a lockbox that was, in turn, kept under a separate lock and key inside the ambulance. When the drugs were used, a complex form needed to be filled out to replace it and a copy of that form was then forwarded to the DEA. Just having six vials of the shit sitting in this football with no one really accountable for it did not seem right.

�We�re sure that I won�t get into trouble if I have to utilize any of this stuff?� Jim asked, not for the first time.

�You were the one who insisted on the oversight and procedures we�ve put in place for this assignment,� Greg said.

Yes, he had. Paramedics could only work in the United States if they operated under the authority and license of a physician. And so, Matt and his people had found him one. They had paid some gynecologist in Spokane, Washington to agree to be Jim�s medical authority and to sign his name on a set of protocols that, theoretically, would allow Jim to operate with all the rights and privileges of an on-duty paramedic. They had even picked Washington because that was currently the only state that included Adenosine in the paramedic scope of practice. The problem was that Jim was not licensed to work in any state except California. And he had never been officially trained on the use of Adenosine. And he was pretty sure it was not kosher to have a Washington licensed physician providing oversight to a California paramedic even if that paramedic was operating in California, which he would not be for the vast majority of the tour.

�I understand,� Jim said, �that we�ve met the technical requirements for me to operate advanced life support equipment and to use advanced life support drugs while on the tour, but ... well ... I know that what we�re doing is not strictly legal. We could all get in a lot of trouble if something goes wrong. Particularly me. I could be charged with practicing medicine without a license. That�s a federal felony.�

Greg looked at him thoughtfully for a moment and then nodded, his grin still firmly on his face. �Let me ask you something, Jim. Do you believe in Heavenly Father?�

�No,� Jim said plainly and honestly. �Not even a little bit.�

Greg�s grin faded. �I see,� he said. �Well ... how about this. Do you believe in the power of money?�

�The power of money?� Jim asked. �What do you mean?�

�I mean that money talks very loudly, and you are now working for people�Matt Tisdale primarily, but also, in a sense, National Records�who have an awful lot of money. That means they can talk very loudly and be heard. Do you know how Matt was able to purchase a LifePak monitor, controlled pharmaceuticals, and advanced medical equipment that is only supposed to be sold to those operating under a physician�s license?�

�Because he has a lot of money,� Jim said. �He explained that to me. And I get it. But we�re talking about unlicensed medical practice here.�

�We are not talking about unlicensed medical practice,� Gahn corrected. �We have done what you asked. We have a licensed physician providing oversight to you and he has approved standing orders for you to follow in the form of those standard protocols in that binder inside the football.�

�But I�m not licensed in Washington or any other state but California,� Jim said. �And the physician is only licensed in Washington. That�s not exactly legal. If I were ever scrutinized...�

�That is unlikely to happen,� Greg said. �But if it did, do you know what we would do?�

�What would you do?�

�We would use the monetary resources of both Matt and National Records to hire the very best medical lawyers we could find to defend you before whatever agency is questioning your integrity in pretty much the same manner that the so-called dream team is defending OJ Simpson. They would employ an army of junior partners and paralegals to comb through law books and legal rulings dating back to the Stone Age until they found something that could be used to justify the actions that you took or were capable of taking. They would have you walking out of any hearing looking like an oppressed hero who was only trying to do his job while Big Medicine, Big Pharma and the nurse�s union tried their best to hold you down.�

Jim�s eyes widened. �You think that would work?�

�Of course it would work,� Gahn scoffed. �I�ve seen such tactics employed multiple times during my association with Matt Tisdale and the other members of Intemperance. Justice for money. It�s the American way.�

�But ... but ... even if these lawyers of yours could convolute the issue and keep me from being punished ... I�m still doing something illegal. I�m still operating outside the scope of my practice. I�m still technically practicing medicine without a license.�

Gahn looked at him with a complete lack of understanding in his gaze. �What is your point?� he asked.

Okay ... maybe this is all right after all, Jim thought as he saw, for the first time, the inside of the aircraft they would be traveling on from city to city during the tour. He had been a little nervous about it when he first saw it from the back seat of the limousine as they parked on the tarmac at Van Nuys Airport. It was not a huge aircraft at all. It was, in fact, the smallest plane Jim had ever boarded in his life. And it did not have jet engines like every other plane he had flown on, but two propellers that hung down from the overhead wings. A Dash-8, the pilot-in-command had called it during his pre-board lecture. But as Jim climbed up the stairs on the side and into the interior, his nervousness faded to amazement. It looked like, if it had been fitted with rows of standard aircraft seats, it could hold maybe thirty passengers. But it did not have rows of standard aircraft seats. Instead, there were six large recliner type chairs with tables next to them in the front of the cabin. There were two couches aligned in the mid portion of the cabin, each capable of holding two or three people. Just behind the couches was a small wet bar, complete with barstools, and stocked with a large variety of liquor held in place by rubber straps. Beyond the bar were four bunk beds attached to the fuselage, the beds neatly made up with linen and pillows. Beyond that was a door that led to a bathroom/shower combo.

The pilots, after giving their lists of do�s and don�ts about traveling on their aircraft (no smoking, no drugs in the cabin�though they would not check what was in the stowed baggage until they started going international�no destructive behavior, no groupies), had already sealed themselves behind a closed door in the cockpit. Jim�s impression was that they wanted to see as little of their passengers as possible. There was a single cabin crewmember who greeted them as they boarded. She introduced herself as Lori. She had a face like a Mack truck, a body that rippled and jiggled with fat rolls, and was at least fifty years old. She had a quirky sense of humor and seemed nice, but she made it very clear to all that, while she would serve them drinks, clean up their messes, and even prepare food for them, she was in charge once they boarded the plane and they would follow her orders and show no disrespect for her.

�You got it, hon,� Matt told her with a smile. �We get what you�re saying. This ain�t the tour bus. We�ll mind our manners in here.�

�Then we�ll get along just fine,� Lori assured him. �Now, if all of you will just take the primary seats and get buckled in, I�ll get you all some preflight cocktails.�

�Now we�re talking,� Matt said, his smile getting bigger.

Everyone found a seat to plant their butt in. Jim�s was in front, across the narrow aisle from Greg Gahn. Matt and the band settled in behind them. Lori made sure they were properly buckled in and then sealed up the door of the plane. She made a quick call to the cockpit on the intercom to let the pilots know that this had been done and then made her way down the aisle taking drink orders, starting with Matt and Austin in the very back. Matt ordered a Jack and Coke, heavy on the Jack. Austin ordered a double rye, neat. Corban ordered a cosmopolitan, but only on the stipulation that the lime juice be freshly squeezed and the drink be properly shaken and strained.

�Cosmo, fresh lime, shaken and strained,� Lori repeated mechanically.

�Seriously, Corban?� Matt asked, shaking his head sadly. �A fuckin� cosmo? Could you be more faggy than that?�

�I�m not faggy, I�m metrosexual,� Corban said. �And you should try the cosmo, dude. It�s absolutely fabulous.�

�Stop fuckin� calling me dude,� Matt barked.

�Sorry, Matt.�

�What�s metrosexual?� asked Lori, raising her eyebrows.

�It means I embrace the sense of fashion and fastidiousness of the male homosexual lifestyle without embracing the sexual practices of the demographic,� Corban explained.

�How�s that?� Lori asked.

�It means,� Matt paraphrased, �that he likes to mince around and wear designer underwear and go to a fuckin� two-hundred-dollar hair stylist and drink cosmos like he�s a faggot, but he doesn�t suck schlong or let some dude stick a schlong up his ass.�

Lori pondered that for a moment, trying to wrap her brain around it. Finally, she nodded. �I see,� she said. She moved on, looking at Jim. �And you?�

Jim looked at his watch. It was only a few minutes past eleven. And he was on duty. But ... well, he was on a rock and roll tour, right? And, when in Rome... �I�ll have a vodka and tonic.�

�We only have Stolichnaya,� she said. �Is that all right?�

�Uh ... yeah, sure,� Jim said. �I think I can live with that.�

�Glad to hear it,� Lori said. She turned to Gahn. �And you?�

�Perrier, in a glass over six ice cubes,� he told her. �With a rinsed lemon slice.�

This earned another shake of the head from Matt. �Fuckin� Perrier over six ice cubes,� he spat. �Tell me something, Greg. Does your old lady ever let you get on top?�

�The details of my sexual life are not your concern, Matt,� Greg said huffily.

�I really wouldn�t want them to be,� Matt said. He then brightened. �But you know what? I bet there are some people out there who would like to check it out. I mean, I�ve seen your old lady. She�s not bad for an older broad. Nice big titties. Decent ass. You should let Kim and one of her camera crews film the two of you getting it on.�

�What?� Greg asked, appalled. �We would never do anything like that!�

�Don�t reject this right away,� Matt said. �We could be onto something here. A couple of Mormons having typical Mormon sex! I mean, I�m sure it�s boring as fuck, but people would still pay good money to see that shit! I bet she could sell a couple hundred thousand copies, easy. And she�d give you at least a couple bucks per copy in royalties! That�s a couple hundred grand in your pocket! That�d be enough to let you get back on the blow full time!�

�You are disgusting, Matt!� Greg said angrily. �I will discuss this topic no further!�

�All right,� Matt said sadly. �But at least think it over.�

Greg said no further, as promised. Lori, her expression still neutral, said, �Okay then. I�ll go get these drinks going.�

She got the drinks going, mixing them up precisely as ordered and then bringing them forward and serving them one by one, giving each person a little white cocktail napkin with the name of the aircraft company printed on it. About the time everyone had drink in hand, the plane shuddered as first the left and then the right engine was started. Soon, they were taxiing.

�All right, guys,� Lori said, standing near the cockpit door and facing them. �Let me go over the standard safety spiel this one time and then we won�t do that on subsequent flights as long as everyone plays nice and does what they�re supposed to. Fair enough?�

�Bring it, baby!� Matt directed.

She brought it, telling them about the emergency exits, the seatbelts, the smoking policy, the life vests, and when they could take out their little entertainment devices. They all listened respectfully to her lecture. She asked if there were any questions. There were none. She then walked back to her little seat adjacent to the cockpit, talked to the pilots on the intercom again, and strapped herself inside.

Three minutes later, the engines wound up to full power and they were accelerating down the runway. Jim gripped his drink tightly during the takeoff roll. He had not flown all that many times in his life and was not entirely fond of the experience. The plane accelerated a lot faster, lifted from the ground a lot sooner, and climbed considerably steeper than any aircraft he had ever been in before. It also bumped and bounced more. But, in only fifteen minutes or so, they were at cruising altitude and in straight and level flight. Lori told them they were free to move about the cabin if they wished and let them know that she would be happy to refresh their drinks at the bar. Everyone except Greg unbuckled and headed for a refill.

After getting his second Stoli and tonic, Jim started to head back to the seat he had been in for takeoff, then decided to find somewhere else for the time being. They had another two hours or so until they started their descent, and he did not really want to have to talk to Ghan if he did not have to. He had already decided he did not care much for the guy. Instead, he went over to one of the couches and sat down, setting his glass in the holder on the armrest. The couch was very comfortable as he settled into it.

Corban took his Cosmo and returned to his seat, where he put on headphones attached to a CD player. Austin and Steve grabbed the other couch and began having an animated discussion that involved (strangely enough) lumber dimensions�they kept talking about two by fours and four by fours and one by threes. Jim wondered if they had backgrounds in the construction industry. Matt spent a few minutes�long enough to swallow down another Jack and Coke�talking to Lori at the bar. He then had her make him a third drink. After taking it from her he walked over and sat on the couch next to Jim.

�How�s it going, dude?� Matt asked him. �Having fun so far?�

�This is a very interesting experience,� Jim told him. He was still a bit nervous about this whole deal. Flying on small aircraft, practicing medicine without a license, being responsible for the cardiac resuscitation of a world-famous rock musician. Even just talking to Matt was weird and intimidating, although he had gotten some decent practice at it during the trip to Mexico.

�Welcome to the lifestyle,� Matt said with a grin, hefting his drink in salute. �Once you get used to this shit, it�s hard to go back to the middle-class.�

�I guess it will be,� Jim said.

�Maybe you won�t have to,� Matt said. �You seem like an alright motherfucker so far�maybe a little square, maybe with a little bit of a stick up your ass, but nothing too offensive. I mean ... I don�t feel a need to kick your ass whenever I�m in your presence. That�s a good thing, right?�

�Uh ... right,� Jim said, unsure if he�d just been insulted or complimented.

�What I like about you is that you�re always cool and collected. Nothing seems to faze you. I�m thinking that�s a good quality in a tour medic. If you work out on this road trip and they ask us to go to Europe and Asia, I�ll keep you around if you�re up for it. That�ll be at least another six months out. And then, after that, who knows? Maybe South America? Maybe another run through the states. All at the same pay rate of course. You could pull in some serious coin just for hanging out with us and making sure I don�t fuckin� die.�

Jim was a little taken aback by this suggestion. �Stay with you for ... another year or so?� he asked. �Beyond what I�ve already signed on for?�

�It could be that long,� Matt said.

�That�s a long time to be away from home,� Jim said.

Matt simply shrugged. �You told me on the boat you ain�t got no permanent bitch or nothing, right?�

�Right,� Jim said. �Just an ex-wife who wouldn�t piss on me to put me out if I were on fire.�

Matt pointed a finger at him and nodded approvingly. �I like that one,� he said. �Kind of describes my feelings about the bible-thumper over there sipping his fucking bubbly water�and most of the suits that work for National. Anyway, you ain�t got no kids either, right?�

�Not as far as I know,� Jim said.

�What about other family?�

�My parents, my sister, my brother, a couple of nieces and nephews,� he said. �Some friends I hang out with at work.�

�You can keep in touch with them with that new email shit they got going, can�t you? Won�t even cost you a stamp.�

�True,� Jim said slowly. �But still ... a year and a half away from home.�

�And about four hundred grand in your bank account for doing it,� Matt pointed out. �Is that such a bad deal?�

The man had a point. �No,� Jim said. �It really isn�t.�

�And it�s not like we�ll be gone from LA the whole time. We�ll be back every four or five months; on the tour breaks between legs, for international rehearsal before we head out overseas. That shit�s necessary for your sanity.�

�That is good to know.�

�Think about it, dude,� Matt said. �I�m offering you a gig where you get paid to party. You get to drink and you get to smoke out if you�re into that. There ain�t no random drug testing when you work for Matt Tisdale. And the gash! You�ll get laid with a different bitch or bitches pretty much every night. You saw how it was hanging with us on the boat and down in Cabo. They�ll be throwing the pussy at you just because you hang out with me. That�s a perk that fuckin� corporate America don�t offer, right?�

Jim nodded, remembering some of the �gash� he had scored on the Mexico trip. Beautiful, nasty women willing to do anything asked of them�and more�with little or no preliminaries. Women so far out of his league that they could not even see his league from where they were, but they had dropped their clothes for him happily just because he was one of Matt�s people. Yes, that was quite a perk to his current employment position.

�So, just think it over for now,� Matt said. �I�m not asking you to sign any papers or any shit like that just yet. Let�s just see how this first leg goes and we�ll take things from there.�

�All right,� Jim said. �We�ll do that.�

�My man,� Matt said with a smile. He took a large gulp from his drink, savoring it. He then nodded over in the direction of Lori, who was constructing new drinks for Austin and Steve. �How about that stewardess bitch? Ain�t she about the ugliest fucking chick you�ve ever seen?�

�Uh ... no, not even close,� Jim said truthfully.

�Really?� Matt asked in disbelief.

Jim chuckled. �I�m a paramedic, Matt. I�ve been working the streets for fifteen years. I�ve seen women out there that would make Lori look like Cindy Crawford. Skank that would haunt your dreams.�

�No shit?� Matt said, visibly impressed by this claim.

�No shit,� Jim assured him.

�You�ll have to tell me some of these stories,� Matt said. �Only ... not right now. Wait until I can get a few lines in me first. Anyway, she may be ugly as a fuckin� prolapsed rectum, but she seems like a pretty cool bitch. She don�t take no shit off of us. I respect that shit; you know what I�m sayin�?�

�I think I do,� Jim said. �There�s something I don�t understand though.�

�What�s that?�

�Why did they assign someone who looks like that to your plane? I mean, you�re Matt Tisdale. All of this was set up to keep you happy, right?�

�For the most part,� he agreed.

�So, why an old, ugly chick to work on the plane? I would�ve thought they�d get us a hot one�you know, some girl with big tits in a short skirt willing to give her all.�

Matt was shaking his head. �They would�ve scraped up something like that if I�d wanted them too, but that�s a bad idea in a situation like this.�

�It is?�

�It is,� he said. �You don�t want no hot gash workin� as a servant for you on a day in and day out basis. You want either a dude, or some bitch you wouldn�t dream of fucking. You don�t shit where you live, my man. That�s one of life�s great truths. It�s best to have no fuckin� sexual tension with the people you work and live with day after day. Trust me on this shit.�

Jim nodded, impressed; feeling there was indeed some wisdom with this counterintuitive thought. �I guess that makes sense,� he said.

�There�s enough gash for the taking in this world that you don�t have to be bringing it into your business. Make that your policy and you�ll go far without any needless distractions and bullshit in your life.�

�I will keep that in mind,� Jim said, intending to do just that.

The conversation petered out at that point. Matt continued to sip frequently out of his drink and occasionally look out the window at the landscape passing below. Jim started to feel a little awkward after a minute or two and so, just to break the silence, and because he genuinely thought Matt would be interested in the topic, he asked, �Have you heard that new song that Jake Kingsley and Bigg G just put out?�

Matt�s head whipped around so fast it was like it was on a spring-loaded swivel. His expression, which had been somewhat pensive, suddenly turned serious. �What?� he asked... demanded.

Jim immediately got the impression he had said something wrong. He knew that Intemperance had broken up under bad terms, that Matt blamed Jake Kingsley for the death of Darren Appleman, but he had kind of assumed that after so many years that those things were water under the bridge now. �Uh...� He couldn�t think of anything else to say.

�Are you saying that you heard a song by Kingsley and Bigg G?� Matt asked, slowly annunciating each word. �Is that what you�re telling me?�

�Uh ... well ... yeah,� Jim said. �I ... uh ... I heard it on the radio this morning while I was getting my things together for the trip. On KRON.�

�A new song?� Matt asked. �Not that Step Inside bullshit from last year?�

�Yes,� Jim said, now very sorry he had brought this up, but all he could do at this point was answer his boss�s questions. �It�s a new song, from Bigg G�s new CD. The DJ said it�s not even for sale yet, not until closer to the end of the month or something. Jake Kingsley sings on this one.�

�Kingsley is rapping?� Matt asked incredulously.

�No, he�s singing normal like. Bigg G raps in the song though. It�s like ... what do you call it again when two singers sing in the same song?�

�A duet,� Matt said through gritted teeth.

�Right!� Jim said nervously, wishing to get out of this conversation as quickly as possible before he got fired on his first day. �A duet! Bigg G raps out his part and Jake sings like a rock singer in his part. He plays the guitar too.�

�The guitar? You mean the acoustic guitar, like in Step Inside?�

�Uh ... no,� Jim said. �An electric guitar, like in a rock song. They keep switching back and forth from the rap part of the song to the rock part. It�s actually pretty ... uh ... oh ... uh, never mind.�

�Pretty what?� Matt demanded.

�Well...� a deep breath. �It was ... uh ... pretty cool. Uh ... that�s just my opinion, of course. I�m not a musician though.�

�No,� Matt said, shaking his head a little, �but you�re a music consumer, aren�t you?�

�Well ... yeah,� he admitted.

�How do you know it was Kingsley playing the guitar?� Matt asked next.

�The DJ said so,� Jim told him. �He made a big deal when he introduced the song about how it was Jake and Bigg G singing a duet and Jake was playing the electric guitar. Oh ... and get this ... Bigg G plays the piano on the song.�

�The piano?!� Matt almost yelled. �There�s a fucking piano in this song?�

What fucking can of worms did I just open up? Jim�s mind asked helplessly. And how do I close it again? �Yeah ... there�s a piano, mostly in the beginning and in the end parts.�

�Motherfucker,� Matt whispered slowly. He picked up his drink and downed the remainder of it. And then something else seemed to occur to him. �Was there a guitar solo in the song?�

�A guitar solo?�

�Yeah,� Matt said. �You do know what a guitar solo is, right?�

�I do,� Jim said. �And ... uh ... yeah, there was one.�

�And ... what did you think about it?� Matt wanted to know.

�The solo?�

�The solo.�

�Uh ... it kind of shredded, to tell you the truth,� Jim said softly.

�That motherfucker,� Matt said, shaking his head again.

�It wasn�t as good as one of your solos though,� Jim added quickly.

�I�m sure it wasn�t,� Matt said. He stood. �Excuse me. I think I need another drink.�

The guitarist stood and walked to the bar, slamming his empty glass down. Jim was relieved and hoped he wouldn�t come back.

What in the fuck was all that about?

The chartered Dash-8 aircraft carrying Matt Tisdale, his band members, his road manager, and his tour paramedic landed without incident at Boeing Field at 2:15 PM. The passengers deplaned and collected their meager luggage, with Jim the paramedic the only one carrying more than one bag. A limousine was waiting for them on the tarmac and they all climbed inside for the trip to the hotel. Since Matt and the boys were scheduled to hit the stage at 8:30 PM for their ninety-minute set, that meant the moratorium on intoxicating subjects officially went into effect at 4:30. Usually Matt adhered to an additional three hours atop that�at least�but on this day he needed a little something. He shot down one more Jack and Coke and two lines of cocaine in the limousine.

Greg Gahn got them checked into their individual suites at the Westin Hotel in downtown Seattle shortly after 3:00. They only had time to drop off their bags before they had to climb back into the limo for the trip to the KZOK radio station�the primary local hard rock�for the day�s interview. Everyone except Matt stayed in the limo.

The DJ doing the interview was a greasy looking biker type who went by the moniker �Doctor Biz�. During the pre-interview meeting with Biz and the station manager, Matt suddenly asked them: �Have you been playing that new song by Kingsley and Bigg G?�

The two men looked at each other for a moment, seemingly passing some message back and forth. Finally, they both shrugged.

�I Signed That Line?� Biz said. �Yeah, of course we�re playing it. We just got it in a few days ago and they released it for airplay this morning.�

�We�ve scheduled it for eighteen plays over the course of the day,� the manager added helpfully.

�So ... let me get this straight,� Matt said. �You�re playing a song by Bigg G, the rapper, from his latest rap CD, on your hard rock station?�

�Well ... it�s not strictly a rap song,� the manager explained. �It�s a fusion of rap and hard rock. And it has Jake Kingsley in it�playing the guitar even.�

�We still play Step Inside at least once a day,� Biz added. �For the same reason.�

Matt felt the little burst of anger flaring inside of him again, but he suppressed it. He looked at Biz, who he figured would be a little savvier when it came to judging rock music. �What do you think of it?�

Biz looked at him carefully. It was obvious he knew of the bad blood between Matt and Kingsley. �Honestly?� he asked.

�Yeah,� Matt said simply.

�I think it�s an amazing tune,� Biz said.

�Elaborate,� Matt requested.

�Well ... first off, it�s very innovative. Nothing like this has really been done before�with the exception of Step Inside�and they pulled it off quite well. It�s like Step Inside taken to the next level, made more intense.�

�I did that shit with Grandeur back on the Lines on the Map album with Intemperance,� Matt said. �Hard rock guitar with rap beat and rap vocalization. I wrote and composed that tune. Kingsley and G did not invent the genre.�

�Well ... you have kind of a point there, Matt,� Biz allowed, �but I wouldn�t put Step Inside and especially not I Signed That Line in the same genre as Grandeur. Don�t get me wrong now. Grandeur is a badass tune, one of my all-time faves from the stuff you did with Intemp, and it was innovative, but Step Inside and I Signed That Line are a different kind of fusion of the genres. Especially I Signed That Line. The tune shifts back and forth from full-on hip hop to full-on hard rock and has some mellow piano riffs thrown in at the beginning and the end. And in the bridge and the changeover, you get the true fusion where you have the DJ on the turntables, the piano playing, and the guitar chords all at once. It�s quite complex and compelling.�

�Really?� Matt asked, trying to picture in his mind how what Biz was describing could possibly be pulled off.

�Have you heard the tune yet?� asked the manager.

�No,� Matt said. �I didn�t even know it existed until one of my crew told me about it on the flight up here.�

�You didn�t know it existed?� Biz asked incredulously. �We�ve been hearing rumors about a new Kingsley and G duet for a couple of months.�

�Is that so?� Matt asked slowly.

�Yeah,� the manager said. �Our promotors have been telling us about this since at least July, since even before they started telling us about your new CD. We were really happy to start playing it this morning.�

Matt frowned as he heard this. How was it that these radio assholes in the Pacific Northwest had known about this new tune by Kingsley and G, but he, who was eyeballs deep in the music industry in the very city that produced ninety percent of American music, had not heard a word? Something smelled like a skanky crotch here. �Any chance I could score a copy of that CD?� he asked his hosts.

They looked at each other for a moment and then back at him. �Well...� said the manager, �unfortunately, we only have two copies of Bigg G�s new release currently. I�m afraid I can�t give one of them away.�

Matt felt that burst of anger again. He suppressed it again. They probably were not lying about that. �I understand,� he said softly.

�I could run you off a cassette tape of it though,� suggested Biz.

�A cassette?�

�That�s right,� Biz said. �We have a high-speed cassette recorder in the studio. Employees use it all the time to make personal tapes from our collection. I can get you one made while we�re doing the interview.�

�All right,� Matt said, nodding. �That�d be cool.�

The interview went well. When it was over, Biz handed Matt a cased cassette tape with the title of Bigg G�s latest CD written in black sharpie on the front.

�Thanks,� Matt told him, pocketing the tape.

�I Signed That Line is the first cut,� Biz told him. �There�s probably nothing else on there that you�ll want to listen to.�

�Probably not,� Matt agreed.

He went back to the street and climbed into the limousine again. They started heading for their next destination: a music store in Tukwila, near the airport they had landed at earlier.

�Hey, Greg,� Matt said as they worked their way through the afternoon traffic. �I need you to get something for me.�

�What�s that?� Gahn asked, his signature grin on his face.

�A portable cassette player with some headphones.�

The grin faded a little, becoming a look of confusion. �A cassette player. What for?�

�I don�t need to explain myself to you,� Matt told him. �Just get one for me as quick as you can. Maybe they have one at this store we�re going to.�

�Dude,� Corban spoke up. �There�s like a cassette player right here, in the limo.� He pointed to the sound system installed against the partition between the passenger compartment and the driver�s compartment. There was indeed a cassette player there, as well as a CD player and a VHS player. But Matt had no intention of listening to the cassette in front of other people.

�Mind your own fuckin� business,� Matt barked at him. �And stop calling me dude.�

Corban gave him a look of appeasement and a shrug. �Your world, boss,� he said.

�All right,� Greg said, exasperated. �I�ll see what I can dig up.�

�Cool,� Matt said. �And make sure it�s a stereo player, not a mono. And high-quality headphones.�

�Of course,� Greg said with a sigh.

Greg was indeed able to dig up the required items at the record store. He presented them to Matt after they climbed back into the limo following the autograph session. Matt took them from the manager without even a word of thanks. Greg seemed unoffended�or he was at least used to it.

They arrived at the Tacoma Dome just after 5:00, the limo parking among the tractor-trailers and the buses in the rear of the facility. They were shown first to their dressing area and then reported immediately to the stage to begin their soundcheck. This took about fifteen minutes to accomplish. The roadies and techies then marked all the switches and dials and began getting ready to soundcheck the opening band�a group of hackers from Reno called Malignant that National had recently signed to their label�before the doors opened at 6:00.

Matt and the band, with Jim the paramedic and his �football� trailing along behind, were then led back to the dressing rooms. Matt, unlike the rest of the band, had an entire room to himself. He went inside and shut the door behind him, cutting off Greg who was trying to give him some instructions about his stage clothes. He locked the door and then went over to the dressing table, where the torn jeans and black button-up shirt he would wear tonight were neatly folded.

Instead of picking up the clothes and getting ready�they would be meeting the locals and signing autographs backstage in just thirty minutes�he pulled the cassette case out of his pocket and set it down. He then opened up the packaging that contained his new cassette player and headphones. It took him a few minutes to figure out how the batteries went into the device�his close vision was not what it used to be and there was no way in hell he was going to wear reading glasses�because he couldn�t tell which way the plus and minus signs were supposed to be aligned.

Finally, he got it right, mostly through trial and error. He pulled the tape out of the case and inserted it into the player. He plugged in the headphones and put them on his ears. He took a deep breath and then pushed the play button on the device.

He really wanted to hate the song, and at first, he did. It opened with a slow piano melody and picked up into a rap beat complete with turntables and thumping bass guitars�sounds he generally detested�followed by G�s baritone rapping about some fucking thing or things he didn�t like. The rap built up a bit in intensity and then suddenly, the chorus came up and the tune switched from rap to a grinding hard rock guitar belting out a three-chord riff of impressive complexity. And then Kingsley�s voice cut in, singing out how he signed that line and sold his soul.

Son of a bitch! Matt thought in amazement. Is he singing about what I think he�s singing about?

The chorus ended and the tune switched back to the rap rhythm. Matt paid a little more attention to the lyrics this time around, hearing about how G was treated like a slave, paid like one too, about how his talent was exploited and he didn�t get shit for his effort.

They are talking about that! Matt realized. They�re talking about fucking National Records! About how those assholes fucked us over on our contract!

The next chorus started and Matt further realized they were actually modulating keys from E major to G major as they shifted from the rap to the rock portions. And they were doing it almost seamlessly, so that no one but a professional musician or sound engineer would notice. He could not help but be impressed by this�even though he really did not want to be. Kingsley belted out his words again, his voice a little more intense, a little angrier on this go-around, leaving no doubt remaining that he was singing about the music industry in general and National Records in particular.

The key remained in G major as the bridge portion began. Jake sang an agonized diatribe about how he�d just wanted to have his voice heard and wanted to make a simple living, about how they�d taken that dream and smashed it to pieces and flushed them away, about how he was put in a trap from which there was no escape. The words were mournful, angry, hard hitting. He trailed off the last syllable of the bridge and then launched into the guitar solo. And Jim was right. It was not as good as what Matt himself could have done, but it shredded pretty impressively.

The solo gave way back to the rap beat in E major and Bigg G singing out a final verse. From there, Kingsley belted out one more repetition of the chorus, his tone even angrier this time, and then they faded to a slow outro that was a mixture of the piano, some light turntables, and G and Kingsley singing out alternating vocalizations. The song ended on a fade out of the last piano note.

Matt pushed the stop button on the machine and then the rewind. When the tape stopped moving, he pushed play and listened to the entire tune one more time. Once this was complete, he pushed stop once more and removed the headphones from his head. He then threw the tape machine, the tape, and the headphones into the garbage can next to the dressing table. This did not stop the song from continuing to play in his mind, however.

�Motherfucker,� he muttered, shaking his head back and forth a few times.

I Signed That Line was going to chart like mad, maybe even faster and higher and longer than that song by those Brainwash nerds had�what was it called? Together? Jake Kingsley had been involved in that shit too. But at least Together only covered one basic genre. This I Signed That Line shit was going to explode both through the hard rock demographic and the hip hop demographic. Talk about fucking crossover!

He�s a musical genius, Matt�s brain whispered to him. Fucking admit it!

�So, what if he is?� he said aloud. �He�s still a fucking sellout. He still led the push to vote Darren out of Intemperance, which is what led to Darren killing himself with heroin.�

But even as he spoke the words, he had to admit that they did not have quite the same power behind them that they once had. When you came right down to it, Darren had been a fuckup�a fuckup who managed to fuck up majorly time and time again despite multiple chances to redeem himself. Was Kingsley really all that wrong for taking the stand he had taken? Was it all just a power struggle against me, or was he really only trying to act in the best interest of Intemperance, as he claimed at the time?

Matt did not like these thoughts in his head. Did not like to doubt himself, especially not on a subject as painful and far-reaching as Darren and the breakup of Intemperance.

We really had something going with Intemperance though, another part of him insisted on saying. We were on top of the fucking world, and it was because Jake and Nerdly and I were a great fucking musical team. We could put together tunes that rocked, that still rock, that they�ll still be playing on the radio fifty fucking years from now!

�Fuck this shit,� he spat, trying to drive the doubts from his brain. They did not want to go. His usual method of drowning them�cocaine, alcohol, marijuana�were unavailable to him at the moment because he had a show to do in a few hours.

So, instead, he turned to another subject. Why in the fuck didn�t I know until this morning that Kingsley and G were putting out this tune?

Maybe that was a question he could get a few answers to.

He stood up from the chair and walked to the door of the dressing room. He unlocked it and opened it up. He then stepped across the small hallway to the larger, communal dressing and shower room where the food and the drinks and the groupies would be after the show. He ripped the door open and put his head inside. Austin, Steve, and Corban were all sitting in their stage clothes. Jim was sitting on a couch, drinking from a bottle of water and watching everything, his �football� next to him. They were not who he had come to see, however.

�Matt,� said Greg, who was standing next to Jack Ferguson. �You�re not dressed yet. We only have a few minutes until we need to head backstage.�

�I need to talk to you,� Matt told him.

�Right now?�

�Right fucking now,� Matt insisted. �Come with me.�

Greg came with him. They walked back across the hall and went into Matt�s private room. Matt closed and locked the door again.

�What�s the problem?� Greg asked.

�Did you know that Jake Kingsley and Bigg G were putting out a tune together? A tune that was to be released today; on the very fucking day I�m starting my tour?�

Greg hesitated to speak, an act which was all the answer Matt needed.

�Fuck me,� Matt spat. �You knew about this shit and didn�t tell me about it?�

�Well ... yes,� Greg admitted. �Steve Crow told me that I should try to keep this information from you as long as possible.�

�What the fuck for?� he demanded.

�It was thought that the information might be ... oh ... upsetting to you,� Greg said. �And that if you were upset it might cause a distraction that would detract from your tour duties.�

�Did he think I wasn�t going to find out about this?� Matt nearly yelled.

Greg managed to look apologetic. �Uh ... actually, it was thought that we might go quite some time before you did hear about it,� he said. �The tour has started. Your days are now quite full. It has been noted on past tours that you don�t typically listen to the radio much and I have been instructed to tell all of the DJs who will be interviewing you as we travel not to bring up the subject. Your band members all know not to bring up anything involving Jake or Intemperance with you. So ... yes, we thought we could at least get you well into the routine of touring before you found out.�

�You assholes,� Matt said, shaking his head. �So, Crow and the rest of those fuckheads at National have known about this shit for months?�

Greg shrugged. �That is a fair assessment of the situation,� he allowed. �Who did tell you? That unsavory DJ? That station manager? If it was them, I can guarantee they will never be granted another...�

�It wasn�t them,� Matt said. �Don�t fuckin� worry about who it was. It doesn�t matter. What matters is that I know, and I�m fucking pissed off that no one told me.�

�That was because we feared the reaction you are now having,� Greg said. �Are you going to be okay for the show tonight?�

�Of course I�m going to be okay!� Matt spat. �I played an entire fucking set once with my heart going more than two hundred fucking beats a minute and my chest throbbing like a rotten tooth and feeling like I couldn�t fucking breathe. You think I�m going to have trouble because of this shit?�

�Well ... when you put it like that,� Greg said.

�Answer me this, though,� Matt said. �The timing on this thing. Is it deliberate?�

�The timing?�

�The fucking timing!� Matt barked. �This Bigg G and Kingsley tune coming out on the very same day I start the tour. Two weeks after I release my own CD. So my tunes are going to be playing on radios across the fucking world in the same sets with this I Signed That Line tune. Coincidence?�

�Well ... the basic timing that you and Bigg G�s CDs are coming out in a similar time period is a coincidence,� he said. �But ... well ... the exact timing ... well ... that was actually by design.�

�By design?� he asked through gritted teeth.

�I�m sure you�re aware that sometimes competing recording industry entities will cooperate when it benefits their mutual interests.�

�Imagine that,� Matt said.

�This was one of those times,� Greg said. �Bigg G is contracting with Aristocrat Records for MD&P for this CD. The promotions department of Aristocrat and Steve Crow got together and agreed that it would be mutually beneficial for there to be a new Intemperance related tune from Jake Kingsley in circulation at the same time as your CD went on sale and your tour started.�

Matt was pretty much out of anger at this point. He only sighed. �Of course they fuckin� thought that,� he said.

�It should help sales of both projects,� Greg added helpfully.

�Get out,� Matt said simply.

�Okay,� Greg said. And then... �Are you going to get dressed now?�

�Yeah,� Matt said. �I�ll be out in five minutes.�

�Very good,� Greg said.

�The show must go on, right?�

�Indeed it must,� Greg agreed.

He left the dressing room and Matt locked the door behind him. He then began to get ready for the show.

Los Angeles, California

September 16, 1995

Jake�s plane touched down at Whiteman airport just past one o�clock in the afternoon after the short flight from Oceano Airport. He and Laura had flown home yesterday afternoon but now Jake had a two-thirty appointment at the Aristocrat Records Office in Hollywood, and, after that, he needed to report to the Forum in Inglewood by five o�clock for a sound check. Tonight was the opening night of Bigg G�s national tour and Jake was going to be a special guest of the show; a special guest who would also perform at the shows in Portland and Seattle the following week, thus setting the precedent that he might show up at any further shows.

Jake parked his aircraft in one of the transient spots in front of the office and shut down the engines. He and Laura got out and, after removing the two cased guitars and Laura�s suitcase from the cargo compartment, the two of them secured the plane to the tie downs and locked it up. They then made the short walk to the hangar buildings to retrieve Jake�s Ford pickup, which was parked inside, patiently awaiting his return to the hated LA region.

Jake kept the truck�s battery on a trickle charger when he was away from it for long periods of time�as he had been while he and Celia and the others had been working on their new CDs in Oregon these last three months�so it fired up immediately when he turned the key. He pulled it out of the hangar and, once Laura closed the roll-up door behind him and locked it, she hopped in and they made the short drive to their second home in Granada Hills, where they stayed on those rare occasions they had to spend the night in LA.

The Granada Hills house did not really feel like home, not like their Oceano cliffside house did; not even like the Coos Bay house they stayed in while recording. Still, it was comfortable enough, and fully furnished with brand new everything, and clean, with a maid service and a landscaping service coming in at regular intervals to keep it that way. The refrigerator was stocked with beer and soda and non-perishable food, and the bar was stocked with wine and liquor and ice.

Since he had a meeting to attend, and since he had a live performance to give after that�something he had been looking forward to for weeks�Jake grabbed a can of root beer instead of barley beer. Laura, who had no such concerns, opened a bottle of chardonnay and poured herself a healthy glassful. She then pulled a little baggie and a pipe out of her purse and began setting herself up a nice hit.

�Celebrate a little, why don�t you?� Jake said lightly, partly amused with his wife, partly jealous.

�I think I will,� she returned, flashing him a smile. �We�ve been going full-steam ahead on the CDs for the past two weeks. I�m going to enjoy my time away from the studio.�

Jake could have pointed out that, although she came to the studio with them most days, she wasn�t really doing much there. They were done with all of the actual recording, done with most of the mixing, and were working primarily on the mastering now. Though Laura�s trained musical ear did come in handy on occasion when a difference of opinion between Jake, Celia, and the Nerdlys needed a little extra input, and, she was, subsequently, starting to learn about the mixing and mastering process, it was not like she was a vital part of the operation. Jake had, however, learned discretion was the better part of valor and kept one firmly traveling down the road of marital harmony and continued sexual bliss since he had put his name on that little piece of paper, so he said nothing. And Laura would be fully immersed into blowing her horn again soon enough. As soon as they had masters in hand�hopefully in the next two or three weeks�it would be time to start putting together Celia�s tour. Laura had already agreed (without discussing it with Jake beforehand, and somewhat to Jake�s chagrin) to be Celia�s tour saxophonist on the North American legs.

Jake sipped from his root beer and then went into the living room and sat on the couch. On the end table was a cordless phone sitting in its charging socket. Next to this was a leather-bound address/phone book. Jake had still not made the leap to owning a cellular phone yet, though Gordon Paladay had. Jake picked up the phone and set it in his lap. He then opened up the phone book to the Gs and found G�s cell phone number hand written below his personal home number and his assistant�s number. He dialed it, listened for a moment as the Los Angeles region�s communication system thought the request over, and then, finally, a ringing sound began to issue in his ear.

It only rang three times before there was a click and G�s voice was there. �Jake!� G said happily. �My man!�

�How did you know it was me?� Jake asked.

�This phone of mine got that caller ID shit on it,� G told him. �Once I put in your number and assign a name to it, it tells me on the screen when you�re calling me. Lets me know who the fuck is there so I can decide whether or not to answer.�

Jake knew they had caller ID for landlines (if you paid for the service, which he did), but he had not known the technology extended to cellular phones. �That�s cool,� he said, honestly enough. �And you don�t even sound like shit like most cell phone calls. I guess the technology is improving?�

�Fuckin� A,� G said. �Nerdly told me recently that in another ten or fifteen years, most people won�t even have a landline anymore. They�ll just use their cellphones.�

�Now that�s quite a stretch,� Jake said dubiously. Though he usually had faith in Nerdly�s technological predictions�especially since the appearance of free pornography on the internet, as prophesized�this one seemed quite unlikely. Why would someone give up their landline when cell phone conservations cost twenty-five to thirty cents per minute? And what about long distance? How would that work?

�I�ll put my money on Nerdly any day of the week,� Gordon said. �And I have, as a matter of fact. I got my broker investing a good chunk of my money in the cell phone industry. So far, it�s working out for me.�

�Hmm,� Jake said thoughtfully. �Maybe I�ll talk to Jill about all of this. Anyway, I�m in town. Laura and I just got in to the Granada Hills house.�

�I know,� Gordon said. �I have this number listed as �Jake�s Granada Hills crib� in my phone. Tell me something I don�t know, motherfucker.�

Jake laughed. �Fair enough,� he said. �I came in early today because the suits over at Aristocrat want to talk to me about something. I�m supposed to meet them at two-thirty in Hollywood.�

�Just you?� Gordon asked.

�Just me,� he confirmed.

�What about?� G wanted to know. �You�re still working on your masters, right?�

�That�s right,� Jake said. �And they didn�t say what it was about. Just: �since you�re in town for Bigg G�s shows anyway, how about you pop in and have a word with us?� Apparently, it�s about something �mutually beneficial�.�

�Of course it is,� G said, chuckling. �Think they�re just trying to get a head start on the MD&P contracts for the next CDs?�

�Maybe,� Jake said with a shrug. �But they know we always have Celia and Greg and Pauline on hand when we�re meeting about that.�

�They might be trying the old divide and conquer routine,� Gordon suggested.

�My, but we�re cynical about their motives,� Jake said. �Did it ever occur to you that they might just be checking in with one of their most lucrative clients and that they might have some innocent topic to discuss with me that does not involve sticking an unlubed member up my proverbial ass?�

�No,� G said simply. �That never occurred to me.�

�Yeah,� Jake said with a sigh. �Me either. Anyway, I guess I�ll find out what�s it�s all about at two-thirty. And we have the soundcheck at five, right?�

�Right,� G said. �We�re on our way to the Tower of Power in Compton right now. After that, I have an interview at KSOL. We�ll roll into the Forum just before five.�

�Sounds good,� Jake said. �I�ll see you there.�

�Looking forward to it, brother,� G said. �We�re gonna turn some fuckin� heads tonight.�

�Fuckin� A,� Jake agreed.

The meeting took place on the top floor of the Sunset Vine Tower in Hollywood; the nineteen-floor building where Aristocrat Records kept their offices. Miles Crawford, head of the A&R department, was the only person present. He wore his typical custom-tailored Italian suit while Jake wore a pair of tattered blue jeans and a rapidly fading shirt from the Lighthouse Brewery in Coos Bay. They shook hands as if they were friends and Crawford made the obligatory offer of a drink or perhaps a line of cocaine, which Jake obligatorily declined.

�Okay, Miles,� Jake told the suit. �The ritual of the preliminaries has been performed. Now, tell me what this is all about.�

�Okay, right to the point,� Miles said as he sported his best used-car salesman smile. �I like that about you Jake. You keep the bullshit to a minimum.�

�Just trying to set an example,� Jake said. �So ... what�s the deal?�

�The deal is that I ... that is we at Aristocrat, think it�s about time we start talking about a Jake Kingsley tour once the new CD hits the shelves.�

�A Jake Kingsley tour?� Jake said, surprised; and more than a little suspicious. �Are you suggesting that KVA finance such a tour? Because we�ve told you before, we are not prepared to undertake an obligation like that. True, we could afford it now, especially after all the Brainwash income, but we don�t think it would increase sales of my CD enough to justify the expense.�

�We at Aristocrat are fully prepared to finance such a tour,� Crawford said generously. �It would be under the same terms we use for Celia�s tour contract; with the same distribution of profits.�

�Really?� Jake asked, his eyebrows spiking up a bit, correlating with his suspicion level. �And why would you offer such a thing, Miles? We haven�t even presented the masters for the next CDs to you yet. We haven�t even started to negotiate the terms of the next MD&P contract. Why are we talking tour when it�s not even a given that you�ll be promoting my next CD?�

�We have faith that KVA will sign with us for the upcoming projects,� he said. �You have finally made your point to us that you know what you�re doing. The Brainwash project has been extremely profitable for our stockholders and is proof positive that you have an uncanny, almost supernatural ability to correctly predict musical success. We are very eager to keep up our relationship with KVA and I have been assured that we will not allow ourselves to be outbid when the time comes to award a new MD&P contract to KVA.�

�So ... this is about Brainwash then?� Jake suggested knowingly. �You�re trying to kiss my ass a little so we�ll be sure to involve you in their next CD?�

�That is not what this is about,� Crawford assured him. �Although now that you bring it up, when do you plan to have those fine musicians report back to the studio for the next round?�

�Probably not until next summer at least,� Jake said. �Their debut album is still charting quite nicely, as I�m sure you�re aware. And their latest single release is still climbing the Top Forty. You know as well as I do that it would behoove no one to have their current CD competing with their next CD.�

�We do know that, of course,� Miles said. �But it never hurts to start working on the next release anyway. You can always hold it in reserve until the time is right.�

�Why, thank you for the advice,� Jake said sarcastically. �If it�s all the same to you, however, we�ll make our own decisions about when Brainwash starts working on round two.� He gave him a steely look. �Are you sure that this meeting isn�t about Brainwash now?�

�Quite,� he said. �This meeting is about a Jake Kingsley North American tour, as I informed you. We want this to happen, Jake.�

�And you�re prepared to finance such a tour?� Jake asked. �Assuming we do, in fact, sign with Aristocrat for MD&P.�

�That is correct.�

�Why?� Jake asked.

�Because we believe in you, Jake,� he said warmly. �We know you like touring and that you�re eager to get back out on the road to promote your music and let it be heard by the people. And the people want to hear your music. We genuinely wish to help you and the people achieve that noble goal.�

Jake was unmoved by this speech. �Uh huh,� he said. �I feel like I�m about eyeballs deep in the bullshit here, Crawford. What�s the real reason?�

Crawford sighed. �Profit, of course,� he said. �This new custom of charging market value for concert tickets has resulted in an unexpected, though very welcome surge in profits for our industry. Sending Jake Kingsley out on tour and charging the new industry standard rates for reserved seating would bring in an estimated three million dollars for each leg of such a tour. That is why we are suggesting this. And, of course, that profit will be split fifty-fifty, just like with Celia. And we will pay all promotional costs and arrange all of the logistics of the endeavor.�

The idea was growing on Jake. But something still did not smell quite right here. �You think people will pay triple digit prices for Jake Kingsley tickets?� he asked. �The same prices they pay for Celia Valdez tickets? For U2 tickets? For Eagles tickets?�

�Perhaps even more,� Crawford said. �The numbers I�m hearing tossed around are ninety dollars for the rear bleacher seats, one hundred and fifty for the lower level side bleachers, and up to two hundred and fifty for the stagefront seats forward of the sound board.�

Jake scowled a little as he heard this. �No way in hell,� he said. �Nobody is going to pay that to see me get up on stage and perform my solo tunes. The only way they would pay that much would be if I were...� The scowl turned to a glare as realization struck him. Of course! Now he knew what the game was! � ... if I were doing Intemperance material.�

�Exactly!� Crawford said, delighted that he and Jake were on the same page now. �We�re figuring on a set that contains at least two-thirds Intemperance material. Now, we understand that you�ll probably want to sing primarily your own compositions, and we�re okay with that. The fans will still pay the price.�

�No,� Jake said simply.

�But they will!� Crawford insisted. �And if you�re worried about the rights for those tunes, you don�t have to be. We�ve already talked to the executives at National Records, who owns those rights, and they�re willing to play ball on this. They�re asking for twenty-five percent royalties on ticket revenue and ten percent on merchandising profits.�

�No!� Jake said, more firmly this time.

�You don�t understand, Jake,� he said. �I�ve been authorized to tell you that we will pay National�s cut out of our half of the profits! Your entire revenue stream will stay intact. You can�t beat a deal like that.�

�I�m not planning to try,� Jake told him. �I will not perform Intemperance material in concert. Not a single lyric of it. Not a single note.�

�That�s an absurd stance to take, Jake!� Crawford cried, seemingly near tears. �You wrote those songs! They�re a part of you! And the people want to see them performed by you! They will be willing to pay top dollar to see that! You have to give the people what they want, Jake! You simply have to!�

�No,� he said mildly. �I really don�t. And I really won�t.�

�But why?� Crawford cried.

�I don�t really think you would understand, Crawford,� Jake told him.

�Try me.�

Jake sighed. �Those are Intemperance tunes, not Jake Kingsley tunes. Yeah, I wrote the lyrics to my tunes we did, and I composed the basic melodies, but I was not singular in making those tunes what they are. Matt Tisdale came up with the riffs that were born from my basic melodies and Matt Tisdale came up with the solos in those songs. And Matt and Nerdly and I all worked collectively on the engineering of those tunes. They belong to Intemperance. They are Intemperance tunes. I will not perform them as a solo artist.�

�Are you saying you are incapable of performing those tunes without Tisdale?� Crawford asked.

�Not incapable, just unwilling. It wouldn�t be right.�

Not it was Crawford who sighed. �You�re right, Jake,� he said.

�So ... you understand where I�m coming from?� Jake asked.

�No. I mean you were right when you said that I would not understand. I don�t. I just know that you want to throw away millions of dollars in potential profit.�

Jake shrugged, and then quoted Popeye. �I am what I am. Now then, was there anything else you needed to talk to me about?�

�No,� Crawford said sadly. �I think we�ve covered it.�

�Groovy,� Jake said. �I�m gonna head back downstairs then. I got a show tonight, you know.�

Bigg G was experimenting with the new concert ticket pricing as well. For the first two shows in Los Angeles, the show in San Jose, the show in Portland, and the two shows in Seattle, the prices had been set at seventy-five dollars for the rear bleachers, ninety for the side bleachers, one hundred and twenty for the floor level seats behind the sound board, and one hundred sixty for the floor levels forward of the soundboard. There had been some grumbling about this in some circles�words to the effect that Bigg G was putting on airs and had forgotten where he came from�but all six shows had sold out quickly and the reports were that the scalpers were charging as much as four hundred dollars for the premium seats and two hundred for the not-so-premiums. For the month worth of shows scheduled beyond Seattle�dates in Boise, Salt Lake City, Denver, Santa Fe, Albuquerque, Phoenix, and Las Vegas�the tickets had been placed on sale, but at even higher prices. Some tickets had been sold, but most were still awaiting buyers willing to pay those prices. It was hoped that those buyers would materialize after word spread that Jake Kingsley might actually show up on any given night; though Aristocrat and Bigg G would be extremely careful not to imply his commitment even indirectly to any particular date.

The Bigg G show opened up with the first tune�Terrorize Me, off the new CD�at 7:30 PM that night. In addition to embracing the new ticket prices, G had also embraced the longer set in lieu of an opening act. He would play from 7:30 until 8:40, take a twenty-minute intermission, and then return at 9:00 and play until 9:50. Three encores would then take them to 10:00 PM. Neesh and Laura Kingsley were in the house, sitting in a special, roped-off VIP section just in front of the soundboard along with a few dozen family members and friends of the other band members and two large security guards. Jake himself was backstage when the show started. He was dressed in a pair of black slacks, a white dress shirt complete with a fashionable tie, and a pair of polished patent leather shoes. This outfit would go nicely with the formal prom-style wear that G and the boys would sport for the first seven songs of the set.

Jake watched as G and his band played their opening number to an enthusiastic crowd that was made up mostly of African-Americans, but with sizable minorities of Latin Americans and good old white boys and girls as well. At the moment, everyone seemed to be heeding Rodney King�s advice and were just getting along. No one in the audience except those in the VIP section had any suspicion that a very special guest would be appearing tonight. There was an extra microphone stand on the stage, sitting just to the left of G�s primary microphone stand. Two effects pedals were sitting at the base of it, one on each side. Jake knew that if he were in the audience, he would have noticed such a thing immediately and would have started to wonder what it was all about. But he didn�t think your average concert goer was that in tune with such details.

G ran through Terrorize Me, All the Way In (from his last CD) and then launched into his classic Down With It (the title cut from his first independent CD). The audience cheered wildly as each song was started, even louder when they were concluded. As Down With It was being played, Jake stood from his chair and began to stretch out a little. He would be onstage for the next number. Sitting next to his seat were his two guitars, the black Les Paul and the acoustic/electric Fender Grand Concert. Both had been sound checked, and their knobs and switches marked. As Down ended and the audience cheered loudly, Jake picked up the Les Paul and slung it over his shoulder. Bark Stevens, G�s primary assistant, came over to Jake and motioned for him to turn around, so his back was to Bark. Jake did so and Bark plugged a three-foot guitar cable into the wireless transmitter that was attached to the back of Jake�s belt. Jake then plugged the other end into his guitar. This would be his first time using such a device in front of an audience. It had worked fine in rehearsal, but if anything could go wrong...

As the cheers died down, Bark slapped him on the back, indicating that he was now live. All he would have to do when he stepped out was spin the volume knob on the guitar to full power. Everything else should already be copacetic. Jake nodded and stepped toward the stage left doorway.

�How y�all doing out there tonight?� G asked his audience. They blasted out applause and cheers that seemed to indicate they were doing just fine.

�All right,� G said. �Thanks for joining us on the opening night of our tour. It�s really an honor to be here in LA, playing for y�all.�

Another set of cheers rolled in.

�We�re gonna do a song off the new CD now,� G told them. �It�s the first song we�ve released for airplay, a little tune I wrote and put together with a good friend of mine by the name of Jake Kingsley�do y�all know my brother Jake?�

The cheers indicated that they did, indeed, know Jake.

�I guess you�ve heard of him,� G said with a chuckle. �Anyway, Jake and I got together last year on a little tune called Step Inside, which we�ll be performing later on in the set by the way, and people liked it so much that we decided to put something else together for this CD. I know they�ve been playing it on the radio this last week, and it�s kind of a fusion between the hip-hop that I do and the hard rock that my man Jake does. Have y�all heard it?�

They had heard it, and they seemingly approved of it based on the enthusiasm of their cheers.

�Fuck yeah!� G said. �Now ... obviously we put this set together with the intention of playing I Signed That Line in every show. My brother James here on the lead bass...� He nodded toward James Whitlock behind him. � ... he plays a pretty mean electric guitar too and he�s the one who will be playing the guitar parts for the tune, as well as for Step Inside, during this tour.�

More cheers, which James acknowledged humbly with a wave and a nod at the audience.

�And my brother Fro over there on the second bass guitar,� G said, �has a pretty good singing voice and can belt out Jake�s lyrics like no fuckin� tomorrow!�

�But tonight, however,� G continued once the cheers died down, �James and Fro are just gonna keep playing those bass guitars of theirs, because, you see, while they do a real good job of playing those parts just like Jake Kingsley would, it�s always better to have the real thing, isn�t it?�

The cheers began to wind up in volume as the audience started to suspect where he was going with this.

�Isn�t it?� he repeated. The cheers got louder, more enthusiastic. �Fuckin� A right, it is. So ... with that thought in mind, why don�t y�all help me welcome up onto the stage, the one, the only ... Jake motherfuckin� Kingsley!�

The audience erupted into the loudest cheers of the night so far, the decibel level deafening. Jake felt the power of those cheers surging through him. A smile formed on his face as he trotted out the stage left door and onto the lighted stage, stepping in front of nearly eighteen thousand people. He waved at them as he came out, guitar in hand. He then walked over to G. The two of them exchanged a complex handshake that ended with a fist-bump and finger slide (they had rehearsed this shake for nearly an hour after the sound check). Jake then walked over to the microphone stand with the effects pedals at the base. He spun the volume button on his guitar all the way up and then stepped down on the left pedal, which would give him distorted reverb output. Bark, meanwhile, had carried an electric piano out and set it up in front of G�s microphone stand before retreating hastily from the stage. G replaced the microphone in the holder and then took position behind the keyboard.

�All right, LA!� G said. �Let�s do this thing!�

They did this thing. G began to play the opening piano melody of I Signed That Line while Rickie played a soft, accompanying turntable backing. And then the main beat kicked in. The drummers and the bass players began to hammer out the rhythm and G began rapping out the angry lyrics. The audience clapped along with the beat.

The first chorus came. The beat changed over from a rap rhythm to a hard rock rhythm and Jake began to play, his pick hitting the strings with his right hand, the fingers of his left hand fretting his guitar in the three-chord riff he�d composed. The sound surged out of the speakers and Jake began to sing.

�I signed that line, turned in my soul

Gave up my life, gave up control

Unseen chains still hold you down

Bullshit gains; here�s a paper crown

That ink�s not blood, the sky�s not blue

I signed that line, my soul to you�

The fans were on their feet now as Jake silenced his guitar and the band switched back to the rap rhythm in E major and G began to belt out the next verses. Jake continued to stand at his microphone stand, tapping out the beat on the side of his guitar, moving his shoulders and head to the rhythm. And then the chorus came around again and he ground out the crunching riff once again, singing out his next part; the lyrics different on this rep except for the first line and the last.

This brought them to the bridge portion, the first true fusion of the two sounds. They extended it out another twenty seconds for the live performance, building it up in intensity before Jake sang out his portion of the angry retrospect of a first-time contract. G then added his portion of the bridge vocals and that brought them to the guitar solo.

Here we go, Jake thought nervously, feeling an intense sensation of stage fright as he prepared to shred a solo in front of an audience for the first time in his life. Let�s see how they like this. Assuming I don�t fuck it up.

He did not fuck it up. His fingers began to move up and down the fretboard while his guitar pick struck the individual strings in rapid succession, producing a cascade of notes that flowed out of the speakers. He did not miss or mistime a single note. And the audience, which consisted almost entirely of rap and hip-hop fans willing to pay top dollar to see this show, went truly crazy as he played. The jumped atop their seats and clapped out the rhythm as he performed. Feeding on their energy, feeling their love and appreciation for what he was doing, Jake let the moment take him away. He bent and twisted his body as he played, pushing the neck of his guitar up, down, sideways, while his fingers hammered out the solo. And when it wrapped up and it was time to switch back to the E major rap rhythm for G�s final verses, the band had to improvise out an extended transition because the cheers and applause in response to the solo were so overwhelming.

Yes! Jake thought, a large smile on his face as he acknowledged the cheers with a wave. This is what is missing from my life right now. I need to get out and do what I�ve been put on Earth for a little more.

They finished up I Signed That Line with an extended outro and a final flourish of instruments. As the last note faded away and the applause and cheers washed over them once more, G walked over and grasped Jake�s right hand with his left. He raised their hands into the air in triumph and then the two of them shared a brief bow. Jake then headed back for the stage left door.

G went over and snatched his microphone out of the stand. �Jake Kingsley everyone!� he yelled. �Let�s hear it for him one more time!�

They let him hear it one more time.

Jake sat back down on his stool in the backstage area while G and the boys launched into the next song in the set: Move Along, from G�s second independent CD. He drank some Gatorade from a bottle that Bark had handed him and then took off the tie and the dress shirt, leaving him only in his slacks and a simple white undershirt. Bark put the used shirts in a bag, where they would be laundered and neatly pressed along with the rest of the group�s stage clothing.

�That was fuckin� tight out there, Jake!� Bark said, shouting into his ear to be heard over the music from the stage.

�It was, wasn�t it?� Jake shouted back.

The intermission came. G and the band left the stage, and the house lights came up. Jake followed them through the tunnel under the arena back to the locker rooms where their dressing area had been set up. Everyone drank their fill of Gatorade and then G and his band all passed around a joint to reinforce their highs. Unlike Jake and the members of Intemperance, Bigg G and his band embraced marijuana use before performing live, believing it enhanced their ability to feel the music.

To each their own, Jake thought with a shrug, though he had a lot of unpleasant memories about performance mishaps when Darren and Coop started taking hits of marijuana and drinking before shows. He could not bring himself to partake in the joint. No one seemed to hold this against him.

Once they were feeling right again, the band quickly stripped off their formal clothing and put on more casual wear; though they still stuck with slacks and dress-style shirts. Jake joined them in this. He stripped out of his undershirt, shoes and pants and picked up a pair of torn jeans and a black t-shirt that commemorated Pink Floyd�s 1980 tour for their album The Wall. The shirt was in pristine condition. He had bought it on an internet auction site that Nerdly had introduced him to a few weeks before, paying more than a hundred dollars for it, but it had been delivered right to the Coos Bay house three days after the purchase.

�You know somethin�, Jake,� asked James, who was eyeing Jake�s body as he changed. �I was really expecting you to have a pair of tighty-whitey briefs on.�

�No shit?� Jake asked, looking down at his dark blue boxer briefs. �Why would you think that?�

�Because you white,� James said simply. �I kind of assumed all white people wore white jockeys.�

Jake gave him a faux glare. �Why you wanna stereotype my people like that, James?� he demanded.

James chuckled. �Have your people call my people,� he told Jake.

Everyone got dressed in the second-half clothes and made their way back to the stage left door. Most of the crowd was back in their seats now and starting to get antsy for the show to start again. Jake glanced up at the clock. They had four minutes to go before the lights would go back down and the second set began.

�You ready for this shit, homey?� G asked.

Jake glanced at his Fender guitar. �I�m ready for it,� he said. �The question is...� He nodded toward the audience. � ... are they ready for it?�

�I guess you�ll find out,� G said lightly. �If nobody pops a cap at you while you�re playing, then they like it.�

�Very comforting,� Jake said, borrowing a Laura-ism.

The clock continued to tick down. When it was inside of a minute, Jake stood and picked up his Fender guitar. He slung it over his shoulder. Bark came up behind him and plugged him in, just as he had done with the Les Paul.

�Go out there and shine, Jake,� Bark told him, giving him a pat on the back as the timer reached zero and the house lights went back down.

�It�s what I do,� Jake said with a smile.

The cheers sounded up as the lights went down and then slowly faded back down. Jake took a deep breath and then walked out onto the stage alone. A single spotlight followed him as he strolled over to his microphone. The cheers amped up a bit as the crowd realized he was back, but there was also a bit of puzzlement in the air as they undoubtedly wondered where G and the rest of the band were.

Jake stepped on the right effects pedal and then looked out into the dimness of the audience. �Hey, LA,� he said lightly. �How�s everyone doing out there tonight?�

The cheers erupted again.

�Fuck yeah!� Jake said. �I want to thank G and the band for inviting me to play with them up here tonight. I gotta tell you, it�s been a long time now since I�ve been up on stage, playing and singing for an audience, and I forgot how good it feels. So ... from the bottom of my heart, and with utmost sincerity, thanks G, thanks James and Fro for letting me play your parts, and thank all of you out there for listening to me and making me feel like I belong here.�

The crowd appreciated this sentiment and showed Jake that with more cheers.

�Now then,� Jake said, giving his guitar a quick strum; partly for theatrics, but mostly so he could hear how it sounded. It sounded good. �You�ll notice that I came out here alone to open up the second set. Don�t worry. I�m not taking over G�s show or any kind of shit like that. It�s just that G and the band are back there tokin� up on a fatty they just rolled and they asked me if I could come out here and keep y�all entertained for a few minutes while they finish their business.�

More cheers erupted, mixed with playful laughter.

�So ... let�s see if I can do that,� Jake said, strumming the guitar again.

He then launched into an acoustic solo that showed off his skills with the instrument. It was partially rehearsed, partially improvised. It started slow and then gradually picked up tempo into a complex mix of chords and chord changes, fingerpicking and strumming. The audience liked what they were hearing and were soon clapping along with the beat he was setting. He built the solo up to a crescendo and then brought the tempo back down to seemingly random strumming once again. He then worked that into the opening melody of Step Inside.

The cheers washed over him again as the audience heard the familiar melody being played. They cheered even louder when G and the rest of the band came out onto the stage and took their own positions. Jake went through the opening melody six times, four more than on the studio version of the tune, so everyone would have a chance to get their instruments set and ready to play. He played the sixth rep with an extra flourish of the E string as he finger picked it out. This was the cue for the rest of the group to pick up the main part of the song after the rep.

They did so, just as cued. Rickie began to spin the turntables while James and Fro started plucking their bass guitars. The drums kicked in. And then G started to sing about how everyone should just try to Step Inside another�s head and see things from their point of view. They played the song pretty much just like the studio version, with the exception of the extended intro melody and a more complex strumming of the acoustic guitar during the bridge. The crowd seemed to appreciate these minor enhancements and they gave Jake a standing ovation when he exited the stage.

Jake sat back down and watched the rest of the second set, nodding to the beat on the songs he knew, sometimes even singing along when he knew the tune well enough to do so. G closed out the set with Got Your Sellout, his runaway hit from the Down With It CD. He strutted across the stage, grabbing his crotch every time he rapped the phrase �Got your sellout right here!� and then, when the tune abruptly came to an end, he told the audience thank you and good night, dropped the microphone to the stage, and then he and the band walked off.

Of course, that was not the end of the show and everyone out there knew it. They immediately began shouting and stomping their feet, creating a tremendous noise as they demanded more and more and more.

G and the boys gave them more. They went back out on the stage and performed Grind It All Night, the biggest hit from the last CD after Step Inside. As the song wound down, Jake stood up again and picked up the Les Paul. Bark plugged him back in. Jake was still a little unsure about what they were about to do, but G had insisted.

�All right, go!� Bark barked at him as the crowd cheered the end of Grind.

Jake went, stepping back out onto the stage with a wave to the crowd. They cheered louder when they saw him, even louder when they saw that Mackie, James� personal assistant, was carrying a Brogan electric six-string out as well. Mackie took James� bass guitar from him and plugged the Brogan into his transmitter. James immediately tested the guitar by grinding out a quick power chord that reverberated through the arena. This generated even more cheers.

G came over, microphone in hand, and put his arm around Jake�s shoulders. �Do y�all wanna hear another song by this motherfucker?� he asked the crowd.

The crowd�s cheers indicated that they did. But did they really? He guessed they would find out in a minute.

Jake stepped up to his microphone and stepped down on the left pedal again. He then looked out over the audience. �This is one of my songs off my last CD,� he told them. �While G and I and the band were putting together I Signed That Line in the studio, I got the opportunity to hang with James quite a bit. Now you all know that he�s a badass bass player�one of the best I�ve ever had the chance to play with�and, if you saw any of the footage from the last Bigg G tour, you know he can strum an acoustic guitar with the best of them as well. But did you know he can shred an electric guitar too?�

The crowd cheered as James stepped forward to stand next to Jake at the microphone.

�During some of the breaks in recording,� Jake went on, �me and James would take out our guitars and start playing some tunes together. And then, one day, he mentioned to me that he really liked my song Ocean View and he wanted to play it with me. And so, we started playing around with it and pretty soon, the other guys were stepping in as well and it evolved into what we�re gonna play for you right now.� He looked at the band. �Let�s do it, guys.�

�All right!� G said into his microphone. �Ocean View, by Jake Kingsley, with James motherfuckin� Whitlock on the lead guitar!�

The cheers sounded out and Jake began to play the opening riff of the song. He sang out the lyrics, talking of his hatred of LA, his desire to move to a place where he could see the ocean, could smell the salt, could be at peace. James kicked in with lead just after the first verse, during the chorus, and the crowd went wild as the two guitars dueled with each other. And G jumped in as well, singing a double track for the end lines of the verses and full duet for the chorus. Rickie even threw in some turntable fills that plugged in perfectly to the tone of the tune.

Ocean View was one of Jake�s harder rocking solo tunes, composed with a building musical and vocal intensity. With each successive verse, the lead guitar grew louder, more powerful, more authoritative, and James (after more than twelve total hours of rehearsing the tune in the previous weeks) played the part to perfection. He then launched into the solo, emulating it exactly in notes but imparting his own, unique phrasing. While they played, Jake and James faced off against each other, giving the audience the impression they were involved in a friendly, but heated guitar competition. All the while G danced and sang behind them, belting out his portion of the harmonies and fills.

By the time the tune came to an end, Jake was sweating freely and his heart was happy. They ended the song and he gloried in the applause that washed over him once again.

This time, Jake and James exchanged a complex handshake and then G came over and gave Jake a hug. The hug was unplanned and unrehearsed, making it all the more meaningful.

�Jake Kingsley!� G said when he released the embrace. �Thanks for coming up here tonight, Jake!�

Jake raised his hand to the audience as he walked off the stage. Already he was looking forward to the show in Portland.

Jake and Laura had a few drinks with G and Neesh and the band after the show, but both of them stayed relatively sober. They went back to their Granada Hills house before the party moved to G�s house in Malibu. Though it was tempting to go join the festivities, Jake wanted to be back in Coos Bay by one o�clock the next day. It would be Sunday and he wanted at least one afternoon and evening of doing nothing before going back to the recording studio and the grind on Monday morning.

�See you in Portland,� G said before they parted ways.

�I wouldn�t miss it for anything,� Jake said with sincerity.

Once at their waystation home (as Jake liked to call it), they each had another glass of wine and then retired to the bedroom for some enthusiastic marital fucking (Laura had been hanging out with Neesh all night, and this had the usual effect on her libido) and then they drifted off to sleep just past midnight. The alarm clock woke them up at seven o�clock. They showered and then headed for Whiteman Airport.

The wheels of Jake�s plane left the ground at 7:55 AM. He flew overland until they passed out beyond Vandenberg Air Force Base�s restricted airspace and then he went offshore and followed the coastline to Bodega Bay, just north of the San Francisco area. They landed there at 10:05 AM and had breakfast in the airport�s restaurant. Laura enjoyed two bloody Marys with her eggs benedict, which mellowed her out considerably for the next leg of the flight, but she soon regretted it because by the time they were passing Fort Bragg, her bladder was sending her messages. By the time they were approaching the Oregon state line, those messages became insistent.

�No, I�m not going to land at Crescent City so you can pee,� Jake told her. �We�ll be on the ground at North Bend in another twenty minutes.�

�I can�t wait that long,� she hissed at him.

�Then use the urinal,� he suggested. �That�s why we have them.�

�I have never peed in this airplane a single time,� she said, �and I�m not going to start now.�

�Then I guess you�re going to have to hold it,� Jake said.

�Fine,� she hissed, gritting her teeth and praying to the time gods for quicker passage of the seconds and minutes.

Two minutes later, they hit a nasty little patch of clear air turbulence and the plane lurched and bounced a few times.

�Oh God,� Laura moaned. �I guess I am going to start now. Where�s that urinal?�

�In the first aid compartment,� Jake said, nodding to the cabin inset panel just behind her seat.

She unbuckled and turned in her seat, opening the cabinet with the red cross on it. Next to the first aid kit were several standard urinals for use by those who had a schlong, and one specially designed female urinal for those who did not have a schlong. It had a wide, C-curved mouth on it, designed to fit over the entire female genitalia region. She took it out, looked it over for a few moments, as if puzzling over how it worked, and then reached up under her summer dress and pulled off her panties.

�Hold these,� she told Jake, tossing them onto his lap. She then began hiking up the dress.

Jake picked up the panties and looked at them. They were bikini style, lime green with white polka dots. He put the crotch to his face and took a large sniff, inhaling his wife�s essence.

�Don�t be a pervert,� she barked as she fussed around, trying to position the urinal where it needed to be.

�Oh, now you don�t want me to be a pervert?�

�This is undignified enough without you smelling my panties,� she said. �God, why did you let me drink that second bloody Mary?�

He didn�t answer her, figuring it was a rhetorical question. Instead, he watched with concealed amusement as she squirmed and contorted and finally managed to seal the mouth of the urinal against her heavenly gate. The sound of urine under high pressure hitting the side of a plastic container followed.

�Ohhhh, God, relief,� Laura sighed as she emptied her bladder.

�Did it occur to you,� Jake asked, �to do that in the rear facing seat where there�s more room instead of in the cramped cockpit seat?�

�No,� she said dangerously. �It did not. Did it occur to you before I actually started peeing?�

�Uh ... no,� Jake said. �Of course not.�

She finished up her business and then began looking for a place to put the urinal. No such place presented itself.

�You�ll just have to hang onto it until we land,� Jake advised.

�Wonderful,� she grunted. And then something else seemed to occur to her. �And then what?� she asked. �Do I have to carry this thing into the office building so I can dump it?�

�Uh ... well ... yeah,� he said. �That is the post-urinal use procedure.�

She was appalled by this thought. �Everyone in that building will know I had to pee in the plane!�

Jake nodded. �Most likely,� he agreed. �But remember, anyone in that building is either a pilot or is associated with one. They�ll understand.�

This did not make Laura feel any better. Jake even offered to dump the urinal for her, but she would not agree to this either. �No way,� she told him. �I peed in it; I�ll take care of it. Besides, it�s a female urinal. They�ll know it was me that had to use it anyway.�

�True,� Jake acknowledged.

They flew on for a few minutes. Laura held the urinal by the handle, treating it like it was an unexploded bomb that might go off at any moment. Jake punched in a new altitude and throttled back so they could begin their descent. He then checked in with the Center and told them they could discontinue flight following.

�You know,� Laura finally said. �We�re making more money these days, aren�t we?�

�An assload,� Jake agreed. �Brainwash was one of the best things we ever did. They just hit triple Platinum last week.�

�And ... now that you and Celia are releasing new CDs soon, and Celia is going back on tour ... we�ll be making even more in the next few quarters, right?�

�Right,� Jake said. �What are you getting at, hon?�

�Have you ever thought about upgrading this plane to something that has a fucking bathroom in it?�

Jake looked over at her and smiled. �I really do love you,� he told her.

Five days later, Jake, Celia, Nerdly and Sharon climbed into Jake�s plane at North Bend Municipal and flew to Hillsborough Airport just outside of Portland. Kelvin stayed behind, with Laura volunteering to be the babysitter for him while they were gone. This was to be the Nerdlys first trip away from their child and both were nervous wrecks about it.

�We should probably remind her again to heat the milk to precisely thirty-seven degrees Celsius,� Nerdly said as he pulled out his cellular phone while they were riding in the back of the limousine heading for the hotel.

�Right,� Sharon said. �To simulate my body temperature at the time of lactation. Also, I want to remind her one more time about his bathwater temperature and the acid-base balance of it. She needs to know to check the Ph level before she puts him into the tub.�

�Guys,� Jake said, rolling his eyes a little. �You wrote all this down for her, didn�t you?�

�Of course,� Nerdly said, �but we just want to reiterate the importance of these measurements.�

�She understands the importance,� Jake assured them. �She�s a teacher, remember? She�s been to college and everything. She knows how to read and follow directions.�

�But...� Sharon started.

�No buts,� Jake said. �If little Kelvin is damaged by improper milk temperature or some sort of acid-base bathwater imbalance when we get back, Laura and I will assume care of him as our own and give you our own firstborn to replace him, okay?�

They looked shocked at this suggestion.

�I was joking,� he told them. �Kelvin will be fine.�

�I don�t think that was very funny at all, Jake,� Nerdly admonished.

They loosened up a little at the hotel, thanks to Jake feeding them a few whiskey sours. They loosened up even more when they got to Memorial Coliseum at 5:00 PM, just in time for Bigg G and his band�s soundcheck. G allowed them to participate in the ritual and they immersed themselves fully into this, actually forgetting about little Kelvin for perhaps the first time since he had poked his little head out into the world. Of course, the sound check took twice as long as usual, and more than one of G�s sound people threatened to kill the Nerdlys, but, all in all, the experience was worth it. And the sound came out pretty damn impressive as well.

No announcement of any kind was made that Jake Kingsley would be a special guest at the Portland show. Word of mouth and media reports had already spread that he had been present at the first LA show, however. It was also known that he had not been present at the second LA show, or at the show in San Jose.

The audience was surprised and delighted when Jake walked on stage to perform I Signed That Line. And they gave him a standing ovation as he left the stage following Step Inside. They absolutely roared with approval when he and James faced off to perform Ocean View. It seemed having him appear was a good thing.

They stayed the night in the same Portland hotel where G and the band stayed. The Nerdlys and Celia all got outrageously drunk at the band party in Rickie�s room. Jake drank tea and soda only and watched in nostalgic jealousy at the drunken antics of a traveling band.

The next morning, at 8:00 AM, Jake flew his load of hungover passengers back to Coos Bay. He drove back to the house with them and, while Sharon reacquainted herself with their little bundle of joy, and Nerdly and Celia headed to the studio to get some work done on the mastering, Jake and Laura retired to the bedroom for a little fuck followed by a little nap.

Four hours later, Jake was back in his plane, alone this time, lifting off for the flight to Boeing Field in Seattle.

He checked into the hotel there and then spent two nights hanging out with G and the boys. He performed during both shows in Seattle. By now, G�s road manager was reporting, the word had spread that Jake Kingsley just might show up and perform at upcoming Bigg G performances and, if he did, it was one hell of a show. Ticket sales at the upcoming venues�the more expensive ones�began to pick up as well, the demographic reports showing that a large number of Caucasians were laying down the funds to score seats. G�s publicist, in response to multiple enquiries from all manner of media outlets, was forced to release a statement on Jake�s appearances. It was deliberately worded to be ambiguous and noncommittal.

�Mr. Kingsley was gracious enough to make himself available for one of the shows in Los Angeles, the show in Portland, and both shows in Seattle,� she said. �He has let us know that he might be available for other dates during the tour as well. Unfortunately, he is busy with the recording of his latest CD and is unable to commit in advance to any specific dates. There is no way for us to know in advance when Jake will be able to play at any particular date.�

But, as Gordon had predicted, just the merest possibility that Jake might be there drove the ticket sales. All dates now sold out quickly, at the inflated prices as soon as the tickets were released for sale.

Alas, there were no more shows featuring Jake Kingsley in the month of September. After returning from Seattle, he and the Nerdlys and Laura and Celia fell back into the grinding routine of mastering the two KVA releases they had been working on. Finally, on October 3, the day that a jury in Los Angeles decided that Orenthal James Simpson was not guilty of murdering his ex-wife and her lover, Celia and Jake walked out of Blake Studios with copies of their final master CDs in hand.

Celia�s CD was titled Two Too Much. The plan was to release the catchy (and sad) tune It Never Happened as the first to be promoted. Jake�s CD was titled A Drop in the Bucket. He planned to release the ballad Teach Me, a love song he had written for Laura, as his first to be promoted and then follow it up with the hard-driving No More Chains.

They left the Coos Bay house in the hands of a real estate management company, who would keep the place clean and maintained until the next time it was needed. The van they used to transport everyone from place to place was put into an auto storage facility near the North Bend Airport. Several members of the studio crew were enlisted to drive Jake�s Beemer and Celia�s Mercedes back to southern California for them. The Nerdlys then contracted for a private plane to take they and their little bundle back to Los Angeles. Celia, Jake, and Laura stayed one more night and then were given a ride to North Bend Municipal by Obie, who would remain behind in his Coos Bay home for another week or so. Jake, Laura, Celia, Pauline, and Tabby then loaded up into Jake�s plane for the flight back home. They flew non-stop to Oceano (everyone remembered to pee before boarding and no urinals were required) and landed just before three o�clock in the afternoon.

Elsa was excited to have, not just Jake and Laura home, but an actual dinner party of sorts to plan and carry off. It seemed she had been a bit bored during their absence. She went all out, preparing cedar plank dill salmon, fresh artichokes, homemade rice pilaf, and, for dessert, a cr�me brulee. Everyone ate and drank and made merry.

After dinner, after Tabby was tucked into a crib in the large guest suite, the four of them took a bottle of Napa Valley Merlot out to the hot tub on the cliffside deck to watch the early Autumn sun go down.

�You know,� Jake said as the three women shrugged off their robes, revealing two bikinis (Celia and Pauline) and a conservative one-piece (Laura), �we generally don�t wear swimwear in the hot tub. The laundry soap and fabric softener residue play hell on the water quality.�

�Nice try, Jake,� Celia said with a laugh.

�I�m your sister, Jake,� Pauline said, shaking her head. �That�s gross.�

�Besides, you�ve seen her boobs often enough when she was feeding Tabby,� Laura added.

�But he hasn�t seen Celia�s,� Pauline chuckled. Laura joined in. Neither noticed the uncomfortable glance that Jake and Celia shot at each other.

�Well...� Jake said simply, �you�re all going to have to answer to the pool guy that Elsa hired to maintain this thing. I just want you to know that.�

He shucked his own robe, revealing his bare chest and a pair of baggy black swimming trunks. He poured himself a healthy glass of wine and then climbed into the one-hundred-degree water. The ladies followed him in, all of them taking up positions where they could view the sunset.

�To the masters!� Celia toasted, raising her glass to the sky.

�The masters!� everyone chimed. They touched everyone�s glass against everyone else�s and then drank.

�What�s the next step?� asked Laura.

�I�ve already mailed copies of both masters to the big four,� Pauline said. �They should be getting them in the next few days. They know the drill by now. They submit their bids for MD&P to us within one week.�

�Only this time, we�re not contractually obligated to go with Aristocrat as long as they match the low bid,� Celia said. �And the other three of the big four know that.�

�That�s right,� Jake said, smiling. �And the success of Brainwash will need to be factored into the equation as well. Whoever gets the KVA contract for C and I will also get first crack at the next Brainwash CD. And this time, they�re not an unknown, assumed to be negative, quality.�

�They�re a goldmine,� Celia said. �And those putas know it. What kind of percentages do you think we�re going to see, Paulie?�

�I�m guessing we�ll be looking at bids of twenty to twenty-five percent royalty rate,� she said with a predatory smile. �And I�m going to suggest we set a hard ceiling at twenty-five percent.�

�And what about the Brainwash CD?� asked Celia. �I know we�re still a bit out from that, but we should start thinking about it.�

�Twenty-five to thirty would be my guess,� Pauline said. �And I would set the hard ceiling at thirty.�

�Sounds reasonable,� Jake agreed.

�Have you talked to Jim and Marcie and the rest of them lately?� Laura asked. �How are they doing?�

�This must be quite a ride for them,� Celia added.

�I haven�t talked to them in a few months,� Jake said, a bit of guilt flooding through him at this admission. �We�ve been so busy at the studio, and with tour prep, and all that. I�m sure they�re doing well. I signed their royalty checks for them the last two quarters. They won�t be hurting financially, that�s for sure.�

�Maybe you should give them a call soon,� Pauline suggested. �Just to check in with them. Start feeling them out about a setlist for the summer session.�

�I�ll do that,� Jake promised, fully intending to do so.

But the next morning, a phone call from Steve Crow of National Records (who was not supposed to have the Kingsley�s Oceano phone number, but somehow did), put that thought right out of his mind.

The show in Kansas City had just come to a close and Matt Tisdale was ready to get into some serious post-performance debauchery. He was in the dressing room, drinking a can of beer and smoking a cigarette. Once he was done with the smoke, he planned to take a few bonghits from the table and then start chowing down on some of the barbequed ribs that were the main course for tonight�s dinner. After that, it was shower and groupie time. God it was fun being a rock star.

He and the band were all still in their stage clothes. Austin was drinking a scotch on the rocks and gnawing on one of the ribs, sauce staining his face, fingers, and drink glass. Corban was fucking with his hair and drinking some kind of faggy red drink in a tall glass. Steve was already in the shower. He did not like sitting around in sweaty clothes. And Jim Ramos, his personal paramedic, was sitting in one of the easy chairs, drinking a vodka and tonic (undoubtedly not his first one�Jim had no four-hour moratorium to adhere to, as long as he remained coherent enough to act if needed), his football sitting on the floor within easy reach. So far, he had not had to open the football in the line of duty. Hopefully, that would remain the case.

Matt was just crushing out his cigarette when the door suddenly opened. It was Greg Gahn.

�Fuck me,� Matt groaned at the sight of him. Greg had standing orders to stay the fuck away from him during the after-show festivities unless there was some kind of emergency. If Jack had let him in the door, there must be some kind of fucking emergency. �What are you doing here?�

�Pardon the intrusion,� Gahn said politely. �I just have some news to pass on.�

�Did an angry mob of rich-ass white people start rioting in fucking Beverly Hills because of the OJ verdict?� Matt asked.

�Uh ... no,� Greg said. �At least, not as far as I know.�

�Then I don�t give a shit,� Matt said. �Whatever it is can wait until tomorrow.�

�Yeah,� said Austin. �It�s an extended travel day, Greg. We don�t get very many of those. That means we don�t have to leave for the airport at oh-fucking-dark-early. We get to sleep in and then spend all of tomorrow in KC. Why you wanna piss on our extended travel day?�

Greg�s grin faded. �Now listen, guys,� he admonished. �I am the manager of this tour, which means I am in charge of all aspects of it. I would appreciate being treated with the respect that such a position inherently bestows upon me.�

�Get the fuck out of here with that shit,� Matt spat at him. �You�re only the tour manager because I allow it. And I only allow it because you�re already broken in and beat down and I don�t want to have to go through all that shit with someone new. But you know and I know that if I say the word, your ass is history.�

�National would never fire me just because you told them so,� Greg said haughtily.

�Don�t think so?� Matt asked. �Want to try me?�

�Really, Matt, there is no reason for this anger,� Greg said, quickly redirecting the conversation. �I did not come in here by choice, but at the direction of Steve Crow himself.�

�What the fuck does Crow want now?� Matt asked.

�He wants you back in Los Angeles immediately,� Greg said. �I�ve already arranged for a business jet to pick you up at eleven o�clock at Wheeler Airport.�

�What the fuck are you talking about?� Matt demanded. �Fly back to LA tonight? Right now? What the fuck for?�

�Mr. Crow and Mr. Doolittle are requesting your presence at a meeting in the National Records building at eleven o�clock tomorrow morning. They told me to spare no expense to get you there.�

Matt�s scowl deepened. �A meeting? Now? In the middle of the fucking tour? What is this shit about?�

�They did not inform me of the subject of the meeting,� Greg said. �They simply told me it was extremely important, and they insisted... insisted, that I make sure you are there for it.�

�Fuck me,� Matt muttered. He turned to look at Jim, who was sitting closest to him. �I bet this shit is about my new contract.�

�Your new contract?� Jim asked.

�The CD I just released was the last of my options,� he explained. �I�m no longer obligated to them. If they want me to make any more CDs for them, they�ll have to renegotiate another contract.�

�Why would they do that now?� Greg asked. �That doesn�t make any sense.�

�It makes perfect sense,� Matt said. �They want to get their fucking claws in me and get me to sign something before the numbers for the latest CD are fully in. They know this one is going to be my best seller. They fucking know that shit. They want me to sign my name now so they can screw me into a lower royalty rate. Well fuck that shit. I ain�t going! They can just wait until the tour is over and we know just how many CDs I sold.�

�I don�t think that is what the meeting is about,� Greg said. �And I�m afraid that refusing to go is not an option.�

�Oh really?� Matt asked dangerously.

�Yes,� Greg said. �You are still under contract for the duration of this tour, Matt. And, since you�re under contract, you are obligated to show up for meetings, as required, as long as National pays for transportation and lodging expenses. And we are doing so. If you fail to show up as required, you will be in breach of contract and subject to all of the penalties that entails.�

�You�re saying that National would sue me for breach if I refuse to get on that plane?� Matt asked through gritted teeth.

�I�m saying that they could,� Greg said. �Really, Matt. This is not an unreasonable request. We�ll have you back home just before one o�clock LA time, you�ll get a good night�s sleep in your own bed, go to the meeting at eleven and find out what this is all about, and then we�ll have you back to St. Louis in time for the autograph sessions on Wednesday.�

Matt�s instinct was to continue to refuse, maybe even to physically eject the grinning Mormon freak from the dressing room. But he suppressed it. After all, he was maturing now, right? He couldn�t go on behaving like the old Matt forever, could he? Besides, was the request really that unreasonable? Was he maybe just pissed off because he was in the mood to party right now and that party was going to be interrupted?

�All right,� he said. �I�ll go.�

Greg breathed a visible sigh of relief. �A wise decision, Matt. Thank you for being reasonable.�

�Fuck off,� Matt said. He then pointed at Jim. �And he�s going with me. You got a fuckin� problem with that?�

�Uh ... no, Matt,� Greg said. �No problem at all.�

�Check my pulse, dude,� Matt directed Jim as they cruised forty-one thousand feet above Utah two hours later. He had just snorted four lines of premium cocaine, washing it down with a tall Jack and Coke from the bar.

Jim, who had been dozing in a chair after finishing a vodka and tonic of his own, blinked a few times and then dutifully got to his feet. He stepped across the narrow space, his head hunched due to the low ceiling, and picked up Matt�s wrist. He felt for the radial pulse and, once he found it, looked at his watch. He counted for fifteen seconds. �You�re truckin� along, Matt. A hundred and sixteen.�

Matt nodded, feeling relief. �That�s not so bad,� he said. �Doing coke always does that to me. As long as I�m not doing that SVT shit.�

Jim walked over to the small bar. He dumped his glass out and then began constructing a fresh drink. �You know, Matt,� he said, �you probably wouldn�t have as many episodes of SVT if you stopped using so much cocaine.�

�You sound like one of those fuckin� doctors,� Matt scoffed.

�There is a strong correlation between tachyarrhythmias and habitual stimulant use,� Jim said. �You really should think about the long-term consequences of that white powder of yours.�

�You�re paid to save my ass, not lecture it,� Matt told him. �I like this white powder. It�s what makes life worthwhile ... well ... that and gash ... and music, of course. And even if it is causing these episodes, I have you with me. You�re here to fix that shit when it happens.�

�Just because I�m here is no guarantee that I�ll be able to pull you out of a potentially lethal heart rhythm,� Jim told him. �You do know that, right?�

Matt gave him his signature glare. �Don�t be talking shit like that, dude,� he told him. �You�re being paid good money to save my ass. I fuckin� expect you to do it if it needs to be done.�

�Yes,� Jim said, �I�ll try, but...�

�No fuckin� buts!� Matt barked. �You save my ass, or you don�t get fuckin� paid. You understand?�

�I understand,� Jim said with a sigh.

�Good,� Matt said, satisfied. �Now, would you mind mixing me up another Jack and Coke while you�re over there at the bar? Heavy on the Jack.�

�You got it, Matt,� Jim said.

They flew the rest of the flight in solitude. There was a little bit of turbulence as they came over the San Gabriel Mountains, but they touched down neatly and smoothly at 12:55 AM, Pacific Time. A limousine was waiting for them. The driver took them to Matt�s condo in downtown Los Angeles.

�You can have that guest room there,� Matt said, pointing at a door.

�Okay,� Jim said. �Do you want me to ... you know ... go with you to your meeting?�

�Of course I want you to go,� Matt said. �You�re on the clock, ain�t you?�

�I guess I am,� Jim said.

They both slept soundly until nine o�clock in the morning. Both showered and then ate a breakfast that consisted of frozen egg dishes that Matt kept in his freezer just for such occasions. At 10:30, a limousine, sent by National Records, pulled up in front of the building. They went downstairs�Jim wheeling his �football� in front of him�and climbed into the back.

It was a twenty-minute ride to the National Records building. They passed through the security and got into the elevator for the ride to the top floor. They entered the outer office of James Doolittle, the head of the A&R department. The extremely attractive secretary behind the desk was expecting Matt and told him to head right in.

�You hang out here,� Matt told Jim, pointing to one of the couches. He then leaned close to the paramedic, gave a nod in the direction of the receptionist, and whispered: �She�ll give it up if you play your cards right. And she�s nasty too. Likes it up the ass.�

�Uh ... okay,� Jim said. �Thanks for the tip.�

�Play it, dude,� Matt said with a grin.

He then went to the door of Doolittle�s office and opened it. The first thing he saw was Doolittle and Crow, sitting next to each other behind the desk. They had shit-eating grins on their faces, grins he mistrusted immediately.

There was someone else in the room as well. A familiar looking figure, sitting in the chair in front of the desk. Matt looked over at him and his breath froze in his throat. It was Jake fucking Kingsley sitting there. His hair was a little shorter and his face looked a little older, but there was no mistaking. It was Jake. And Jake looked just as surprised to see Matt as Matt was to see him.

�What the fuck is this shit?� Matt said, glaring at Doolittle and Crow.

�Jesus fucking Christ,� Kingsley said, shaking his head. �Is this what you two assholes called me here for?�

�Sorry for all the cloak and dagger,� Doolittle said. �We didn�t think that either one of you would voluntarily show up for this meeting if we just asked.�

�You got that shit right,� Matt said.

�What the hell are you trying to accomplish here, Doolittle?� Jake demanded.

�Gentlemen,� Doolittle said magnanimously. �I know you�ve had your differences. But hear what we have to say. We have a proposition to make.�

Los Angeles, California

October 6, 1995

�I�m fucking out of here,� Matt said, spinning on his heal and turning himself to walk back out the door.

�Matt, wait a minute!� Crow said, pleading in his voice.

�I�ll be leaving too,� said Jake. He stood from his chair.

�Gentlemen!� said Doolittle. �We�re all adults here, aren�t we? At least stay long enough to hear what we�re proposing!�

�Right,� said Crow. �The financial gains to be realized by our suggestion would be innumerable!�

�Unimaginable!� Doolittle added.

Matt paused, which forced Jake to pause as well, unless he wanted to physically push by the guitarist to exit the office. He did not want to do that. It was entirely possible that if he and Matt made physical contact with each other, blows would result. He did take a moment to look at the man, however. Matt wasn�t looking so hot since the last time Jake had seen him�what was it? Five years ago now? He had lost weight and he looked at least ten years older than his thirty-six years. His hair was thinner, his skin color was not right, looking far too pale, with a hint of grayness.

�What is this shit about?� Matt demanded. �Did you bring us here to try to talk us into putting Intemperance back together? Because you can just take a flying fuck if that�s the case.�

�Amen to that shit,� Jake said. �You two have a lot of fucking nerve, bringing two people who are quite on record as not wanting to be around each other into your office without telling them.�

�Goddamn right,� Matt agreed. �Do you assholes think this stunt is helping you get me to sign for the next contract period? You think I�m not going to remember this shit?�

�Or me?� asked Jake. �You probably just got our latest master CDs in the mail, didn�t you? Do you really think pissing off one of the KVA owners is in your best interest?�

�Gentlemen,� Doolittle said, �I understand the emotion of the moment here. Really, I do. But hear us out before you storm out of here.�

�That�s right,� said Crow. �At least give us the courtesy of listening to our proposal.�

Jake looked over at Matt, who was still standing in the doorway, one foot out the door. Matt looked back at him. They held each other�s gaze for a long moment. Finally, Jake gave a little shrug. Matt hesitated a little longer and then returned the gesture. He stepped back inside the office and closed the door behind him.

�All right,� Matt said. �Make this shit fast. My patience is already in the fucking negative.�

�Absolutely,� Doolittle said, smiling. �Why don�t you two have a seat?�

�I�ll stand,� Jake said. �I don�t think this is going to take long.�

�Me too,� said Matt.

�As you wish,� Doolittle told them. �Before we get started, would either of you like a refreshment? Maybe a line or two of...�

�Just fucking tell us why we�re here!� Matt yelled.

�All right, all right,� Doolittle said, projecting hurt feelings. �There�s no need to raise your voice, Matt.�

�I�m gonna be raising my fucking fist in a few seconds,� Matt threatened. �And it ain�t Kingsley it�s going to be flying at. You dig?�

�I dig,� Doolittle said. �I�m sorry for the deception. Sincerely sorry. But I really thought it would be in the best interest of everyone if the two of you met face to face on neutral ground so we can discuss matters of mutual interest.�

�And what would those �matters of mutual interest� be?� asked Jake.

Doolittle put that car salesman grin on his face in all of its glory. �We think the time has come for an Intemperance reunion tour,� he said.

Matt�s glare became downright dangerous looking. �You did not just fucking say that to me,� he said.

�Now ... hear us out, Matt,� Crow said.

�Yeah,� said Jake brightly. �Let�s hear them out, Matt.�

Matt�s head whipped around. He glared at Jake. �Hear them out? Are you high?�

�Not at all,� Jake said. �I�m sure that Mr. Doolittle and Mr. Crow here have a perfectly good reason for believing that me and you, two people who had a very public, very personal, and very nasty parting of ways five years ago, will be willing to put our differences aside and get the boys back together so they can make a little money off of us. I mean, doesn�t it seem perfectly reasonable that I will forget all of my petty little grievances about a man who publicly accused me of murdering a good friend and bandmate; who then convinced said bandmate�s mother to not allow me to attend his funeral; who has gone on record time and time again repeating those accusations and declaring that he will�and I quote��never stand on a stage with any member of Intemperance again, as long as I live�. Very reasonable, right? Why don�t we just hear them out?�

�You see, Matt,� Doolittle said. �Jake knows where we�re coming from.�

Matt slowly turned his head back to Doolittle. �I believe that that was sarcasm, Doolittle,� he informed him blankly.

�It was?� Doolittle asked, looking over at Jake.

�Yeah,� Jake said. �It was. There will be no reunion. Not now. Not ever.�

�A-fuckin�-men to that shit,� Matt said.

�But ... but ... don�t you two understand?� Doolittle pleaded. �Classic rock concerts at market value pricing is the up-and-coming trend in the industry! The Eagles started it and Celia Valdez helped set the precedent. Everyone is jumping on the bandwagon now. Styx has reunited and is right now putting together a national tour. Bad Company, Def Leppard, and REO Speedwagon are working on tours as well. I even heard a rumor that Journey will be reuniting to get in on this action. Journey! For the love of God, if Steve Perry and Neal Schon can put aside their differences in the name of profit, surely you two can as well!�

�Don�t call me Shirley,� Jake said, deadpan.

�What?� Doolittle yelled.

�I was gonna say that,� Matt pouted. �Only I was gonna say, �don�t fucking call me Shirley�.�

�That is more fitting coming from you,� Jake agreed.

�Listen, guys,� Crow cut in. �Do you have any idea how much an Intemperance reunion tour would bring in? It would set the new gold standard for ticket prices! Seriously! We�re talking a hundred and fifty dollars for the fucking nosebleed seats in the back! Two hundred dollars for the side bleachers. Floor seating will be four hundred dollars apiece behind the soundboard and six hundred to a thousand for the stagefront seats! We�re talking more than a million dollars in raw, unadulterated profit per show!�

Jake could not help but whistle at these figures. �You really think people would pay that much?� he asked.

�We know they will!� Doolittle said. �Market research has already been done!�

�That is some pretty good coin,� Matt said pensively.

�Yes, it is,� Crow said. �Can you understand now why we felt the need to get you two together and talk about this?�

Jake nodded. �I do understand why you felt that need,� he said. �How about you, Matt? Do you understand?�

�Fuckin� A,� Matt said. �I probably would have done the same in their shoes.�

�Me too,� Jake said.

Doolittle and Crow were both grinning now. �Then you�ll consider what we�re suggesting?� Doolittle asked.

�Fuck no,� Matt spat. �I was just saying I understood why you did it. There�s no way in hell I�m ever going to play with this fucking sellout again. I thought I�d made myself clear on that point.�

�As did I,� said Jake. �I wouldn�t have this asshole up on my stage if he were the last guitarist on Earth. Not after all the shit he�s put me through. Intemperance is dead, guys. You need to accept that.�

�Well put,� Matt told Jake.

�Thanks,� Jake said with a nod.

�And, now that that is said,� Matt said, �it�s time for me to fuck off.� He stepped forward and glared at the two record company suits with a dangerous expression. �Don�t you ever pull any shit like this again,� he warned them. �I played nice this time. Next time, I�ll be kicking someone�s ass.�

With that, he turned and opened the office door. He stepped through it and then slammed it behind him, leaving Jake alone with Doolittle and Crow.

Jake looked at the closed door for a moment and then turned back to the desk. �You two didn�t really think that was going to work, did you?�

�Yes,� Doolittle said. �Actually, we did. We were counting on your common financial sense overriding your past grievances.�

�They�re pretty strong grievances,� Jake pointed out.

�How can you two turn down that kind of money?� Crow asked, almost cried. �More than a million dollars per show, with a minimum sixty set tour. I don�t understand.�

�Because, Crow,� Jake explained, �there are some things that are more important than money. Things like honor and integrity.�

Crow shook his head in disgust. �I always knew you were a communist, Jake.�

Jake hung out in Doolittle�s office for a few more minutes, and then in the outer office for a few more before heading downstairs. He wanted to give Matt enough time to leave the premises so they would not run into each other again. When he figured enough time had gone by, he went to the elevator and pushed the call button. The car arrived and he stepped in, riding it back down to the lobby.

As he stepped out through the main lobby door and into the valet area, he saw that he had not waited long enough. Matt was sitting on a planter, talking angrily into his cellular phone to someone. Sitting next to him was a guy in his thirties with a rolling suitcase. Jake had no idea who the suitcase guy might be.

�Heading out already, Mr. Kingsley?� asked the Hispanic valet who had parked Jake�s truck earlier.

�Yeah, it was a short meeting,� Jake said, handing him the valet slip.

The man looked over at Matt. �Were you and Mr. Tisdale in the same room together?� he whispered.

�For a few minutes,� Jake said.

�Is Intemperance going to get back together?� he asked hopefully.

�No,� Jake said simply. �How about you go get my truck for me, amigo? I�ve already wasted too much of my day here.�

�Right away,� the valet said. He disappeared into the parking garage.

Jake pulled a ten-dollar bill out of his wallet to tip him with and then stood waiting. He glanced over at Matt again. Matt had just turned off his phone and clipped it to his belt. He seemed quite unhappy. Acting on an impulse he did not quite understand, Jake walked over to him.

�No ride?� he asked.

Matt looked up him. �My limo went out on another run,� he said. �That fucking asshole Crow told the driver I�d be up there at least two hours. Two motherfucking hours! Can you believe that shit?�

�He seemed pretty confident that we would play ball,� Jake said. He then looked at Matt�s companion, who was staring at him in amazement. �Who are you?� he asked.

Matt looked over and then seemingly remembered his manners. �Oh ... sorry,� he said. �Jake Kingsley, this is Jim Ramos, my tour paramedic. Jim, meet Jake.�

�It�s an honor to meet you, Jake,� Jim said, holding out his hand.

Jake shook with him. �A tour paramedic? What�s that all about?�

�Sometimes my heart does this funky shit,� Matt said. �My man Jim is here to put it back into low gear when that happens.�

�Really?� Jake asked. �What kind of funky shit?�

�It�s nothing,� Matt said dismissively.

�All right then,� Jake said with a shrug. �Are you still staying over at your pad downtown when you�re in LA?�

�Yeah, the same condo I bought back in the day,� Matt said. �We�ll be heading to St. Louis first thing in the morning. I got a show there tomorrow night.�

�They pulled you off tour for this shit?� Jake asked.

�Yeah,� he said. �Can you fuckin� believe it?�

�And they flew you here private?�

�They did,� Matt said. �From KC. We got in just past midnight.� He shook his head. �I could�ve fucking told them last night how this was gonna go down and saved everyone the goddamn trouble.�

�Me too,� Jake agreed. �Listen, I can give you a lift to your pad if you want.�

Matt�s face turned to a scowl. �A ride?� he asked suspiciously.

�Yeah,� Jake said. �It�s not that far. And it�s kind of on my way.� It really wasn�t. Jake would be heading back to the valley and Whiteman Airport so he could get back to his Oceano home. Downtown was actually in the opposite direction from Hollywood. But he was still following an impulse.

�Why would you want to give me a ride?� Matt asked. �Maybe you want to try talking me into this reunion thing?�

�No,� Jake said sincerely. �That is not the reason.�

�Maybe you were in on this the whole time,� Matt suggested. �Maybe them sending my limo away was part of the plan.�

�Matt,� Jake said simply, �you�re starting to sound like Coop when we talk about the moon landings or the Challenger explosion. I�m just offering you a ride because it�s the decent thing to do. Sure, our friendship ended badly and there�s a lot of uncomfortable baggage between us, but we were pretty tight once, right?�

�Well ... right,� Matt admitted.

�You and I did some unbelievable things together back in the day. We made some badass music, we boned some serious groupies, we even stuck it up the asses of those suits in there. Remember all that?�

�Yeah,� Matt said, smiling a little now. �I remember.� He turned to Jim. �Me and this guy used to get up to some epic shit together. Amazing shit. Shit for the fuckin� ages!� He turned back to Jake. �Remember that time they sent us to that fuckin� movie premier? And we fuckin� toked up in that fancy ass shitter while those fuckin actors and producers were snorting their coke and acting like they were all better than us?�

Jake laughed, shaking his head. �I remember,� he said. He turned to Jim. �That was the movie premier where I first met Mindy Snow. Thinner Than Water, I think it was. A stupid flick, really, but they all acted like it was Gone With the fucking Wind and Schindler�s List combined. Everyone in that place had a stick up their ass and was walking around with their nose in the air. Matt drags me into the bathroom and pulls out a joint and sparks it up, right in front of these snooty tuxedo wearing Hollywood assholes. They look at us like we�re dogshit on the bottom of their shoes, and Matt just looks at them and says, �you guys want a hit of this? I�m not a Bogart.��

All three of them started laughing at this tale.

�That�s awesome,� Jim declared. �What did they say?�

�They didn�t say shit,� Matt said. �They left that fuckin� shitter like they were on fire.�

�Goddamn hypocrites,� Jake said. He turned back to Matt. �And that was the night you fucked that actress, right?�

�Yeah!� Matt said. �What the fuck was her name? Holy shit, I can�t remember it now. Some blonde bitch who is probably doing late-night infomercials or some shit like that these days. One of the worst lays I�ve ever had. She wouldn�t slurp my schlong, wouldn�t take it from behind, just laid there on her back like she was on a goddamn autopsy table waiting for a postmortem. The only time I got her to move was when I pulled out my shit and splooged on her face. She didn�t dig that at all.�

�What did she do?� asked Jim.

�Bitch started hitting me with a fuckin� blow dryer,� he said, shaking his head. �Chased me out of the goddamn building.�

All three of them had a laugh about that. Just as the chuckles faded away, Jake�s truck emerged from the garage and parked in front of the entry doors. The young uniformed Hispanic hopped out.

�Come on,� Jake said. �My truck is here. Let me give you a lift home.�

�You bought a fucking truck?� Matt asked in disbelief.

�It�s my LA vehicle,� Jake said. �I only use it when I�m in town. It�s practical. I can haul things in it if I need to or I can use the four-wheel drive to get over the passes if it�s snowing and my plane is grounded.�

Matt continued to look at the F150 for a few moments. �Funky,� he said at last. �All right. We�ll go with you as long as you don�t start talking no shit about a fuckin� Intemperance reunion.�

�I will talk no shit like that,� Jake promised.

�And ... as long as you understand that I still fucking hate you, that I still think you�re a sellout,� Matt added.

�Understood,� Jake said. �As long as you understand that I still think you are an unreasonable asshole who pouts like a fucking baby when he doesn�t get his way.�

Matt gritted his teeth a little at this but nodded. �Fair enough,� he said. �Let�s hit it.�

They hit it, Jake climbing behind the wheel, Matt getting into the front passenger seat, Jim and his suitcase settling into the spacious back seat. Jake tipped the valet and dropped the transmission into gear. He pulled out onto Hollywood Boulevard and started heading for downtown.

�I heard you got married not too long ago,� Matt said as they worked their way through the late morning traffic.

�Yeah,� he said, showing Matt the ring on his left hand. �Laura was the sax player for Celia and me on our first solo releases. We kind of hit it off. Our first anniversary is next month. November 4.�

�You didn�t invite me to the wedding,� Matt grumbled.

�What?�

�The wedding,� Matt said. �I saw that shit on TV and that was the first I heard about it. You had Coop there, Nerdly and his bitch, even Freakboy, but you didn�t even send me an invitation.�

�Uh ... it didn�t occur to me that you would want to be there,� Jake said slowly.

�I didn�t,� Matt said. �I would�ve just wiped my ass with the invite and sent it back to you, postage due. But you still should have invited me. All the other living Intemperance members were there.�

Jake looked over at him for a moment, seeing that he was serious. He then put his eyes back on the road. �I�ll keep that in mind the next time I get married,� he said.

�You do that,� Matt said. �How is it?�

�Being married?�

�Yeah,� Matt said. �I never thought you�d do something like that. I mean, you love gash as much as I do, right? And you can have almost any bitch you want. How is any one bitch worth it?�

�She just is,� Jake said, knowing that Matt was incapable of understanding. �There�s a lot to be said for being married. Laura and I have a lot in common. We�re both musicians, we both like to fuck. We love each other. It works out.�

�But isn�t it like looking at the same fucking porno mag every day?� Matt asked. �Doesn�t nailing the same pussy all the time get old?�

�Not really,� Jake said. �There�s more to a relationship than just pussy. Having meaningless sex was all right back in the early days, but I like the relationship part of being with a woman long-term. We�re a team and Laura is a great person to have on that team with me. She always has my back and I always have hers, no matter what. It�s us against the world. I like that.�

�Interesting,� Matt said thoughtfully, as if he were pondering the mating habits of African bush people during the rainy season.

�How about you?� Jake asked. �You and Kim still together?�

�We�re not together the way you mean it,� Matt said. �She hangs out at my house and we fuck, and I help her with her business. She has that porn company, you know. She pulls in pretty good coin with that and doesn�t have to fuck on camera anymore.�

�I�ve seen some of the videos she makes,� Jake said. �Good quality fuck films. I�m particularly fond of the amateur lesbian series.�

�Those are pretty fuckin� hot,� Matt agreed.

�And they�re really amateur chicks?� Jake asked.

�Oh yeah,� Matt said. �It�s fuckin� amazing how many hot sluts in LA are willing to get it on with another hot slut on camera. And most of them are doing it because they really want to try dyking out and this is their chance. They�re not doing it for the exposure, or the measly thousand bucks Kim pays them for the shoot. That�s what makes those videos so hot. They�re not really acting.�

�God bless America,� Jake said proudly.

�Fuck yeah,� Matt agreed.

They drove on in silence for a bit. It was not as awkward as it should have been. Matt was the one to break it.

�I heard that new tune you got going with Bigg G,� he said.

�I Signed That Line,� Jake said. �We�re getting a lot of airplay on the hards and the pops with that one. What do you think about it?�

�I really wanted to hate it,� Matt said. �You know? Because of our history?�

�Yeah,� Jake said. �I understand.�

�But I don�t,� Matt said. �It�s a solid fuckin� tune. You guys did a good job of fusing the two styles of music. And you even pulled off modulating the key back and forth. That�s something I�ve never had the balls to even try ... but maybe I�ll give it a shot.�

�We put a lot of work into that tune,� Jake said, smiling a little at Matt�s praise. �The lyrics were definitely from the heart.�

�Yeah,� Matt said. �A punch in the face at National fucking Records and their first-time contracts.�

�You picked up on the meaning,� Jake said.

�Couldn�t help it,� Matt said with a shrug. �You�ve done some good work with your other solo shit too. A little mellower than I�m really into, but good solid tunes.�

�Thanks,� Jake said. �I�ve been listening to your shit as well.�

�And what do you think?�

�You were off to a good start with Next Phase, and I could see what you were trying to do, but you should�ve let them engineer that a little bit. It was hard to enjoy it raw like that. It was like a piece of pork loin that wasn�t cooked through, you know what I�m saying?�

�Yeah,� Matt said softly. �A common complaint about that CD.�

�The shit you�ve put out since then, though...� He nodded his head. �Solid, Matt. Really fuckin� solid. Your guitar playing has evolved a lot since the Intemp days.�

�I think that�s mostly because I�m not tied down to a particular sound like I was with Intemp,� Matt suggested. �I can do all the palm-muted chords I want now. I don�t have to worry about how to fit a fucking piano into the rhythm.�

�That�s part of it,� Jake agreed. �But a lot of it is just your innovation. The stuff you do with the effects pedals is amazing. How do you get those kinds of sounds out of that old Strat of yours?�

�Experimentation,� Matt said. �I plug in all the effects pedals and start fucking around with different combos until something catches my ear. And then I start fucking around with that, trying different chords, different riffs, different solos and see what I can come up with.�

�I like it,� Jake said. �It�s very unique, very powerful at times.�

�It�s what I do,� Matt said. �I play the guitar.� He hesitated for a moment. �There�s something I want to ask you, while we�re talking about guitar playing.�

�What�s that?�

�Why didn�t you take credit for the guitar tracks on that beaner bitch�s CDs? Or on your own CDs?�

�You knew that was me, huh?� Jake asked.

�Of course I knew it was you,� Matt scoffed. �I�m fucking astounded that everyone who heard those cuts didn�t know it was you. Those riffs fucking screamed Jake Kingsley. And they were decent enough riffs too. Even the solos you did on some of the cuts�like the one in Playing Those Games�they�re nothing to be ashamed of.�

�I�m not ashamed of them,� Jake said. �It�s just that they�re not Matt Tisdale riffs, not Matt Tisdale solos. I didn�t want the comparison game detracting from people�s enjoyment of the music. Especially if I�m not going to be coming out on top of that comparison.�

Matt considered this for a moment and then nodded. �I suppose that makes sense,� he said. �But you did take credit for the guitar parts in I Signed That Line. What�s the difference there?�

�A little agreement between G and I,� Jake said. �I�m playing some of his tour dates with him as a special guest.�

�I heard about that,� Matt said. �It must�ve felt good to step back up there after all this time.�

�It really did,� Jake said with a smile. �Anyway, since I�m playing some of the dates, G thought I needed to take credit from the beginning for the guitar tracks. I agreed to do that if he agreed to take credit for the piano tracks, and to play them onstage.�

Matt nodded. �That makes sense,� he said.

Another silence developed. The downtown high rises began to grow larger and larger before them. This time it was Jake who broke it.

�Hey,� he said, �you remember that time we went to Helen�s softball game in Ventura and that hoity-toity housewife bitch came up to Kim and asked her why she thought it was appropriate for a porn star to be there?�

Matt nodded his head enthusiastically, laughing. �Fuck yeah!� he said. �That trip was fuckin� classic!� He turned to look at Jim, who had been silent as a mouse in the back seat. �That was right after Jake learned to fly. Helen was his instructor, and he was boning her the whole time he was taking lessons from her!�

�Not the whole time,� Jake said with a chuckle.

�Goddamn, did she have some fuckin� titties on her,� Matt said nostalgically. �And she was a squirter too, right?�

�That�s right,� Jake said.

�Whoa,� said Jim, holding up a hand. �A squirter? You mean, like... really a squirter?�

�Really a squirter,� Jake confirmed. �When she came, it would come flying out at you and hit you in the face. Pussy juice, not pee. And if you were fucking her and she came, she�d leave a wet spot two feet wide.�

�No shit?� Jim whispered in awe. �I always thought that squirting was a myth.�

�So did I until I saw it,� Jake said.

They talked about Helen�s squirting, and Kim�s response to the hoity-toity housewife at the softball game (�at least I get paid to take a cock up my ass,� she�d told her. �You let your husband do it for free�). From there, Matt told the story of the time he and Jake and the rest of Intemperance had hotboxed the limousine on the way to the Grammy awards and then stepped out in front of the cameras while a cloud of marijuana smoke came pouring out.

�Those were the fuckin� days,� Matt said nostalgically.

�Yep,� Jake agreed. �Remember when you asked Steve Billings to toke up with us?�

�I still think that would�ve been epic,� Matt said.

�It would have,� Jake agreed. He looked back at Jim again. �And then Coop askes Steve Billings to tell us some stories from Vietnam. He actually believed that old urban legend about how Billings had been a sniper there!�

�Billings was fucking cool about it though,� Matt said, laughing. �A shame what happened to him.� Billings had died last year in a plane crash when he ran out of fuel over Flathead Lake in Montana.

�Yeah,� Jake said. �You should always check your fuel level before you take off, on the gauges and visually. That�s like the first lesson Helen�s dad taught me.�

By now, they were on 6^th Street, just passing Pershing Square. Matt�s condominium building was right in front of them. Jake pulled into the entryway and stopped in front of the doors. He put the truck in park.

�Well ... here you are,� he said.

�Yeah,� Matt said, nodding a little. �Here we are.�

Jim opened the back door and climbed out. He pulled his suitcase out and sat it on the ground next to him.

Matt looked over at Jake. �Thanks for the ride, dude,� he told him.

�No problem,� Jake said.

�I still fuckin� hate you. You know that, right?� Matt asked him.

�Yeah,� Jake said. �The feeling is mutual.�

�But ... we had some good times together before shit went south, and ... while I might hate you these days ... I respect you. I always have. Always will. You dig?�

�I dig,� Jake said. �And that feeling is mutual as well.�

Matt made a fist and held it out to Jake. Jake looked at it for a moment and then made one of his own. He tapped his fist to Matt�s a single time.

�Take it easy, Matt,� Jake told him.

�I�ll take it any way I can get it,� Matt replied. He closed the door and headed for the entrance. Jim fell in behind him. Jim looked back at Jake�s truck once, as if to confirm that the last twenty minutes had really happened.

Matt did not look back.

Jake and Laura stayed in their house in Oceano for the next week, neither of them climbing into their cars a single time. They slept in until late morning each day, enjoyed meals prepared by Elsa, went for long hikes on the trails through the sand dunes, frolicked on the beaches, had hot, steamy sex at least once per day, and stayed up late every night, drinking wine and smoking pot in their hot tub. They basked in the isolation of their new home. And Elsa was quite happy to have them there as well.

Alas, their solitude was destined to come to an end. At the end of that week, Jake got a phone call from Pauline.

�Aristocrat has the lowest bid for our CDs,� she told him. �They�re offering twenty-three percent, plus a fully funded Celia Valdez eighty date tour, plus a fully funded Jake Kingsley eighty date tour if you�re willing to do at least half of each set as Jake Kingsley written Intemperance material. They will pay all relevant licensing fees to National Records if you agree to this.�

�I already told them no on that shit,� Jake told her.

�I know, and I told them as well,� she said. �I�m just morally and ethically obligated to bring it up.�

�I understand,� Jake said. �What�s the next step?�

�We need to meet them on Monday for negotiation of the contract,� she said.

�There shouldn�t be much to negotiate, should there?� Jake asked.

�There shouldn�t,� she said, �but you know how those assholes play the game. We�ll need Celia, the Nerdlys, and Greg there, if he can make it.�

�His movie premier is on Thursday night,� Jake said. �He should be free.�

�I can�t wait for the premier,� Pauline said excitedly. �I�m sure it will be better than when you took me to The Northern Jungle premier. It would have to be.�

�Agreed,� Jake said. �Although that is where you signed up Celia as your client. That worked out pretty well, didn�t it?�

�Yes, it did,� she said. �How about you? Is it going to be awkward seeing Mindy again?�

�Undoubtedly,� Jake said. �But Greg is my friend and he really wants me to be there. If I can deal with seeing Matt Tisdale again, I can deal with Mindy Snow. Besides, I kind of want to check out this flick.�

�Because of Mindy Snow�s titties?� she asked. He could almost hear the smirk on her face.

�Been there, done that,� he said. �Got the fuckin� t-shirt. A couple of them, in fact. No, because it really sounds like a good flick. I�m willing to suffer being in the same room as Mindy and watching Greg�s bare ass up on the big screen to see it.�

�Fair enough,� Pauline said.

And so, Jake and Laura climbed into the plane and flew to Whiteman Airport on Monday morning. They took Jake�s truck to Hollywood and met Celia, Greg, Pauline, Obie, and the Nerdlys at a hole-in-the-wall diner a few blocks away from the Aristocrat offices. They went over strategy for the upcoming meeting, agreeing on such things as deal-breakers (as any insistence of Jake doing Intemperance tunes would be) and non-negotiables (like any attempt to surrender promotional control or to micromanage Celia�s tour would be).

As it turned out, the meeting was almost anticlimactic. Fox and his merry men only suggested a Jake Kinsley tour doing Intemperance tunes once, and only tried to insert themselves into the promotional aspects of the CDs twice. And they tried no funny business with the contract wording at all. They were also more than happy with KVA�s proposal for the Celia Valdez tour. The two-and-a-half-hour set, no opening band, and, most importantly, the market value ticket prices, were music to Aristocrat�s ears. By the time the clock reached 1:30, the contract was signed by all parties and in effect.

�Now we need to start working on the tour,� Celia said.

�We�ll lease the same warehouse for you as last time,� Fox promised. �Is Larry Candid acceptable as your tour manager for this round?�

Celia nodded. Candid had been the manager for the last tour and, though he was an Aristocrat suit and a weasel, he was an experienced and effective tour manager who knew how to manage things on the road and, most importantly, knew that Celia was ultimately the one in charge. �He�ll work,� she said.

�We�ll have him start putting together a crew right away,� Fox said. �I�m assuming you want these CDs to start getting airplay and be released as soon as possible.�

�That�s right,� Jake said. �What�s the soonest that can happen?�

�We should have them manufactured by the first of November,� Fox said. �Distribution could be done by November 14^th. The promotions department should be able to do their job and get all the stations briefed in by November 21. That means you�ll be getting airplay just before Thanksgiving weekend and the CDs can be released for sale the first Tuesday in December.�

�That sounds doable,� Jake said. �I�ll start working on the promotional instructions tomorrow.�

�We can�t wait to see them,� Fox said, almost managing to sound sincere. He then turned back to Celia. �Do you think a first concert date of January 1^st would give you enough time?�

�That�s pushing it a little,� she said. �We�re going to need a new violinist. Natalie doesn�t want to go out this time.�

�Why not?� Fox asked.

�She and her pilot are going to get married,� Celia said. �She�s going to stay in Texas with him.�

�She�s throwing her career away ... for a man?� Fox asked, shaking his head sadly.

�She�s not throwing her career away,� Celia said. �She�s agreed to still play for us on subsequent workups and recordings. She just doesn�t want to tour. I�ll need you to dig up some touring caliber violinists so they can audition for me.�

�We can do that,� Fox said.

�Remember, looks don�t matter to me. We�re not making music videos; we�re putting on a show. Despite what you all think, nobody really cares what my musicians look like. I want quality violinists only. If they happen to be attractive like Natalie, that�s fine, but do not rule out anyone because of their looks if they can play.�

�As you wish,� Fox said sourly.

�Coop, Charlie, Little Stevie, Laura, and Liz are all on board for this next tour,� Celia said. �And they all worked on all of the music for Two as well, so they�re already familiar with it. If you can get me a violinist who can pick up and play new music quickly, we should be ready to go by the first of the year.�

�I�ll start working on that today,� Fox promised. �I may be able to get you some auditions set up by Thursday or Friday.�

�Make it Friday,� Celia said. �Greg�s premier is Thursday.�

�Your premier?� Fox asked the actor.

�The premier of my new film,� Greg said. �Us and Them.�

�I�ve heard about it,� Fox said. �With Mindy Snow, right?�

�Right,� Greg said. �The premier is Thursday night at Mann�s.�

�Well,� said Fox, a pout on his face, �it would seem my invitation to this premier must have gotten lost in the mail?�

Jake opened his mouth to say something. Greg did the same. Pauline silenced them both by putting her hands on their arms. �It would have been inappropriate to invite you to this event,� she said, �seeing as how there was an upcoming bid process and contract negotiation.�

�Oh ... well ... yes, of course,� Fox said. �I can certainly understand the concern.�

�Right,� Greg said. �Nothing personal, of course.�

�Of course,� Fox said. �But ... now that we�ve signed the contract that is no longer a concern, right?�

�Uh ... right,� Pauline said slowly. She had nothing to follow it up with.

Celia did, however. �I�m afraid all of the invites have already been issued,� she told Fox. �Maybe the next time?�

Fox frowned in disappointment, but he nodded his head. �I�ll be looking forward to it,� he said.

Jake and Laura stayed in their Granada Hills home that night. The next morning, they drove to Greg and Celia�s Los Angeles house. The two ladies climbed into Celia�s Mercedes so they could head to Rodeo Drive to do some shopping. Both needed formal dresses for the Us and Them premier. Jake and Greg, who both owned several custom fit tuxedos and therefore had their wardrobe for the premier covered, climbed into the Lexus and drove to the Ocean View Country club for a round of golf.

They all met back at Greg and Celia�s for dinner. They all drank a considerable amount of wine during the dinner and Jake did not feel comfortable driving back to Granada Hills. They accepted the offer to stay in the couple�s guest suite for the night.

�We�ve never fucked in this house before,� Laura pointed out.

�No,� Jake agreed. �We never have.�

�Have you?� she asked, giving him a wifely look.

�No,� Jake said honestly. He would not be able to say the same about Greg and Celia�s Palm Springs house�he had fucked Helen several times there, including once in the shower�but he felt no need to bring that into the discussion.

�I think we should probably do it then,� Laura said.

�Okay,� Jake agreed. �But keep your pillow handy�unless you want them to know what we�re doing.�

�I�ll keep it handy,� she said. And she did. And she used it appropriately when the time came.

They left after breakfast the next morning and flew back to Oceano. And then just after noon the next day�Thursday, the day of the premier�they flew back to Whiteman. They lounged around the Grenada Hills house until five o�clock in the afternoon and then they started to get ready for the formal event. Laura fussed over her makeup and her dress, asking Jake how she looked so many times he finally had to bark at her that she was beautiful and to stop asking. She pouted, but she stopped asking.

At six o�clock, the limousine showed up in front of their home. They walked out in their formalwear. Several of their neighbors were outside, gardening, getting their mail, gossiping, and they goggled at the sight. They still did not know who their neighbors were�none of them were young enough to be up on modern rock music personalities�but they all developed instant disapproval of them when they saw the long hair on Jake and the youthful beauty of Laura. Young people with money? No way that money could have been honestly earned. Before the limo even made it to the Nerdlys� house, the rumor that international drug dealers had moved into the old Goldstein house were running rampant.

They picked up the Nerdlys and then headed to Silver Lake, where they picked up Pauline and Obie (Obie was rocking a black cowboy hat with his tuxedo and managed to pull it off). From there, it was another short drive to Hollywood through thickening evening traffic. Everyone enjoyed a few drinks on the trip.

At 7:30, the limo pulled to a stop in front of Mann�s Chinese Theatre�which had once been known as Grauman�s Chinese Theatre. A sea of entertainment media was already there, positioned on both sides of the roped off red carpet that led into the facility. The party of six stepped out of the limo and the cameras began to snap, the flashbulbs exploding from everywhere, creating afterimages in Jake�s vision.

�Jake! Jake!� someone shouted. �Is this the first time you�ve seen Mindy since she broke up with you?�

�Mrs. Kingsley!� someone else shouted at Laura. �How does it feel to be at a premier with Jake�s ex-girlfriend?�

There were some other questions shouted, most in that vein, some completely inarticulate. Jake answered none of the questions, not even with a �no comment�. Laura followed his example and did the same. The group walked slowly up the red carpet to the entrance of the theatre. Two tuxedoed security staff were guarding the entrance. Jake and Laura handed over their invitations. The guards dutifully checked their guest list and allowed them entry. They then did the same for the Nerdlys and Obie and Pauline.

The lobby was set up to be opulent and magnificent. Formally dressed men and women circulated among hors d�oeuvre tables and around two bars while champagne girls circulated about with their trays. At the end of the roped section, just where the room opened up, stood Greg Oldfellow in a tux and Celia Valdez in a beautiful flowing maroon gown. Standing opposite of Greg, dressed in a skimpy royal blue dress that showed an impressive amount of cleavage, was Mindy Snow. Her brunette hair flowed down to her shoulders. Her makeup was absolutely perfect. She was very beautiful, as she always had been. Her eyes looked at the latest guests coming in and lit up when she saw who they were. Her smile got wider as Jake and Laura approached.

Here we go, Jake thought, putting a phony smile on his face.

�Jake!� Mindy cried, rushing up to him. She held out her arms for a hug.

Jake hugged her, feeling the press of her breasts into his chest, smelling her perfume, feeling the softness of her body. She kissed him on the side of his jaw, just in front of his ear, leaving a little film of her saliva behind. Jesus fucking Christ, he thought, repressing a shudder. She did that right in front of Laura! In front of dozens of entertainment media cameras!

Jake extricated himself from her embrace as quickly as propriety allowed.

�It�s so good to see you, Jake!� Mindy gushed. �You look great!�

�Thanks,� Jake said. �You do too.�

�You�re so sweet,� she said with a giggle. She then turned to Laura, who was looking awkward and out of place at his side. �And you�re Mrs. Kingsley,� she said brightly. �I saw your wedding pictures in People. You�re even more beautiful in person.�

�Uh ... thank you, uh ... Mindy,� Laura said, blushing. �And you can call me Laura.�

�All right, I will,� she said, holding out her hand.

Laura hesitated for a moment and then shook with her. Mindy�s nails were done just so, in a color that matched her dress. Jake remembered a time when she suddenly and unexpectedly shoved two of those fingers as far as they would go up his ass while she was sucking his cock, triggering a violent and powerful ejaculation into her mouth (and causing some light bleeding whenever he took a shit for the next week). He shuddered again and pushed that image out of his brain.

�I hope you two enjoy the premier,� Mindy told them. �I honestly think it�s the best project I�ve ever worked on.�

�We can�t wait to see it,� Laura told her.

Jake then turned to Greg and Celia, grateful to be out of Mindy�s arm reach. Greg shook his hand and then gave Laura a big hug. Celia hugged both of them.

�Go ahead and mingle,� Greg told them. �Have a few drinks, have some hors d�oeuvres. We�ll start seating in the theatre in thirty minutes.�

�Let�s do it,� Jake told his wife. �I think I can use a drink about now.�

�Yeah, me too,� Laura said.

They stepped into the room and waited while Greg, Celia, and Mindy greeted the Nerdlys and then Pauline and Obie. Jake heard Mindy reminding Bill of their little trip to the high-roller area in Las Vegas back in the day. She did not mention that Nerdly ended up banging two high-class hookers and a VIP lounge cocktail waitress on Mindy�s dime. But it was obvious from the way that Bill was blushing that he was thinking about it. And then it was Obie and Pauline�s turn. Mindy shook Obie�s hand and complimented him on his hat. She told him that she enjoyed his music. Obie seemed to appreciate the sentiment. He certainly seemed to be enjoying the view down the front of Mindy�s dress that she was offering him. Mindy then gave Pauline a big hug and a kiss on the cheek as well. She brought up that same trip to Las Vegas, again, prudently not mentioning the studly craps dealer that had cleaned out Pauline�s cobwebs that night.

�All right, drinks,� Jake said once everyone was in the room.

�Yes,� said Sharon. �I think a double appletini is in order.�

They made their way to the nearest bar and ordered up. They then began to circulate around the food tables, picking up things that looked interesting and putting them on their plates. Jake did not know most of the people here, not on a personal basis anyway. They were primarily actors, directors, and upper echelon production team people. He did not introduce himself to anyone. No one introduced themselves to him.

�Mindy seems nice enough,� Laura observed as their little group of six found a corner to stand in and munch on their appetizers.

�So did Ted Bundy from what I hear,� Jake said. �Don�t trust her.�

�Oh ... I don�t,� Laura said. �I was just making an observation.�

�That dress certainly shows off her assets,� said Obie.

�Yeah,� Pauline said sadly. �Her tits are still fuckin� fantastic. The bitch. She�s never had a baby chewing on them for six months.�

�Now, don�t be like that, darlin�,� Obie told her. �You still have a premium rack.�

�You really think so?� she asked.

�Goddamn right,� he said. �I�ll put your hogans up against Mindy Snow�s any old day of the week.�

�Awww,� said Sharon. �That�s so sweet.�

�I would volunteer to judge the competition,� Nerdly said, in all seriousness.

�I�m sure you would, Bill,� Pauline said with a laugh.

The crowd of three hundred special guests, twenty entertainment media representatives, and ten local movie critic writers were brought into the theatre and seated at 8:15 PM. At 8:30, the lights went down and the film began. It was in 35-millimeter with Dolby digital sound that boomed through the speakers in the room.

Jake did not think it was a good film. He thought it was a great film, one of the best and most thought-provoking he had ever seen. The story was believable. The realism was extraordinary and gritty at the same time. And the acting of Greg and Mindy was incredible. They actually had him seeing them up there on the screen, not as Mindy Snow, woman he had fucked and been used by countless times, and Greg Oldfellow, husband of Celia and lovably pompous ass, but as Lyndsay Brown, liberal reporter, and Frank Haverty, burned out, racist cop who kept his demons at bay with alcohol and cynicism. He actually felt himself feeling empathy for Haverty, understanding the message that you can�t work in the shitheap and be unaffected by your experiences there. He actually felt sorry for Lyndsay, who ended up questioning everything she had always believed in about crime and punishment and law enforcement.

And the sex scenes. They were about as tasteful as such scenes could possibly be, but very graphic, flirting with the very border between an R rating and an NC-17, just barely managing to stay on the R side. The scene in the parking lot, followed by the scene at Lyndsay�s condo, where the two of them tongue-kissed, where Lyndsay grabbed a handful of Haverty�s bare ass, where Haverty slurped one of Lyndsay�s nipples into his mouth while squeezing the other breast, followed by Lyndsay�s bare ass bouncing up and down atop Haverty�s lap. Jake actually found himself becoming a little aroused by the scene, springing a semi even. And not because he was seeing Mindy naked again, but because the scene was hot. The second sex scene, in the locker room of the police station, was shorter, not quite as graphic, but it had the same effect on him.

The climax of the movie was Haverty, Boot, and Lyndsay responding to a call of a domestic violence incident in progress on their last scheduled shift together�after Lyndsay had put an end to their brief, passionate affair; after Haverty decided to take Lyndsay�s advice and try to put his marriage back together. They knocked on the door of an apartment and then the sound of a gunshot came from inside, followed by the sound of a child screaming for help. Haverty and Boot ordered Lyndsay back to the stairwell (she did not go there, only moved a few yards down the hallway), drew their guns, requested cover, and kicked in the door. Inside, they found a dead woman on the couch, a gunshot wound to her face. Standing next to the couch was a girl of about ten years old, screaming and holding her mother�s hand.

�Who did this?� Haverty demanded of the child. �Where is he?�

The child pointed toward a hallway.

Before they could even start in that direction, a man stepped out of the dark and into the light, a pistol in his hand. He began firing indiscriminately. Haverty and Boot both returned fire (the first actual police gunfire in the entire film), riddling him with bullets and dropping him to the ground. They checked the girl, who was still screaming, and see she is uninjured. Haverty then starts to breathe deeply, as if he can�t quite catch his breath.

�Jesus Christ, Hav,� Boot says, horrified. �You�re hit!�

�I am?� Haverty says. He looks down to see a large spot of blood expanding on his right flank. His legs get weak and he sits down in a chair while Boot screams into his radio that there have been shots fired and an officer is down.

Lyndsay comes into the room at that point. She and Boot frantically remove Haverty�s uniform shirt and discover a hole in his chest just below his right armpit, an area the bullet proof vest does not cover.

His breathing gets worse and, while Lyndsay and Boot both beg him to hang in there, both promise him over and over that he�s going to be okay, he slumps over. His last words are to Lyndsay.

�When you ... write your ... your article ... tell it ... like it is. How it ... it really is out here.�

She promises him that she will do so.

The next scene is Haverty�s police funeral, the twenty-one-gun salute, the bagpiper on the hill, the formation of police helicopters flying over, his wife receiving a folded flag.

As the credits roll, Lyndsay�s voice begins reciting the article she penned. She tells it like it was, praising the men and women of Chicago PD who put their lives and, more significantly, their sanity on the line each and every day.

The credits finished up and the lights came up. The applause that erupted was not the polite smattering that had followed the premier of The Northern Jungle five years before, but genuine, heartfelt applause. The audience stood as one to give an ovation. Many (Jake, Laura, and even Obie included) were wiping at their eyes.

As Jake filtered out of the theatre portion with Laura on his arm, the Nerdlys and Obie and Pauline trailing behind, he heard the murmurs of the other attendees, discussing the film. He heard the phrase �guaranteed Oscar nominations� tossed around more than once; and not in a sarcastic manner.

�What did you think?� Jake asked Laura as they emerged back into the lobby area.

�That was a very powerful movie,� she said. �I felt like I was immersed into being a cop.�

�That�s right,� said Obie. �It made me think about what cops actually go through. I think I understand now why they beat my ass that time.�

�It was an interesting point of view,� said Pauline. �I wonder what Dad will think of it?� Their father was a retired ACLU lawyer who had been involved in multiple lawsuits for excessive force against police agencies.

�I would be very interested to hear his opinion on it,� Jake said.

�Did anyone else find the sex scenes a little awkward?� Laura asked. �I mean ... that was Greg�s bare butt we were looking at. Greg�s mouth sucking on Mindy�s boob.�

�Maybe a little,� Pauline said. She then smiled. �He does have a pretty nice ass though, doesn�t he?�

Laura cast a guilty little glance at her husband, who was waiting to hear her thoughts on this matter, a small smile on his face. �It�s not bad,� she finally squeaked. �If you�re into nice butts, that is.�

�Was it nicer than mine?� Jake asked.

�Nobody has a nicer butt than you,� she said diplomatically.

The group went to the bar and got a fresh round of drinks. They drank them standing in a corner of the room, watching the celebrities and other guests mix and mingle. Laura then declared she needed to use the facilities. Pauline and Sharon elected to accompany her there and the three ladies headed off.

�Well,� said Nerdly to Jake and Obie. �I�m going on a quest. Would either of you care to join me?�

�What kind of quest?� Jake asked.

�According to the credits, Ryan Mantelshelf was the musical director for the film. I wish to speak to him about some of the mixing levels in the score and how they can be improved.�

�Uh ... well ... I would, Bill,� Jake said, �but I think maybe I�ll make my way over to Greg and talk to him for a bit.�

�Yeah,� said Obie. �And I need to wait for Pauline to come back. She�d be pissed if I started talking music levels and didn�t pay enough attention to her.�

�Very well,� Nerdly said, a little disappointed. �I don�t suppose either of you know what Ryan Mantelshelf looks like?�

They did not. Nerdly simply nodded and then headed off on his mission.

�Well,� said Obie. �I hope this Ryan Mantelshelf creature has a good sense of humor.�

�Yeah, me too,� Jake said. �Or we might be breaking up a fight in a few minutes.�

�And, on that note, I guess I�ll go score another hit of this bourbon,� Obie said. �Care to join me?�

�I�m still good,� Jake said, hefting his half-full glass. �I�m going to go talk to Greg, like I said.�

�Suit yourself,� Obie said amicably. He wandered toward the bar.

Jake headed toward Greg, who was talking to a group of men and women. Before he got there, however, Celia found him. She was carrying a glass of white wine in her hand and it seemed apparent that it was not her first one.

�What did you think of the flick?� Jake asked her.

�I think it�s the best thing he�s ever done,� she said simply. �The movie itself was incredible and Greg�s acting was on point throughout. He�ll definitely be nominated for Best Actor for his part; and he might even win it.�

�A lot different of a conversation than when we went to The Northern Jungle premier, right?�

�Night and day,� she said. �They gave a standing ovation at the end! That was incredible.�

�I�m happy for him,� Jake said. �I was just heading over to tell him how much I liked it.�

�He�ll be pleased if you do that,� she said. �He respects your opinion a lot, Jake. He honestly considers you to be his best friend.�

�I do kind of grow on people after a while, don�t I?� Jake asked with a chuckle. �Kind of like a yeast infection.�

�Now that�s just gross,� she admonished.

�Sorry,� he said with a laugh. He then turned serious again. �How has it been ... you know ... talking to Mindy tonight? Awkward?�

�Weird actually,� she said.

�In what way?�

�She�s been so ... so nice to me,� Celia said. �Not that I was expecting her to be a bitch to me or anything, but I thought she�d be aloof, that she�d come across like she�s better than me or something. Instead, she�s been chatting with me like we�re old friends. She even said she wants to get together with Laura and I for a girl�s night sometime.�

Jake�s eyes widened in alarm. �I really think that would be a bad idea,� he said. �On several different levels.�

�I know that,� Celia scoffed. �There is no way in hell I would actually do something like that; and I�m pretty sure that she was just being polite when she offered ... but that�s the thing. She�s being polite and nice. I don�t know what to think. Is it real?�

�Probably not,� Jake said.

�What could her game possibly be?�

�Only Mindy knows that,� Jake said. �Trust me though, there�s a game afoot.�

�What if she really has turned over a new leaf, Jake?� Celia asked. �Isn�t that possible?�

�Anything is possible,� Jake said. �That doesn�t mean it�s likely though.�

�I suppose,� she said thoughtfully. �They�re flying to Chicago tomorrow afternoon you know.�

�Greg and Mindy?�

�And the directors and the producer and a good portion of the supporting actors. They�ll be attending the premier there and then flying to New York for the premier there. After that, they�ll be visiting Baltimore and then New Orleans for promotional appearances.�

�And you won�t be going with them,� Jake said. It was not a question.

�I have a whole gaggle of violinists coming in for auditions tomorrow,� Celia said. �And after that, we need to start rehearsals if we want to be on the road the first of the year.�

�Does this worry you?� Jake asked. �Those two flying off together while you stay home?�

�Not at all,� she said. �If nothing happened between them while they were filming the movie�especially those sex scenes; Madres de Dios, that was graphic, wasn�t it?�then there is no reason to think anything is going to happen now, right?�

�That makes logical sense,� Jake had to agree.

�Right,� Celia said with a smile. �And we live in a logical world, right?�

�Of course,� Jake said with a chuckle.

He parted from Celia and made his way over to Greg, who was just finishing up a conversation with an attractive young brunette in a revealing red dress. She was gushing over his performance and the overall theme of the project and Greg was eating it up. Finally, she ran out of praise and Greg introduced her to Jake. She was Geri Matthews, the daughter of the film�s producer. Geri wasted no time letting Jake know that she was a fan of his and would simply love getting together and hearing him play a private performance for her �unplugged� sometime.

�That sounds like a lot of fun, hon,� Jake told her, �but I�m pretty sure my wife would disapprove of such a performance.�

�No reason to tell her about it,� Geri said with a smile.

Jake chuckled. �A tempting offer, but I�m afraid I�m going to have to take a rain check on that.�

�I understand,� she said. �It would have been fun though.� And with that, she walked away, heading for the nearest bar.

�Wow,� Greg said, shaking his head in wonder. �She pretty much just offered to fuck you, right here in front of me, with your wife right across the room.�

�Yeah,� Jake said. �I get that a lot.�

�Really?�

�Chicks really dig musicians,� he said. �Especially singers. It�s a curse.�

�Some curse,� Greg said, still shaking his head.

�Hey,� Jake said, �I just wanted to tell you, I loved the flick. It�s one of the best movies I�ve ever seen, right up there with the Godfather, Platoon, and Airplane.�

�Thank you,� Greg beamed. �And with praise like that I won�t even chastise you for saying �flick� and �movie�. I honestly feel that this is the best film I�ve ever made.�

�Agreed,� Jake said. �Way better than The Northern Jungle.�

�That goes without saying,� Greg said smugly. �And for half the budget too. I think I�ve finally made my way back onto the A list with this project. And I would be astounded if the film were not nominated for multiple Academy Awards come February.�

�Me too,� Jake agreed. �You should at least carry off Best Actor. Your performance was impressive, very realistic. You actually had me believing that you were Frank Haverty, burned out cop, and not Greg Oldfellow, pompous blue-blood. You even wore jeans!�

�It�s all a matter of getting properly into character,� Greg said. �Method acting. The more you research and know your character�s wants and needs, their motivations, the more you�re able to project yourself for the performance.�

�You projected quite well,� Jake told him. �Mindy too, as much as I hate to admit it.�

�Yes,� Greg said whimsically, �Mindy was a delight to work with. As I tried to tell Celia, there was a chemistry between us�not a sexual chemistry, not exactly anyway, but a certain kind of bond that method actors will sometimes share. We fed off of each other during the filming, both falling into our roles like they were made for us. It really was a special thing to be a part of and I think it shines through on the final cut we just saw.�

�Yeah,� Jake said. �That was quite the sex scene between you two. Gave me a semi just watching it.�

�Uh ... yes,� Greg said, becoming visibly uncomfortable now. �Like I told you before, that was the awkward part, the part where Mindy started to get a little too familiar with me.�

�Yeah, but you had to have enjoyed that, right?� Jake asked. �Having those titties in your hand? You even slurped a nipple into your mouth.�

�Uh ... yeah,� Greg said. �As I said, just part of the performance. I would be lying if I said there was no physical pleasure involved�I mean, I was all but naked against an all but naked Mindy Snow�but it was mostly awkward and uncomfortable. I was glad when those scenes were behind us.�

�Of course you were,� Jake said. �C tells me you and Mindy are flying off tomorrow.�

�And the rest of the crew,� Greg added. �Chicago then New York for premiers, then promos in Baltimore and New Orleans.�

�I wish you luck with that,� Jake said.

�Luck? What do you mean?�

�That your plane doesn�t crash,� Jake said. �What did you think I was talking about?�

Jake thought he might be able to get through the evening without talking to Mindy any further. He was wrong. She approached him just as things started winding down, as some of the guests started making their way to the exit and the limo queue. He was at the bar, getting a refill on his rum and coke. She sidled up next to him just as the bartender started construction in a highball glass.

�I feel like somebody�s been avoiding me tonight,� she told him.

He gave her a sideways smile. �Maybe,� he said. �I think I�ve found over the years that my life stays less complicated the less I see of you.�

She nodded. �I suppose I deserve that,� she said softly. �I did treat you horribly, Jake. I used you and then threw you away when I got what I wanted. I want to apologize for that.�

�You don�t need to apologize to me,� Jake said. �It was what it was. I�ve learned from the experiences. That�s what life is about, right? Learning from our mistakes?�

�I suppose it is,� she allowed.

�Have you learned from your mistakes?� he asked her. �Or do you even consider those things you did back then to be mistakes?�

�They were mistakes,� she said. �I had no right to use you that way; first to change my image and then to ... well ... you know what I did.�

�You used me to humiliate your husband for your own financial gain,� Jake said. �You had your photographer fuck-buddy take pictures of you and I in the bedroom together so you could blackmail him into disregarding the prenuptial agreement. And what did that little scheme net you, Mindy? Five or ten million more than you would have got if you�d just divorced him? You, who already had a twenty or thirty million net worth back then? Did you really need that money that badly?�

�No,� she said softly. �That was a horrible thing that I did, Jake. I ... I wasn�t all right in the head back then.�

�But you are now?�

She nodded. �Yes, I am,� she said. �I�m here at the premier of a movie that I costar in, a movie that might very well get me that Academy Award after all these years; a movie that I poured my heart into and did some of my best acting ever. Yes. I�m all right in the head now.�

�Then you�re not playing any games here?� Jake asked.

�With you?� she asked. �What kind of games would I play? You hardly want to be in the same room with me. You obviously have a lot of unresolved anger about the way I treated you. You wrote a goddamn song about how much of a bitch I was�didn�t think I�d pick up on that, did you?�

�Actually, I was kind of hoping that you would pick up on it,� he said.

She thought this over for a moment and then nodded. �I see,� she said. �Anyway, what kind of game could I be running on you now? You�re married now, and it seems to me that you�re happy. I talked to Laura a little while ago. She seems happy. She really is a dear, Jake.�

�Yes, she is,� Jake agreed. �But I wasn�t talking about games with me. I was talking about games with Greg Oldfellow.�

�With Greg?� she asked, showing a pretty good representation of surprise. It was convincing to Jake, anyway. �What in the world are you talking about?�

�Greg is a close friend of mine,� Jake said. �And Celia, his wife, is my business partner and a very close friend as well. I�d really hate to see anything coming between them.�

A smirk appeared on her face. �You mean like a makeup girl in Alaska?� she asked slyly.

It was a blow that struck home. �You know about that?� he asked.

�Yeah,� she said. �I do. Got it straight from the horse�s mouth.�

�Greg told you about it?� Jake asked, astounded.

�No, the makeup girl in question,� Mindy said. �She worked with me on my last project before Us and Then. We got to be ... oh ... close, I guess you would say. She told me the whole story. She�s such a dear. She actually blames herself for what happened. Can you believe that?�

�So ... you knew about this when you asked to be the costar with Greg?� he asked.

�I did,� she said. �Not that that has anything to do with anything. I wanted to work with Greg because he�s a great actor and I�ve always admired him. I thought we would do good work together and I was right. His little dalliance with the makeup girl is just an interesting side note that I brought up because you seemed to be holding him up as some kind of saint or something. Trust me on this, Jake. There are no saints in Hollywood.�

�Don�t I know it,� Jake agreed.

�Anyway, there is no game here. Greg and I became friends during the project, we shared a wonderful chemistry with each other, and now we�re going to promote our film together. After that, I don�t believe we�ll be seeing much of each other. I have a tendency to make men�s wives a little nervous. Have you noticed that?�

�Maybe once or twice,� Jake said.

�You can choose to believe me or not,� Mindy said. �It�s up to you. It doesn�t really matter to me, not when you come down to it. But I sincerely wanted to tell you that I am sorry for the way I treated you in the past. You can take it for what you will.�

Jake looked at her face as she spoke, seeing nothing but sincerity there. Could it possibly be true? �Okay,� he said at last. �Apology accepted.�

�Thanks, Jake,� she said, touching his shoulder affectionately and then taking her hand away. �That means a lot to me.�

She left him at the bar and resumed mingling. A few minutes later, Obie came over and asked if this was maybe a good time to start heading for the exit.

�Yeah,� Jake said. �A perfect time. You start gathering everyone, I�ll work on getting our limo here.�

Jake and Laura slept in the Granada Hills house that night. The next morning, Laura drove to the KVA studios to meet with Celia and help with the auditions of the violin players. Jake was already gone when she left the house. He had gotten up at seven o�clock and was picked up by a limousine at 7:30. The limo took him to LAX, where he caught a first-class flight to Minneapolis. He was going to play at Bigg G�s concert tonight and then travel with the group for the next ten dates.

Later that same day, at the same airport, Mindy, Greg, and several dozen members of the cast and crew climbed aboard a chartered A-320 for their own flight to Chicago.

Chicago, Illinois

October 20, 1995

Greg Oldfellow was well on his way to intoxication when the plane touched down at Chicago Midway at 4:33 PM, Central Time. Ordinarily he did not drink so much on airplane flights, particularly not when he had a film premier to attend later in the evening, even more particularly not when the premier in question was a film in which he was the star and all of the attention would be on him. But Mindy Snow had sat next to him on the chartered aircraft for this particular flight and Mindy had been in the mood to drink. Greg couldn�t really let her drink alone, could he? That would be uncouth.

It started with bloody Marys shortly after takeoff and then progressed to scotch on the rocks by the time they were cruising over the four corners region. No one expressed any sort of disapproval at the antics of the two stars. Neither Johnny nor Georgette, Greg and Mindy�s respective agents, were on the flight, and the director, the producer, and most of the supporting actors along for the ride were enjoying the festive atmosphere as well. Why not? The film had received solid reviews across the board so far and was already being discussed as a sure Oscar winner. And, though the official release of the project in theaters was not until the following Friday, it was projected to be a blockbuster, perhaps in line to break the highest grossing opening weekend of all time.

For the flight, Mindy had dressed in a pair of tan slacks and a burgundy sweater that showed the shape and outline of her magnificent breasts quite well. Greg was distracted by the sight of them bouncing about as Mindy moved back and forth in her seat, or as the airplane bumped a little in the moderately frequent turbulence. And Mindy was being more than a little flirtatious as well. Nothing gauche or risqu�, but she did make a point to touch his hand or his arm whenever the opportunity presented itself, to laugh and smile at his words whenever it could be justified. It was a subtle flirtation, very much like what she had employed during the days and nights when they filmed the sex scenes for the project. It made Greg a little nervous at first, but after the second scotch on the rocks, the wariness was effectively buried, leaving only the sense of feeling flattered by her attention.

Limousines took everyone to the same hotel they had stayed in during the filming. Greg and Mindy each had their own suites on the top floor, right next to each other. It was well past five o�clock by the time they were checked in and they needed to be downstairs for limo pickup at 6:30 so they could make it to the Roughhouse Theatre in old Chicago by 7:00 to make their entrance. This did not leave them all that much time to get ready. Locally hired hairstylists were already waiting for them in their suites when they arrived.

Greg quickly showered and then put on a hotel robe over his underwear and socks. He then sat in the chair in front of the mirror while a flamboyantly gay stylist named Rory teased and combed his hair and then sprayed it with a half a can of hairspray to keep it in place, all the while talking about how fabulous he thought Greg was.

Greg tipped him a hundred dollars and then shooed him out the door. He then put on his freshly cleaned and pressed tuxedo, making sure everything was just so on it. By the time he was done with this, it was only 6:10. His buzz was fading, and he knew if he did not refresh it, he would begin to feel sleepy. So, he mixed himself a potent scotch and soda at the minibar and began to sip at it.

At 6:25 there was a knock on his door. He opened it and there was Mindy. Greg�s eyes widened as he took a good look at her. Her dress was a light shade of pink, falling well below her knees and covering her arms and shoulders to protect her from the chilly Chicago night air. But it was hardly a conservative frock. It was form fitting, hugging her body tightly and outlining her feminine curves very nicely. And it had a huge V-neck that dipped down nearly to her navel, allowing her breasts to practically spill out of it. Greg thought that if she moved in the right manner, one or the other of her areola, if not her actual nipples, would become momentarily visible.

�What do you think?� she asked him, giving a little pirouette.

�Wow,� he said, looking her up and down. �It�s very uh ... you know...�

�Sexy?� she asked.

�Yeah,� he said. �Very sexy.�

�You think I�ll turn a few heads then?�

�I don�t think anyone is going to be paying attention to the film once they see you in that,� he suggested.

She giggled and then entered his room, uninvited. She looked at the drink in his hand. �Oh good,� she said. �You�re keeping up with me. I had a whiskey sour while I was getting my makeup done. Still feeling good.�

�It seemed the appropriate thing to do,� Greg said.

�We still got five minutes,� she said. �Let�s do a shot.�

�A shot?� he asked, not quite sure what she was referring to. The first thing that came to mind was some sort of illicit drug use that involved a needle; the sort of thing that Jake�s previous bass player, Darren had been into.

�Yeah,� she said. �You know? A shooter? My bar had some Patron in it.�

Understanding washed over him. �A shooter?� he asked, appalled. �I�m sorry. I do not do �shooters� like a kid in a public high school raiding his father�s bar.�

�Don�t be a prude,� she said, walking over to the bar. �Patron is the good shit.� She looked the shelves over until she found a squat bottle of clear liquid. She pulled it down and set it on the bar. �Here we go. One for the road, Greggie. Let�s do it.�

�I think not,� he said.

�I�m not going downstairs until you do a shot with me,� she warned. �You might as well get it over with.�

He sighed. He suspected she was not being serious, but it seemed the path of least resistance was to just do what she wanted. �Very well,� he said. �Set us up�I believe that is the proper terminology, right?�

�Right,� she said, smiling at him. She pulled two shot glasses out of the holder and set them on the bar. She then opened the Patron bottle and poured both of them full. �You�re going to like this shit. You don�t even need salt or a lime to go with it.�

�Wonderful,� he said. He walked over and picked up the shot glass closest to him. It was so full that a little of the liquid dribbled down onto his finger. He raised the glass in a salute. �To Us and Them,� he toasted.

�Us and Them,� she repeated. She put the glass to her lips and made the liquid disappear.

Greg drank down the shot. It was not as bad as he had been expecting. Patron was tequila, he discovered, but it was smooth tequila, not raunchy-tasting like what he had had in the past. The shot warmed him all the way down and he felt it going almost immediately to his head.

�Not bad, huh?� Mindy asked.

�Not bad at all,� he had to agree. �Though the ritual is a bit adolescent, wouldn�t you say?�

She reached up and caressed his cheek for a moment, her smile widening. �Sometimes adolescents have the right idea,� she told him. �Come on. Let�s get down there.�

�Right,� he said, feeling himself flush a little at her touch. �The limo should be here any time.�

They rode downstairs together in the elevator. In the lobby, they found the group they would be riding to the premier with: Jerry Lancing, the producer of Us and Them; Frank Graham, the head of production for Merrimack Studios; and Georgie Fletcher, the director. All were wearing custom-fit tuxedos and in a festive mood.

The five of them climbed into their limousine, settling into the comfortable seats.

�Drinks!� Mindy yelled before they even left the valet area. �Let�s get some booze flowing here!�

Nobody was in disagreement with this suggestion, so Greg opened a bottle of Glenfiddich single malt scotch. He poured everyone a healthy shot in the glasses provided by the limo service and passed them around. �To Us and Them!� he toasted for the second time that night.

�Us and Them!� everyone repeated.

They put away two glasses of Glenfiddich apiece on the trip to the 1930s era theater in old Chicago. There, they emerged into the sea of flashbulbs and video camera lights as the media and the paparazzi captured their images. Surrounding the media and the paparazzi were more than the usual amount of uniformed Chicago police officers. Many were providing security for the event; but some were invited guests. The project, after all, was about them and had been filmed with their cooperation and input. It would have been quite rude not to invite some of them to the premier that took place in their own city.

Greg and Mindy made their way inside the spacious lobby of the Roughhouse Theatre. The obligatory velvet ropes led inside and then ended. Three bars had been set up and the tuxedoed bartenders were already on standby. Champagne girls in short skirts were starting to circulate with trays of Dom Perignon in crystal glasses. The appetizer tables were all set up with steaming trays of hors d�oeuvres and other snacks. The two starring actors were supposed to set up at the end of the velvet ropes and greet each guest as he and/or she entered. But first, Mindy dragged Greg over to the nearest bar so they could get another drink.

�I think I�d better slow down on the alcohol a bit,� Greg whispered to her. �I�m starting to feel kind of drunk.�

�Isn�t that the point of drinking?� she asked him.

�Well ... yes, but this is a very public event. I wouldn�t want to embarrass myself.�

�You�re an actor,� she told him. �Just act sober.�

He thought this over for a moment and decided it made sense.

The other members of the cast and crew of the project entered the building, coming in between the velvet ropes in pairs, triples, a few foursomes. Greg and Mindy greeted each of them by name, shaking hands or sharing hugs with each and every one. And then the other special guests began to filter in. The Superintendent of Police of Chicago PD and his wife were the first, followed by Mayor Daley and his wife Maggie. Two of the deputy superintendents followed them and then Captain Miles Blinker, who commanded the 4^th District, where much of the filming had taken place. And then came some of the rank and files who had been particularly helpful with the project: Sergeant Mackle and his wife, who had graciously allowed the studio to use their home for filming Frank Haverty�s domestic scenes; Rick Brentfield and Robby Downs, the patrol team that had allowed Greg to ride along with them for two weeks as part of his preparation for the role; and a plethora of other 4^th District patrol officers and civilian staff that had ferried the crews around and provided security during the filming. All of the police officers were dressed in their class A ceremonial uniforms for the event, which meant, unfortunately for them, that they could not drink alcohol. Greg and Mindy commiserated with each of them on this while continuing to sip their own drinks.

Following the official guests, the entertainment media and local media crews entered next. Greg and Mindy did not bother greeting them as they entered. Instead, they let Fletch and Jerry Lancing deal with them. The two of them headed into the lobby to mingle a bit. Greg headed for the food tables. He had been drinking on an empty stomach and thought it might be a good idea to change that equation a bit. Mindy, instead of heading off on her own, stayed at his side. She was giggly and a bit uncoordinated from her own alcohol intake. Several times she had to grab Greg�s shoulder to keep from falling down. When they finally got their plates filled with a variety of snacks from the tables, they stood near one of the bars to eat. As they did so, Mindy kept close to Greg�s side, close enough that he could feel one of her breasts pushing into his arm whenever she turned to talk to someone. It was not really an unpleasant sensation, but he could not help but wonder if it was deliberate�and if it was, to what purpose?

They were able to consume two glasses of Dom Perignon before it was time to enter the theatre for the screening. Greg was feeling pretty drunk as he sat down in one of the chairs in the back row�the kind of drunk that he got when he was hanging out with Jake Kingsley. Mindy sat next to him on his left side. Fletch sat on his right side. The aisle seat on the other side of Fletch remained empty for the moment.

Once everyone was seated, Jerry Lancing, the producer, stood up at the front of the room in front of the red curtain that covered the screen. He gave a brief speech, thanking the City of Chicago, the mayor�s office, and particularly the Chicago Police Department for their cooperation and assistance in making the film a reality. He thanked several people by name, including the mayor himself, the superintendent, Captain Blinker, and Sergeant Mackle and his family.

�This film belongs as much to you as it does to us, maybe even more so,� Lancing said in conclusion. �We tried to be as realistic as possible, both the good and the bad, so ... please ... let us know how we did. Enjoy the show, everyone. Let�s get started.�

Applause rolled through the room as Lancing turned off his microphone and trotted up the center aisle of the theatre. He took the seat on the right side of Fletch. No sooner had he sat down then the lights dimmed down and the red curtain began to rise. The Merrimack Studios logo appeared and then the film began.

Us and Them was one hundred and forty-seven minutes in length, from logo to the end of the credits. This was enough time for Greg to metabolize some, but nowhere near all, of the alcohol he had consumed. He would have started to feel a little sleepy under normal circumstances, but the presence of Mindy next to him served to keep him awake. The chairs in the old theatre were not very large, not very wide. As such, Mindy�s body was continually pressed into his left side. Her leg often rubbed against his and he could feel the silky fabric of her dress. Her shoulder was constantly rubbing against his. And whenever she turned to whisper something to him, or to Fletch on the other side of him, her breast would push deliciously into his arm. She seemed unaware of the contact she was making, was certainly unconcerned with it even if she was aware, but Greg felt every touch, every bump, every slide of the dress. He felt himself becoming more and more aroused as the film went on.

And then the first sex scene came on the screen.

�Mmmm,� Mindy whispered into his ear, her breast pushing his arm again, her hot breath making him flush. �My favorite part.�

Greg swallowed but said nothing. He did, however, start to spring an erection as he watched he and Mindy doing the nasty on the big screen. He remembered what it had been like to feel those naked breasts in his hand, to taste her nipple with his mouth, to feel her hands on his bare ass.

Steady, he told himself, willing his member to return to normal operations. We were just acting. It�s over and done with now.

But his member did not want it to be over and done with now. It remained quite interested in the goings on of the scene and the memories of filming the scene. And when Mindy suddenly reached over and squeezed Greg�s thigh, just a little north of the knee, it became even more interested.

Jesus Christ, Greg thought. What was that all about? He did not know, could not begin to guess. Had that just been a companionable squeeze of affection? Had it been a drunken grope? Had it been nothing at all, just an unconscious gesture? It could have been any of the above, or all of the above, or none of the above.

Greg�s erection had almost entirely deflated when the second sex scene occurred. This one, while not as graphic or as involved, did feature the best and longest view of Mindy�s bare breasts. Her nipples were hard in the shot, sticking up alluringly. Greg remembered how Mindy had deliberately played with them in front of the entire crew and himself just prior to action being called so she could achieve that mouth-watering state for the shot. His erection reversed direction as blood began to collect once again. Mindy did not help much by dropping her hand to his thigh again�a little higher this time�and whispering into his ear: �This is my second favorite part.�

This time, however, she did not remove her hand from his leg. It remained there, still, unmoving, as if she had just simply forgotten to pick it back up again, just inches away from his now-throbbing tumescence. Greg took in a deep breath, looking around to see if anyone had noticed what she was doing. The theater, however, was very dark and no one seemed to be paying any particular attention to them.

Mindy�s just an affectionate person by nature, he told himself. She probably doesn�t even realize she�s doing it. With that rationalization in mind, he did not make an attempt to remove the hand from his leg. There was no sense hurting her feelings, was there? Or making a scene? And besides, another, darker, more primal part of his mind whispered to him, it feels kind of nice there, doesn�t it?

The film rolled on, going into the darker, more depressing part of the story. Mindy�s hand stayed on his leg. Greg�s manhood remained firmly erect. And then, without warning, that hand gripping his thigh rolled inward, seemingly in a random shift of posture, as if she were finally reaching up absently to touch her hair or scratch her nose. As it did so, her knuckles came into contact with the swelling inside of his trousers. The hand stopped instantly, remaining in contact. Greg drew in a sharp intake of breath.

�Oh my,� Mindy whispered, a hint of teasing in her voice. Slowly, the hand rolled over and her fingertips were gently squeezing the outline of his erection through his pants. �What have we here?�

Greg reached down and grabbed her wrist, pulling her hand away from him. �Sorry,� he whispered back. �Natural reaction.�

She put her hand back in her own lap. Even in the dark, Greg could see the teasing smile on her face. �You gotta love biology, huh?� she whispered.

She kept her hands to herself for the rest of the showing (though not her boobs, they continued to press into his shoulder every few minutes). Greg�s erection slowly, and with great reluctance, returned to its nominal state just in time for the funeral scene and the rolling of the credits. When the lights came up and the audience gave their standing ovation�and the actors and directors stood to acknowledge it�the embarrassing bulge in Greg�s trousers was no longer prominent.

Greg and Mindy exited the theatre together and took up position near one of the bars, where they could graciously accept the gushing accolades of the guests, who were bound by the rules of film premier etiquette to each approach the stars and the directing team to offer some. Mindy dashed over to the bar and got them both scotch on the rocks�doubles, no less�before they got started.

Greg downed his first scotch rather quickly, as his mind was troubled, and he was still trying to put Mindy�s actions inside the theatre into perspective. The alcohol did not help much with the perspective part, but it did wonders for the troubled part. It helped so much that he did not even argue when Mindy stepped away to score the two of them second and then third doubles as the evening progressed.

It was close to eleven o�clock when the party finally started to break up. By that point, Greg was quite hammered, as Mindy had stayed at his side all night, making sure he always had a fresh drink in his hand. She made no mention of what had happened inside the theatre, neither directly nor in allusion. Greg, however, could not stop thinking about it. She had actually touched his erection! With her hand! Something she had not done even during the most intimate stages of filming the sex scenes for the project. What did it mean?

At eleven thirty, most of the guests had gone home and those who had not were all waiting in the limo queue. Fletch and Lancing suggested to the stars that it was about time for them to get in the limo and return to the hotel. It was a plan they agreed with. The four of them climbed into their limousine and headed back in the direction of downtown. No sooner had it pulled away from the theatre than Mindy was pouring them all shots of bourbon.

�To success!� she toasted.

The three men dutifully repeated her toast and shot down their bourbon.

Once at the hotel, Fletch and Lancing declared they were going to go to the lounge for a little nightcap and asked if Greg and Mindy wanted to join them.

�Not me,� Mindy said with a giggle. �I�m pretty fuckin� drunk now; not ashamed to admit it.�

�Yes,� said Greg, hearing himself slurring. �I�m in the same boat. And we have to be at the airport by ten o�clock. I think I�m going to go upstairs, climb into bed and die.� After I pleasure myself and blow off some of this steam, he did not add.

�That�s a wonderful idea,� Mindy said, her voice loud. �I�ll walk you up there.�

�That�s okay,� Greg said. �I know the way.�

�I�m sure you do,� she said. �But since we�re going the same way anyway...�

She did have a point there. �Okay,� he said, giving her a little smile. �Let�s do this.�

While the producer and the director headed in one direction, Mindy took Greg�s arm and they stumbled their way over to the elevators. Once again, Mindy�s breast kept bumping into his shoulder, although now it did not seem quite as accidental. Greg, in his drunkenness, just went with it and enjoyed the sensation.

The elevator arrived and they stepped inside. Greg pushed the button for the top floor. The doors closed and the car began to rise.

�I�m gonna feel like shit tomorrow,� Mindy prophesized, �but goddamn if we didn�t have a good time, huh, Greggie?�

�Yes,� Greg said, his eyes taking surreptitious glances at her cleavage. He thought that, for just a second, he had spotted some areola on the left one. �Although I�m sure I too will be paying the price in the morning.�

They reached their floor and the doors opened. They staggered out into the empty hallway and made it about fifty feet or so before they realized they were going the wrong way. This caused a giggling fit and they drunkenly turned themselves around and headed back in the direction from which they had come. As they passed the elevators once again, Greg said, �This looks familiar�, causing another outburst of laughter. Mindy, who was still holding tightly onto his arm, pushed her body against his once again, letting him feel the press of her breast again, the silkiness of her dress, the feminine curve of her hip.

�Come on,� he said with a mouth that was suddenly dry. �We�re almost there.�

�Right,� she said with another giggle. �Almost there.�

They came to Greg�s room door first. He started to walk by it, his intention to walk Mindy to her own door and see her safely inside. But Mindy made him stop.

�We need to have one more shot!� she declared. �A nightcap to put an end to a successful premier.�

�I don�t think that�s a good idea,� Greg said. �I�m already pretty hammered.� And having you inside my room right now is a bad idea. I can feel how bad it is even through the booze.

�Don�t be a pussy,� Mindy teased. �Have a shot with me.�

�No, Mindy,� he said. �Sorry, but I think it�s time to say goodnight.�

�Oh yeah?� she asked.

�Yes.�

�Well ... well ... you don�t have a fuckin� hair on your ass if you don�t do one last shot with me,� she declared.

Greg raised his eyebrows. �I don�t have a hair on my ass?� he asked. �That�s something that Jake says.�

�I know,� she giggled. �Who do you think I learned it from? Now, do you have hair on your ass, or what?�

�You just saw my ass up on the big screen a few hours ago,� he reminded her. �You tell me.�

She laughed again. �It�s a great ass,� she said. �You know that right? And it has just the right amount of hair on it. So, open the fuckin� door and let�s have that shot.�

He sighed. Once again, it seemed just doing as she asked was the path of least resistance. And besides, one last shooter would probably help him drift off to sleep, wouldn�t it?

�All right,� he said, pulling out his key card. �One shot and then I�m going to bed.�

�You got it,� Mindy said.

He opened the door and they staggered inside the room. They stumbled their way across the sitting room to the bar. The bottle of Patron and their shot glasses from earlier were still sitting where they had left them.

�Set us up!� Mindy ordered, finally letting go of his arm.

�Right,� Greg said, taking a moment to steady himself. He then opened the bottle of tequila and poured the two shot glasses full (spilling at least another shot�s worth on the bar in the process). He handed one to Mindy and took one himself. �What should we drink to this time?�

She smiled. �Well,� she said thoughtfully, �we�ve drank to success, and to Us and Them, how about we drink to me and you?�

Greg nodded and raised his glass. �To me and you,� he toasted.

They clinked their glasses together and poured the tequila down their throats. Greg felt it burning all the way down, but in a pleasant way. He felt his drunkenness almost immediately kick up a notch or two.

�All right,� Greg said. �How about we get you back to your room before I pass out?�

�Do you wanna hear a secret?� Mindy asked, ignoring his question.

�Uh ... sure,� he said.

She gave him a naughty smile. �I�m not wearing any panties with this dress,� she told him.

He felt himself flush as mixed emotions spread through him, a combination of embarrassment, danger, and arousal. �Uh ... really?� he asked, unable to think of anything else to say.

�It�s the truth,� she said. �When I wear these fancy-ass dresses, I never wear panties with them. It�s too much of a pain in the ass when I have to pee.� She giggled. �The garter belt, you know. The panties always seem to get caught or twisted in it. It�s easier just to go commando.�

�Uh ... wow,� he said, his mind now picturing her in a garter belt with no panties on. It was an enticing vision to have. �I never really ... you know ... thought about that.�

�It�s also sexy,� she said next. �Walking around, talking to people, hugging people, being part of a big production and knowing that I have no panties on. It kind of turns me on, really.�

�I ... uh ... can see how it would,� he stammered. �Listen, how about we...�

�I mean ... doesn�t it kind of turn you on, now that you know that I�ve been sitting next to you all night without panties?�

The sense of danger continued to rise; but so did the sense of arousal. Yes, it really did turn him on to know that she had been sitting next to him all night without panties. His manhood was, in fact, stiffening up very nicely at the very notion. But he needed to stay in control of the situation. Needed to take charge and take charge quickly before things got out of hand here.

�Uh ... yes,� he said. �It is a very enticing thought, but I think now we had better call it a night.�

�It�s a night, all right,� she said softly. She reached out with her hand and slid the back of it up the growing bulge in his groin. �Mmmm, you�re getting hard again. That�s sexy, Greggie.�

Greg pulled himself back out of her reach. �Mindy!� he said sharply. �We are not going to do this.�

�We don�t have to do anything big,� Mindy said. �Just something little, something between friends.�

�No,� he said. �You need to go back to your room.�

�Are you sure?� she asked teasingly. �I am quite willing to give you a blowjob right here and right now. I understand that you�re a man who likes a good blowjob.�

�Every man likes a good blowjob,� he told her. �And I�m a married man, as you�re well aware.�

�Every man does love a blowjob,� she agreed, �but not every man gets to have them the way they should be. Isn�t that right?�

�What?� he asked, confused.

�I have it on good information that your wife, the lovely and talented Celia Valdez, will put it in her mouth and does a good job of making it feel good, but that she only does it for foreplay; that she won�t let you come in her mouth.�

Greg was astounded by what she had just said, mostly because it was true. Celia was very talented with her mouth when she wanted to be, and she did enjoy sucking on him as part of the warmup routine in the bedroom, but she had a very strong aversion to completing the act. But how did Mindy know this? Celia sure as hell had not told her. And, being a very private person, the only other human on Earth he had shared that particular piece of information with was... Oh my God! �Cheryl!� he said.

Mindy chuckled. �That�s right,� she said. �Your little makeup girl from So Others May Live. She ended up being my little makeup girl on my last project before Us and Them. Small world, isn�t it? Anyway, she and I got to be close with each other... very close, if you know what I mean.�

�Uh ... no, actually, I don�t know what you mean,� he stammered.

�Maybe Jake told you about my little fetish,� she said. �I like girly hands on me sometimes. Cheryl likes to put her girly hands on other girls on occasion. She almost got her entire fist up inside of me once, but, alas, her hands weren�t quite small enough.� She shrugged. �What can you do? Anyway, she told me about the conversations you used to have with her ... as well as what the two of you did that infamous night in Alaska. Poor girl. She blames herself for the whole thing.�

Greg was now beyond flabbergasted. Yes, Jake had told him about Mindy�s fetish when he had warned him about how devious she could be, but to actually hear her talk about it so casually, to envision Cheryl trying to put her fist up inside of Mindy�s body ... Jesus Christ!

�Anyway,� Mindy went on. �Back to the blowjob discussion. I like to suck a nice dick. In fact, I love it. And, unlike your wife, I quite enjoy the sensation of a man coming in my mouth while I suck him. I love the way his body trembles, the tensing of the muscles, the blast against the back of my throat. Mmmm, I�m soaking wet just thinking about it. Why don�t you pull that thing out for me so I can suck it, Greggie? Pretty please?�

�Mindy,� he said, almost pleased, �I can�t do that.�

�Can�t is such an overused word,� she told him, stepping closer to him. He did not back away. Slowly, deliberately, she sank to her knees before him. She looked up at him. �I notice you�re not running away from me.�

�Mindy ... I ... we...�

�Don�t worry,� she whispered, reaching out with her hands. �I can be discrete. No one will ever hear about what we do here.�

Her fingers entwined around the buckle of his belt. She slowly pulled the end free and then tugged on it, releasing the tension. She then unbuttoned the snap on the front of his trousers. When he continued to make no attempt to stop her, she slid the zipper down, tooth by tooth, revealing his dark blue underwear, which were bulging with his erection.

Stop her from doing this! a part of Greg�s mind screamed at him, but he made no move to obey. Another part of his mind kept thinking about those lips, and that mouth, and how she said she liked men to finish in her mouth, and how she said that no one would know what they did here. If no one knew what they did, was there really any harm done? His drunken, confused mind thought not. And she was right there in front of him! On her knees, ready to do it! Mindy Snow! On her knees about to suck his cock!

He felt his pants drop down around his feet. He felt feminine fingers inside the waistband of his underwear, pulling them downward. They slid down his legs and his turgid erection sprang free into the air. He looked down to see Mindy staring at it, smiling lasciviously.

Her head came forward, her mouth opening. And then he felt warm, wet lips sucking him in. Felt her tongue swirling around his head, wetting it thoroughly, felt her suddenly plunge down on him, taking his entire length into her throat.

�Ohhhh, God,� he moaned, letting his hand drop down onto her shoulder. He slid it around to the back of her neck and pulled her tighter against him.

�Mmmm,� Mindy moaned. She then went to work in earnest, bobbing her head up and down upon him, her hand stroking the shaft at the same rhythm.

It did not take very long. Between Greg�s hair trigger status and Mindy�s considerable skill at the act, it was just a little more than a minute before Greg felt the machinery of orgasm kick into gear. His legs began to wobble and he had to hold onto the side of the bar to keep from falling down. His breath began to tear in and out of his throat. Drops of sweat formed on his forehead and dripped down, landing in Mindy�s hair. And she continued to suck and jack at him, increasing her speed.

�I�m going to ... going to ... come,� he groaned.

�Mmm hmmm,� she encouraged, increasing her efforts.

The orgasm exploded through him, one of the most powerful he could ever remember having. He shot a pent-up load of semen directly into Mindy�s sucking mouth, blasting out shot after shot, seemingly forever. She moaned with delight as he did so. She did not spill a single drop.

She licked him clean and then stood up before him, her smile still on his face, his pants and underwear still puddled around his ankles. �That was fuckin� fab,� she said. She leaned forward and kissed him softly on the lips. He could taste the essence of himself there. She then stepped away from him. �Hopefully, that will help you sleep tonight.�

�Uh ... yeah,� he said softly. Now that he had released the tension, guilt was starting to worm its way in. Had he really just let Mindy Snow suck his dick? Had he really just come in her mouth?

Mindy turned and walked to the door of the suite. Just before leaving, she turned and looked back at him. �See you in the morning,� she told him. �Maybe we�ll catch some breakfast down in the caf� before we head to the airport.�

�Yeah,� Greg said. �Maybe.�

Mindy gave him one last smile and then she stepped through the door and was gone.

Greg stood there for a moment, still trying to make sense out of how it had all happened. Finally, he pulled up his pants and underwear and headed for the bedroom, hoping that getting some sleep would lend a little perspective.

Greg got perspective, but not the kind he really wanted. He received his wakeup call at 8:00 AM and slowly sat up in bed. He was nude and he felt absolutely horrible on multiple levels. His head throbbed with the beating of his heart. His mouth was dry, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. Nausea rippled through him, making him feel like he was going to simultaneously defecate and vomit. Most of all, however, the overwhelming feelings of guilt, doom and shame competed for top billing in his mind.

Though he had been about as drunk as he ever got, he had horridly clear memories of what had happened between he and Mindy. He could not even begin to tell himself it had been a dream, or a drunken delusion. Mindy had opened his pants, pulled down his underwear, and sucked him to orgasm last night. And he had not made even a token attempt to stop her. He had just stood there and let it happen ... had ... truth be told, enjoyed it immensely.

�I�m a scumbag,� he told himself as he painfully stood to his feet. �An absolute scumbag.�

He looked at the phone on the stand next to the bed. It would be six o�clock in Los Angeles. Celia would still be sleeping for another hour before getting up and starting to get ready for tour setup duties. He wondered if he should call her right now, confess what had happened. True, it would not be news she would be thrilled to wake up to, but he had to tell her, didn�t he? Didn�t he?

He decided to put that decision off for a bit. The last time something like this had happened, he had confessed his sins and it had devastated both of them. She had flat out told him on one occasion that he should have just kept his affair secret, that his confession had actually been detrimental. Could that be the case here? But if it he did keep it secret, would he be able to face her? To talk to her like nothing was wrong?

�What a goddamn mess I�ve made,� he said, shaking his head sadly as he headed for the toilet to relieve his straining bladder. All because Mindy told him she would let him come in her mouth�something his wife did not allow him to do. Had it really been as simple as that to slip up?

He urinated, shaved, brushed his teeth and then had a bout of explosive diarrhea in the fancy hotel room toilet. He then took a shower and got dressed in his traveling clothes�a pair of slacks, a dress shirt, a tie, and a sports jacket. The shower had not made him feel much better; mentally or physically. He went to the bar�almost vomiting when he saw the Patron bottle and the shot glasses sitting there�and promptly drank six of the little plastic bottles of Icelandic glacier water, using them to wash down two Tylenol and four aspirin tablets. He then walked over and picked up the room service menu. Though food was the absolute last thing in the world he felt like having right now, he ordered a Mexican omelet and a large bottle of orange juice. He knew from previous experience that choking down some spicy, acidic food would ultimately be helpful to his cause.

It was a struggle to get the food down, but he managed it. By the time it was 9:25 AM, time to start heading down for the limousine ride to the airport, the headache had faded and his stomach had stabilized a bit. He still felt extremely tired and extremely guilty, however.

He found Mindy, Fletch, and Lancing all slumped down in the lobby chairs in front of the main entrance. All three looked considerably worse for wear. Mindy was wearing a pair of designer jeans and a long-sleeve blouse. Her hair was pulled into a simple ponytail and her eyes were red and blurry.

�Hey,� she greeted sourly. �How are you feeling this morning?�

�Terrible,� he told her. �Absolutely terrible.�

�Join the club,� Fletch groaned. �This is what happens when you let Mindy talk you into drinking straight scotch on the way to the premier.�

�Sure, blame it on me,� Mindy said. �I don�t recall having to hold anyone down and pour the drinks down their throat.�

The limousine arrived and they stumbled inside. It took them to Midway Airport, where their chartered plane was waiting in the general aviation area. They stumbled from the limo up the boarding stairs and found seats near the front of the aircraft. Mindy sat next to Greg again. Greg cast a nervous eye at her but said nothing.

The flight attendant asked them if they would like pre-departure drinks.

�God, no,� Greg groaned.

�God yes,� Mindy countered. �We�ll each have a bloody Mary, extra pale.�

�Are you insane?� Greg asked. �Alcohol is why I feel so horrible right now.� Well, partially why I feel so horrible.

�Trust me on this,� Mindy said. �The best cure for a hangover is the hair of the dog that bit you. Have a bloody Mary now, another one once we�re in the air, sleep the rest of the way to New York, and you�ll be ready to kick some ass by the time we land.�

And, of course, Mindy was right. He had a little trouble choking down the first two swallows of the tomato juice and vodka concoction, but as he put more of it in his stomach, he did begin to feel better. And, by the time they were at cruising altitude over western Indiana, he felt almost human, although he could tell it was an artificial feeling.

�See?� Mindy said with a smile. �Hair of the dog. It works every time.�

�It would seem you have a lot of experience with this sort of thing?� Greg asked.

�You could say that,� she agreed, setting down her now empty glass. �And now, I�m gonna catch some sleep. Wake me up when we land.�

�Right,� Greg said, watching as she settled herself into her chair and closed her eyes.

She had made no allusion or other inuendo to what had happened between them last night. Not even a sly smile or a sideways glance. Was it possible she did not remember that she had orally serviced him in his hotel suite? That she had let him ejaculate into her mouth? She had been even drunker than he, having consumed more drinks and being considerably smaller than him. Could it be that she had no idea that she had even done that?

He pondered that thought as he settled into his own seat and drifted off into slumber land. Just before sleep took him, he concluded that Mindy probably did not remember the events at all. And if that was the case, he was the only one who knew it had happened, right? And there was no reason why anyone else needed to know about it, right?

Alas, Mindy did remember the events of the previous night. And she also knew now how to push his buttons in the right way. She managed to feed him enough alcohol to damage his defenses at the New York premier. At the hotel bar after the premier, what started as a seemingly serious discussion about what had transpired between them the previous night drifted into a discussion of other things that Celia would not do in the bedroom.

�No butt sex, huh?� Mindy asked slyly after Greg had volunteered this information.

�Not a chance,� he told her. �I know better than to even suggest something like that to her.�

�That�s a bummer,� Mindy said, shrugging. �I really like a nice cock up my ass. It makes me feel so full.�

�Uh ... yeah, I guess it would,� Greg said, starting to realize that they were well into the land of impropriety once again.

�At least you were single for a while before you hooked up with her,� Mindy said. �You got to do all that stuff with the little starlets and extras before you committed to one person.�

�Well ... actually,� Greg said, �I�ve never actually ... you know ... had the opportunity to perform that particular act before.�

She looked at him, seemingly shocked by this revelation. �Get outta town!� she said. �You never got to tap an ass?�

And he should have ended the conversation right there, ended it and gone up to his room. He should have stopped drinking as well. He did neither.

And now, here he was in his suite in the Plaza Hotel overlooking New York�s Central Park. The dress pants of his tuxedo were once again around his ankles and his throbbing erection was once more sticking out before him like a divining rod. Mindy Snow, still wearing her maroon formal dress, was bent over the couch in front of him, the hem of her dress pulled up, revealing her bare ass framed by the garter belt that held up her silk stockings. She was spreading her butt cheeks obscenely, revealing her swollen, slick vagina and her puckered anus to his gaze.

How the hell did this happen? Greg thought desperately as he stared at the alluring sight before him.

�Come on, Greggie!� Mindy demanded. �Put some of that lotion on and do it to me! Fuck my ass!�

In his left hand he held a bottle of hotel body lotion that had been in the bathroom. Mindy had retrieved it and handed it to him right before assuming the position she was now in.

Greg hesitated, a bit of rational thought trying to worm its way in. I can�t do this! it screamed at him.

But she already gave me a blowjob last night, another part of his mind spoke up (the part that Jake would have recognized as the little head asserting its views). What does one more sin matter? She�s right there, right in front of you, and begging for it!

He found this point of view made a lot of sense at the moment. He opened the bottle up and squirted some in his hand. �Do I just ... you know ... put it on my member?� he asked Mindy.

�Yes!� she said. �But get me all lubed up first. Put some in my ass crack and then finger fuck my ass for a little bit.�

The remaining doubts disappeared like smoke as she said this. He stroked his member a few times, getting it nice and slippery and then squirted another large glob of the lotion directly into her buttock crack. The lotion smelled strongly of coconut and for the rest of his life he would associate that smell with this moment and spring an erection.

He put the flat of his hand into her crack and smeared the lotion up and down, his fingertips touching the wetness of her vaginal lips on the downstroke. He then slid his middle finger into the round bud of her anus, pushing it in well past the first knuckle. The orifice was tight and slippery.

�Yes!� Mindy panted. �That�s it. Add another finger. Get me all loosened up and then stick that cock in there.�

He added another finger, pushing and pulling them in and out, twisting them back and forth. He was extremely aroused now, well past the point of rational thought. She was actually going to let him fuck her ass! One of the few sexual acts he had always wanted to try but had never been able to (a threesome was another). It is doubtful that he would have been able to stop himself at this point even if Celia herself walked in the door.

�All right!� Mindy said. �I�m ready! Do it to me. Fuck my ass!�

He pulled his fingers out of her and stepped forward. He put the head of his erection against her anus and pushed. The going was still a little rough�it was a very tight orifice that was not designed for this particular function�but he managed, after a few strokes, to sink all the way to the hilt inside of her.

�Yes!� Mindy cried. �Fuck yes! Now fuck my ass! Fuck it hard!�

He began to push and pull within her, picking up speed with each thrust. The physical sensation was pleasant, though not as pleasant as being in a vagina, he had to admit, but the mental sensation was sublime. He was doing it! He was actually fucking a woman up the ass! And not just any woman, but Mindy Snow! The woman he had (truth be told) lusted over ever since they first started working on Us and Them together, ever since he had found out that she had a crush on him. And, yes, he was betraying his wife, committing adultery (although, that little head part of him pondered, was it really adultery? There weren�t actually having intercourse in the traditional sense of the word, both yesterday and today) and would have to figure out what that meant later, but right now, the guilt and the sense of betrayal were actually enhancing the experience, making it better.

�Spank my ass while you fuck it!� Mindy demanded.

This just gets better and better, he thought, feeling another surge of lust going through him. He had never spanked Celia before, had never even tried, assuming she would get angry if he did so, would maybe even hit him back. He began to slap at Mindy�s pulsing butt cheeks, hitting first one and then the other.

�That�s weak!� Mindy told him contemptuously. �Fuckin� spank me, you asshole! I�m a bad girl! A filthy girl! Make it hurt! Make it leave marks!�

He began to hit her harder, so her ass cheeks turned red in the shape of overlapping hand marks.

�Yes!� she cried with each hit. �That�s it! That�s fucking it!�

He did not last very long under these conditions. When Mindy put the fingers of her left hand between her legs and started to play with her clitoris, he lost control of himself. He began to pound in and out of her brutally, his hands now gripping her hips so he could pull her harder against him.

�Yes!� she cried, feeling him tense against her. �That�s it! Come in me! Come in my ass!�

He came in her ass, blasting out another pent-up load that had accumulated from a night of teasing and flirtation and guilt. Mindy moaned out in pleasure as she felt the outpouring into her bowels.

When the last spasm faded away, Greg pulled his rapidly deflating member out of her body. It was covered in a film of brown tinted whiteness with a few drops of blood mixed in. A similar appearing drool drizzled out of Mindy�s anus right behind it.

�Yes,� Mindy whispered, standing up and letting her dress fall back down around her legs. �Nothing like a good tap in the ass.� She leaned forward and gave Greg a long, lingering kiss on the lips, the tip of her tongue just reaching out to touch his.

Greg, still standing there with his pants and underwear down, afraid to touch his own penis because of the mess, enjoyed the kiss, enjoyed the aftermath of what he had just done, but started to feel the guilt worming its way back in.

�That was fab,� Mindy told him. �Did you like it?�

�Yes,� he said honestly. �It was quite enjoyable.�

�Quite enjoyable, huh?� she asked with a smirk. �You really know how to sweet talk a girl.�

�Uh ... sorry,� he said. He looked down at himself. �Listen ... uh ... I think I�d better go ... you know ... clean up a bit.�

�Yeah,� she said with a nod. �It looks like Little Greggie could use a bath all right. And I need to get back to my suite and ... well ... you can probably figure out what a girl has to do after a good ass fuck.�

It took him a moment, but he quickly picked up what she was laying down. �Oh ... right. Well ... I guess you know the way out?�

�I guess I do,� she said, turning to the door. �Goodnight, Greggie. It was fun.�

�Yeah. Goodnight, Mindy.�

She opened the door and looked back over her shoulder. �Maybe we�ll find some other kind of fun to have tomorrow night in New Orleans.�

Without waiting for a reply, she stepped out into the hall and closed the door. Greg stood there for a moment, wondering again how he had let things go this far. He looked at the phone on the desk for a long time, knowing that it was only 9:30 in Los Angeles. Celia would still be awake.

He made no move to the phone. Instead, he stepped out of his pants and underwear (having to fight a bit to get them off over his shoes) and then walked to the bathroom. He really needed to wash his hands and take a shower.

They flew to Baltimore just before noon the next day. There was no actual premier to attend. Instead, Greg, Mindy, Fletch and Lancing appeared on two of the Baltimore area entertainment shows, giving interviews and watching clips of the film. They boarded the plane again at 5:00 PM that same afternoon and flew for two and a half hours to New Orleans, where they checked into a hotel in the French quarter.

That night, Mindy came to Greg�s room wearing one of the hotel robes. She had nothing on underneath it. Greg put up a resistance but, by this point, he had already committed two nights of sins with Mindy and it was only a token one. Mindy, playing on another weakness she had managed to discern, seduced him by being the aggressor in the encounter. She threw him down on the bed in the suite, ripping his pants open and taking him into her mouth until she knew that no more resistance would be offered. She then slid up his body and pulled his face to her breasts, moving his head from one to the other, telling him to suck and bite her nipples until they bled. Once that was accomplished, she mounted him, sinking down on him and fucking him aggressively, giving herself two orgasms before he lost control and the machinery of orgasm began to take over.

�I�m ... I�m ... going to come,� he panted at her, his hands squeezing her beautiful breasts as she continued to raise and lower herself atop him.

�I know!� she panted back. �Shoot it in me! Come in my pussy!�

�But ... but ... is it safe?� he managed to squeak out.

�Yes, of course it�s safe!� she said, redoubling her efforts. �Now do it! Come in me!�

He came in her.

She left his room and returned to her own before the sweat was even dry on his body.

They spent the day in New Orleans, making multiple appearances at morning shows, afternoon shows, and signing autographs at a local video rental establishment. The entire group had dinner on Bourbon Street and then headed to the airport for their flight home. The airplane lifted off at 6:07 PM and headed east for the five-and-a-half-hour flight back to Los Angeles.

Mindy sat next to Greg again. She kept mostly quiet as they climbed out and settled into their flight path. He was drinking a glass of cognac and lost in a maze of tumultuous emotions. He wondered if anyone else in their party had any idea what he and Mindy had been up to? There was no reason to think they did, but there was also no reason to think they did not.

�I had a good time, Greg,� Mindy told him, sipping from her own drink. �I�m glad we were finally able to ... you know ... get together.�

�Yeah,� Greg said with a sigh.

�You okay?� she asked him. She lowered her voice to a whisper. �You�d think after the uh... fun we had on this trip you�d be in a better mood.�

�What happens when we get back to LA?� Greg asked her.

�Nothing happens,� she said with a shrug. �We go back to our normal lives. You go back to Celia and I go back to whatever I can dig up when I need some company. There�s no reason to think about it any further than that.�

�I wish it was that easy,� he said.

�It is that easy,� she assured him. �What happens on the promo trips stays on the promo trips. Everyone knows that.�

�I shouldn�t have done what I did,� he said.

�But you did,� she countered. �It�s over and done. You can�t un-fuck someone. That�s one of life�s great truths, you know. You�re just going to have to put it behind you, write it off as a good time and keep it as a good memory. At least, I hope it will be a good memory. It will be for me.�

�I would be lying if I said I didn�t enjoy what we did,� Greg said.

�I would hope you did enjoy it,� she whispered. �I don�t let just anyone into my ass.�

�Uh ... yes, of course,� he said. �But ... I�m not sure how I�m going to face Celia after this.�

�You face her like you�ve always faced her,� Mindy said. �What�s so hard about that?�

�I have a guilty conscious,� he said. �I�m afraid she�ll see what I did in my face the moment I step in the door. And if she doesn�t see it right away, she�ll certainly pick up on it when she asks me how the trip was. I can�t lie to her on that level.�

�Sure you can,� Mindy scoffed.

�What?�

�You�re an actor, Greggie, and a goddamn good one at that. You have been able to convince the world that you�re a rescue helicopter pilot and a hardened street cop. Why can�t you convince your wife that you�re the same old Greg she�s always known?�

�Well ... uh ... I never really thought about it like that,� he said.

�That�s how you need to think of it,� she said. �It�s a performance; a role to play like any other. You�re a method actor, just like I am. How hard can it be to simply play yourself in real life?�

�I don�t know,� he said doubtfully. �Maybe the best thing to do is just to confess what happened.�

�Don�t be a fool,� she admonished. �What will that get you? You did that after you fucked Cheryl, right?�

�Well ... right.�

�And how did that work out for you?� she enquired.

�Not very well,� he admitted. �I got the silent treatment for months and I�m pretty sure that Celia was on the brink of leaving me.�

�And how do you think she would react this time?� Mindy asked.

�I think she would leave me,� he admitted. �And immediately.�

�Right,� Mindy said. �So, what would be the point of confessing then? It would only hurt her and hurt you and destroy your marriage. That�s no solution.�

�But...�

�Look, Greggie,� she said. �What happened, happened. It�s over and done. I enjoyed it and I don�t regret it, but I�m not trying to take you away from your wife. This trip was just about exploring a little of the chemistry you and I had together. No one but the two of us knows what happened. There is no reason why anyone else has to know. I told you that the first night.�

She was making an awful lot of sense, Greg had to admit. There was no real reason to confess his sins and lots of reasons not to. �But what about...�

She was shaking her head. �There�s no buts,� she said firmly. �You go home and step into the role of Greg Oldfellow, successful actor with a blockbuster film about to premier and devoted husband. You play that role like you play any role. Get into character and stay in character and nobody will ever be the wiser.�

He took a deep breath and then nodded. �All right,� he said. �I find you make a good point.�

�I usually do,� she said.

The plane touched down at 8:34 PM, Pacific Time. Limousines were waiting at the general aviation terminal. Greg and Mindy shared a brief hug before they went their separate ways. Lancing reminded the two of them that they had another promo to attend next Friday night, when the film actually premiered nationwide.

The limo dropped Greg off in front of his home. While the driver got his luggage out so his servants could take it inside, Greg walked slowly up the path that led to the front door. He felt very nervous about facing Celia, but he took Mindy�s advice and got into character.

I�m Greg Oldfellow, successful actor, pompous ass, devoted husband who does not cheat on his wife. That is who I am.

And he felt the familiar calmness wash over him as he intoned this to himself, over and over.

He put a smile on his face and opened the door. Celia was there to greet him. She was wearing a pair of pink pajamas and no bra, her hair down around her shoulders. She had a smile on her face as well.

�Welcome home!� she greeted, coming up and throwing her arms around him.

He hugged her back, staying in character, and kissed her full lips with enthusiasm. �I missed you,� he told her.

�I missed you too,� she said. �How was the trip?�

�Tedious,� he said. �I think I can understand a little about how you feel when you�re on the road.�

She nodded knowingly, seemingly pleased at his insight. �Try it for two months at a time,� she suggested.

He asked her about how tour rehearsal was going. She gave him the rundown. They had apparently settled on a new violinist and were ready to start rehearsing in earnest now. From there, they talked a little more about the trip he had just returned from. He spoke for a long time about the Chicago premier and how the police officers had reacted to the film.

After a while, he declared that he was tired. His body was on east coast time, after all. They retired to the bedroom and made love in their usual fashion.

Celia never picked up on the guilt and shame he was concealing. He was sure of it.

Oceano, California

November 23, 1995

Thanksgiving Day on California�s central coast region dawned with a few low clouds and a wet marine layer in the morning hours, but by the time Jake Kingsley put the fifteen-pound turkey on his barbeque at 11:00 AM the sky was bright blue and clear and the temperature was a pleasant 68 degrees with only a slight onshore breeze blowing. The Pacific Ocean out beyond his deck was a brilliant blue dotted with the occasional whitecap. It was a perfect day to celebrate with his family and closest friends.

In honor of the holiday, Celia and her band were taking a break from tour rehearsal, which they had been pushing ahead with eight hours a day, six days a week since the last week of October. Celia and Greg had gone in with Pauline and Obie to rent a helicopter to fly them to Oceano from Santa Monica and had arrived just a few hours before. They would be staying until Friday morning. The Nerdlys, including Kelvin, had flown in with Jake and Laura on Wednesday night. The parental Nerdlys and the parental Kingsleys had arrived on Wednesday evening by car, electing to visit their son�s new house for the first time via road trip instead of taking Jake up on his offer to fly them down on a private charter. It had taken them seven hours to make the drive, but they claimed they had enjoyed the adventure and were looking forward to driving the coastal highway all the way to San Francisco to go home.

Elsa, unfortunately (on several levels) was not present for the celebration. She had driven to Orange County on Wednesday morning to spend the holiday with her children and grandchildren. She would not be back until Monday and had threatened all manner of violence and retribution against her employers if the house was not as spotless upon her return as it had been when she left.

Jake made sure the turkey was positioned just so and far enough away from the smoldering briquettes. He then closed the lid on the barbeque and watched until the temperature gauge settled. It was at 330 degrees. That would be almost perfect. He threw a few handfuls of applewood chips soaked in water onto the coals to generate aromatic smoke. When it was puffing out of the vents at a rate he thought appropriate, he went back inside the house. He would need to come back out every half an hour or so to put more chips on the coals and to monitor the temperature, but for now, he could open that first bottle of wine of the day and relax a little.

Mary Kingsley and Cynthia Archer were both in the kitchen. Mary had just put a second turkey of similar size into the oven. Since Jake had never barbequed a turkey before, her tried and true oven-cooked bird would be both the backup and the supplement, as fifteen pounds was a bit on the small side for a gathering of this many people. Cindy was making some of her homemade stuffing out of sourdough bread, onions, and a few other ingredients. She also had a large plate of yams in the process of being candied.

�It smells great in here, Moms,� Jake told them as he went to the sink to wash his hands. �It reminds me of Thanksgiving back in the old days.�

�I only wish I�d had a kitchen like this in the old days,� Mary said. �No wonder Elsa moved here with you.�

�I told her to design her dream kitchen when I was putting this house together,� Jake said. �She totally embraced the project.�

�It really is a beautiful house, Jake,� Cindy told him. �I�m afraid to know how much it cost you, but you did good. The location, the floor plan, everything.�

�This is my dream house,� Jake said. �I mean, the one in New Zealand is nice too�you guys have to come out and see it sometime�but this has the location. I love going to sleep hearing the sound of the ocean out my window. I love not having any neighbors. And it�s just a short hop back to LA when I need to work.�

�You�ve done very well for yourself, honey,� Mary told him, giving him a brief hug of affection. �I used to worry about you endlessly, you know. Wondering whether you�d be able to make it in life when all you wanted to do was play your guitar and sing.�

�Yeah,� Jake said with a grin. �You used to tell me I would never be able to support myself that way, remember?�

She looked a little guilty, and perhaps a bit peeved, but she owned up. �I was wrong about that, Jake,� she told him. �I guess you had a little more talent than I was giving you credit for.�

�Thanks, Mom,� he told her. �But there was a fair amount of luck involved as well.�

�Don�t sell yourself short, Jake,� Cindy told him. �You and William make a good musical team. I learned that when we were performing with you. You take your music very seriously.�

�Yes, we do,� Jake agreed. �Now, who�s up for a little wine?�

�At eleven o�clock in the morning?� Mary asked.

�It�s Thanksgiving,� Jake said. �I seem to remember the two of you swilling down the chardonnay all day long back in the day when the families got together for Thanksgiving.�

�Well ... since you put it that way...� Mary said with a smile.

�I�ll be right back,� Jake told the mothers. �I�ve got some New Zealand stuff I�ve been saving for just such an occasion. Let me go pour and get this party started.�

�It would be rude to say no,� Cindy said with a smile of her own.

He left the kitchen and went into the entertainment room. Tom, Obie and Stan were sitting on the couch watching the Vikings play the Lions on the large screen television. None of them seemed particularly captivated with the contest. Pauline was on the floor, playing with Tabby and Kelvin and a bunch of toy cars. She seemed to be having more fun. Bill and Sharon were sitting at Jake�s computer, playing a game called Myst that Laura had bought for Jake a few months ago but that he had never even loaded onto the device. They seemed quite enthralled with what they were doing. They did not even look up when he entered the room. Celia and Greg were playing on Jake�s pinball machine, Celia currently behind the flippers. And Laura was sitting on one of the other couches with Eric Pale, the new violinist Celia had hired for the tour.

Eric was a slight young man, painfully thin, almost anorexic looking. Though he was twenty-three years of age and working on his master�s degree in music composition at USC, he looked no older than sixteen and would probably be routinely carded when he bought alcohol into his forties. He had long, stringy hair that was dyed black and he favored black clothing. He was painfully shy, rarely speaking unless spoken to, and never meeting anyone�s eyes when he did speak with them. Laura and Celia had invited him to the celebration because he had nowhere else to go, no one to spend the holiday with. His parents had disowned him when he came out to them as gay during his freshman year of college and he was not the type of person who made friends easily. Jake actually thought he was a little creepy (though the kid could play the fiddle with the best of them), but Laura had bonded with him on a certain level, probably because of their similar parental backgrounds. The two of them were flipping through some of the sheet music for the upcoming tour, this despite both Celia and Jake proclaiming a moratorium on any music-related work during the holiday.

�All right!� Jake announced. �I�m breaking out the wine. Who�s up for some?�

�Me!� said Laura enthusiastically.

�I�d rather have an appletini,� said Nerdly.

�Wine is for pussies,� said Obie. �I�ll take a bourbon, neat.�

�I�m pouring wine,� Jake said. �If anyone wants something else, the bar is right here. You�re on your own.�

�Some host you are,� Obie grunted.

Jake opened three bottles of Marlborough Sauvignon Blanc he had been chilling in the bar refrigerator for just this occasion. Considered New Zealand�s finest wine from its finest grape growing region, Jake had shipped back several cases of it when he and Laura had been there for their honeymoon. He poured glasses for himself, the mothers, Greg and Celia, Laura, Sharon, Pauline, and the fathers. Nerdly went without a beverage, not wanting to leave Myst for the amount of time it would take to build an appletini. Obie took Jake�s advice and helped himself to a double shot of Jim Beam Black label, neat. Eric declined the offer of any beverage.

�Not a drinker, boy?� Obie asked him. They had met for the first time today.

�Only once in a while,� Eric said, his voice meek, his eyes looking down at the carpet. �I�m not supposed to drink with my medication.�

�Medication?� Obie asked. �At your age? What the hell do you need to take medication for?�

�Obie,� Laura admonished. �That�s kind of a personal question, don�t you think?�

�It�s okay,� Eric said, still looking at the floor. �I have social anxiety disorder.�

�What the fuck is that?� Obie asked.

�Obie!� admonished Pauline. �There are children present, one of them yours!�

�Oh ... yeah ... sorry,� he said. �What the hell is that, then?�

�It means he has a phobia about being in large groups of people,� Laura explained. �It�s a legitimate medical condition.�

�I take Paxil for long-term control of the disorder,� Eric said softly. �And I take Xanax when I have a breakthrough case of panic or if I�m entering a situation, such as this social gathering, where I know a breakthrough case is likely.�

�Xanax?� Jake asked. �Isn�t that like Valium?�

�It�s the same class of drug,� Eric said. �A benzodiazepine. They help a lot in situations such as this, although, once I take a Xanax, I can�t drink alcohol.�

�If this is such a stressful situation, Eric,� asked Pauline, �why did you come here? Why did you put yourself through this?�

�Because Laura invited me,� he said simply. �It would have been rude to say no. Besides, the more I expose myself to these situations, the more used to them I get. And you�re all very nice people, not like those ... well ... never mind that. I wanted to come here; although I have to say flying on that helicopter was quite terrifying.�

�It wasn�t really my idea of a good time either,� said Celia.

�I thought it was exhilarating,� Greg said. �It reminded me of when I was filming Others. There�s nothing like riding in a chopper.�

�I disagree,� said Nerdly. �I have ridden in a helicopter on several occasions now and I must report that, while exhilarating, the sensation does not rise to the level of intimate physical activity and orgasm, either within or outside of a committed monogamous and legally sanctioned relationship.�

�What?� Greg asked, flabbergasted.

�He means that the helicopter ride isn�t better than sex,� Jake translated.

�Ohh,� Greg said slowly. He thought about this for a moment or two and then nodded. �Okay. Maybe it isn�t as good as sex, but it comes in a close second.�

�I would put the experience in sixth place,� Nerdly said. �Second would be witnessing the birth of your child.�

�Uh ... I haven�t experienced that one yet,� Greg said.

�Third would be achieving an approximation of perfect audio reproduction on a master CD,� Nerdly went on. �Fourth would be hearing your own musical performance on public airwaves for the first time, and fifth would be solving a complex physics equation in a manner that supports empirical and repeatable evidence of a hypothesis.�

�Uh ... yeah,� Greg said. �I guess those are pretty exciting moments too.�

�Bill,� Sharon said, indignant. �What about the moment I said �yes� to your marriage proposal? What about our wedding, when we stood in our Star Trek uniforms before the rabbi?�

Bill shook his head. �No,� he said. �I�m afraid on a strictly momentary enjoyment level, the helicopter rides ranked just a bit higher than those.�

This proclamation was met by silence from all within earshot of it.

�What?� Nerdly asked. �I was just being truthful.�

�I think you need to learn the art of the little white lie, Nerdly,� Obie suggested.

�Please do,� agreed Sharon.

�Well ... all right then,� Jake said. �On that note, I think I�ll go check on my turkey.�

�I�ll go with you,� said Obie, standing. �Is it too early for a cigar?�

Jake thought about this for a second and then smiled. �Emily Post might think so,� he said, �but she doesn�t seem to be here at the moment. Let�s hit the humidor.�

�Hear, hear now,� said Greg, his face brightening. �A good cigar sounds like just the thing.�

�Let�s do it then,� Jake said. �Anyone else for a stogie out on the deck?�

No one else was up for it. Jake went over to his humidor and pulled three hand-rolled Cuban Cohibas from it. The three men went out through the sliding door onto the deck, their drinks in hand and took seats at the granite patio table next to the barbeque. Jake handed Greg and Obie their cigars. They took turns prepping them with his cutter and then fired up with the barbeque lighter sitting on the table. They blew the fragrant smoke out over the deck where the light wind carried it away.

�Good cigar, Jake,� Obie said, impressed. �Genuine Cuban. How do you get your greasy little hands on these things?�

It had been illegal to import Cuban cigars into the United States since 1962, but a fair number still found their way into the hands of those, like Jake, who coveted them. �I used to get them from a little cigar shop in West Hollywood that kept some under the counter for special customers,� he said, �but the price was high and a couple of times they sold me counterfeits. I could tell by the taste they weren�t the real deal. So, I stopped doing business with them and went without for a while. But when I moved here and started flying out of Whiteman, I met a cargo pilot who flies 747s for UPS. He owns a Mooney Bravo and keeps it in the hangars near where I park my truck. We got to talking one day�he�s an Intemperance fan�and he told me his route is from Vancouver, BC to Shanghai. After we got to know each other a little better, he let me know that he would be willing to buy me some of these Cohibas in Vancouver and bring them to me for just twenty-five percent above cost.�

�That�s actually pretty reasonable,� Obie said.

�It is,� Jake agreed. �It costs me six hundred and twenty-five bucks for a box of twenty-five. And they�re always genuine Cohibas and they�re always fresh. When I was getting them from the cigar shop, I was paying eight hundred a box for cigars that were usually a little stale and sometimes fake.�

Greg shook his head sadly. �I do abhor dishonesty when doing business with someone,� he said.

�Yeah,� Obie agreed. �It�s a bitch when your illegal goods supplier is screwing you, ain�t it? No fuckin� Better Business Bureau to complain to.�

�Exactly,� Greg said, missing Obie�s sarcasm.

The three men puffed their cigars and drank their drinks for a few minutes, talking of unimportant things. Jake made a point to pay particular attention to Greg during the conversation. This was his first time in the actor�s company since the night of the Los Angeles premier of his film more than a month before. Jake had been on two trips with Gordon and his band since then, playing sixteen separate dates with them. He had just returned from the second one five days before and had been helping out with Celia�s tour planning and rehearsal every day until the Thanksgiving break started. Greg, in turn, had been busy doing promotional appearances, mostly in LA, and giving interviews for various entertainment media groups. Celia had confided in Jake during one of the lunch breaks at the rehearsal warehouse that her husband had been acting �a little strange� ever since returning from the trip across the country with Mindy Snow and the production crew.

�What do you mean by �a little strange?�� Jake had asked her.

�I don�t know,� she admitted. �It�s nothing I can quite put my finger on, but there�s something off about him in some subtle way.�

�You don�t think anything ... you know ... happened between him and Mindy, do you?�

�No,� she answered immediately, shaking her head firmly. �It�s nothing like that. I�m sure I would know right away if he had been unfaithful to me with that puta.�

�I�ll take your word for it,� Jake told her.

�It�s just that it seems like he�s ... I don�t know ... putting up a false face for me.�

�A false face?�

�His acting face,� she said. �It�s like he�s playing a part whenever we talk these days. And he�s ... well ... much more interested in having sex.�

�You can�t blame a guy for that,� Jake said. Especially not when he has a wife that looks like you, he did not add.

�Maybe not,� she allowed, �but I can�t help but feel his increased interest is related to the false face.�

As he watched Greg now, Jake detected no real difference from the personality he had always known. Greg was arrogant, pompous, and somewhat of a square; just like always. But then again, Jake did not live with him day in and day out, nor was Jake someone Greg would necessarily be putting on an act for.

�What was it like being out on tour with Bigg G and his boys?� Obie asked now, derailing Jake�s thoughts. �That must�ve been some experience.�

�It was mostly great to be back out on the road again and performing regularly,� Jake said. �Playing in front of an audience has always been the best part of this life for me.�

�I would think the money you make would be the best part,� Greg said.

�I do appreciate the money,� Jake assured him. �And I also love composing and arranging new tunes, but performing live has always been the best part of this job for me. Hanging out with G lets me get a little taste of it again. It also shows me how much I�ve changed over the years.�

�What do you mean?� Obie asked.

�I don�t party like I used to,� Jake said. �G and his band after shows are kind of like me and Matt and Coop were back in our heyday. They do the whole bit. Cocaine, drinking whiskey out of the bottle, smoking out, tapping groupies.�

�Tapping groupies?� Greg asked. �Bigg G does that? He�s married now!�

�Apparently marriage doesn�t count out on tour,� Jake said with a shrug. �What happens on the road, stays on the road and all that.� He gave Greg a sharp look. �Don�t tell Celia about that, okay? She might tell Laura, and Laura is good friends with G�s wife.�

�My lips are sealed,� Greg promised. �I assume you were not engaging in such behavior.�

�I was not,� Jake said honestly. �After a show, I generally have a few beers and maybe a bonghit or two, but I retreat to my own area once they start rolling the groupies in.� He smiled. �Not that I wasn�t getting lots of requests.�

�Black groupies?� Obie asked.

�A lot of them were,� Jake said. �But there was a fair and reasonably equal representation of other races and creeds as well. One thing I�ll say about G and the boys, they don�t discriminate when it comes to their groupies.�

�That�s good to know,� Obie said with a grin.

�In truth,� Jake said, �I was a little disappointed in G. I thought he was above that kind of thing. But ... well ... what can you do? I�m not the morality police.�

�None of us are,� Greg said somberly.

�That ain�t no shit,� Jake agreed and then held out his right hand to Greg.

Greg simply stared at it. �What�s that for?� he asked.

�Oh ... sorry,� Jake said, putting his hand back down. �When you�re hanging with G and his people and someone says something profound, like �none of us are�, the proper response is for someone else to say, �that ain�t no shit� or �that�s the fuckin� truth� and then an elaborate handshake is exchanged.�

�Really?� Greg asked, raising his eyebrows.

�Really,� Jake said. �And a lot of profound things get said when the coke and the bonghits come out. I�ve gotten rather good at the ritual.�

�That�s some interesting insight there, Jake,� Obie said. �What other rituals are there?�

Jake thought for a moment. �Well, there�s the whole �that shit ain�t right� thing.�

�That shit ain�t right?� Obie asked.

�Yeah,� said Jake. �Someone is supposed to say that anytime someone describes an injustice of any kind. It doesn�t matter to what degree the injustice is. It could be anything from a brother got shot in the back by the police during an unjustified traffic stop to you didn�t get a straw attached to the side of your juice box. Someone always has to solemnly say, �that shit ain�t right, man,� and then everyone takes a moment to reflect upon the state of the world and the perpetual state of institutional racism that exists in it, nod quietly in agreement, and then the normal conversation can continue.�

�Are you making this up, Jake?� Greg asked.

�I am not,� Jake said. �That shit wouldn�t be right.�

Greg shook his head a little, unsure whether he was being teased or not. He then changed the subject. �So ... anyway, I heard Celia�s new song on the radio this morning while I was getting ready for the flight here.�

�Yep,� Jake said. �The Aristocrat promotion department came through. Saturation airplay of It Never Happened and my tune, Teach Me, is now in progress, both on the pops and the hards, all across the US and Canada. The CDs will be released for sale on December 5^th.�

�I heard Celia�s tune yesterday,� Obie said. �I liked it. Good melody, good mixing of the instruments. And the lyrics are kind of profound too. Almost like a good country song.�

�There�s no reason to get insulting, Obie,� Jake said.

Obie grinned and took a hit of his cigar.

�What did you think of the tune, Greg?� Jake asked him, perhaps a little nervously. After all, the song was about the night that he and Greg�s wife had spent in Portland, although, so far, no one else seemed to suspect that. �Was that the first time you heard it?�

�No, I listened to the whole master CD when she first brought it home,� Greg said. �I like the song. Her voice is as beautiful as ever.�

�Does she ever to sing to you when you�re slipping her the salami?� Obie wanted to know.

�Uh ... no,� Greg said, blushing a bit. �She does not do that.�

�Have you ever asked?�

�No,� Greg said firmly. �Anyway ... as I was saying, I�m not a music expert by any means, and perhaps I�m a bit biased, but I think It Never Happened might be one of her biggest hits yet. It just sounds good when you listen to it. It causes an emotional response of sadness and regret.�

�That�s exactly what a good tune is supposed to do,� Jake said.

�Who is she singing about anyway?� Obie asked, causing Jake to look sharply at him.

�What do you mean, who is she singing about?� asked Greg.

�I mean, it�s obvious she�s singing about some one-night stand hookup she had with someone she was intensely attracted to. Now, I would assume this is something that happened before she met you, Greg. But who is it? It must�ve been some kind of night.�

�She is not singing about anyone in particular,� Greg said firmly. �It�s just a song.�

Obie raised his eyebrows a bit but did not argue the point, though he, as a songwriter of considerable talent, knew that rarely was anything penned on that level �just a song�. �Oh yeah,� he said. �I guess that makes sense.�

�So...� Jake quickly interjected, changing the subject, �speaking of songs, Obie. Paulie told me you�re gearing up to hit the studio for your next release?�

�That�s right,� Obie said. �We�re doing the workups right now. I�m hoping to convince the Nerdlys to come up to Oregon and work their magic for me.�

�They might agree to that,� Jake said. �You�d have to make it worth their while though.�

�Naturally,� Obie said. �That�s the way the world works.�

�That ain�t no shit,� Jake said, holding out his hand. Once again, no one shook it. He sighed a little. It really was kind of a cool ritual. White people should learn to embrace it. �Anyway,� he continued, putting his hand back down, �they�ll be working with Celia and the band dialing in the concert sound until December 23. That�s when they�ll do the final dress rehearsals for the tour. After that, they all take a Christmas break and then the roadies and the techies will start their roll-in/roll-out training. Once they�re done with that and they load up the trucks to head for the first date on January 1, the Nerdlys will be free and clear, probably until we bring Brainwash back into the studio over the summer.�

�That sounds like a doable timeline,� Obie said. �I can plan to hit the studio in early January. We�ll be ready by then.�

They talked for a few minutes about some of the tunes that Obie was working on for his next release, or rather, Obie and Jake talked about it and Greg sat and looked bored. Jake then got up and popped back inside to refresh everyone�s drinks, pouring more wine for himself and Greg and another neat bourbon for Obie. After handing them out and then taking a few puffs on his cigar to maintain its combustion, Jake threw another handful of wood chips on the coals of the barbeque, causing a fresh billow of savory smoke to erupt. They all watched it drift away in the breeze for a bit and then Greg, seeming almost nervous, broke the silence.

�Laura told me that you�re flying to Phoenix on Sunday,� he said.

�That�s right,� Jake said. �I�m going to go check out a plane.�

�Check out a plane?� Obie asked.

�I�m looking to upgrade my Chancellor,� Jake said. �Laura wants a plane that has a bathroom in it. She really doesn�t like having to hold her pee on the longer flights; and she likes having to use the urinal even less.�

�You�re going to get a whole new plane just because of that?� Obie asked.

Jake smiled. �When your wife suggests that maybe you should upgrade your plane, you upgrade your plane. You don�t ask questions.�

�I suppose that�s a fair point,� Obie had to admit. �Why do you have to go to Phoenix though? Ain�t there enough airplanes to look at in LA?�

�Not the airplane I�m interested in,� Jake said. �Or at least not the one I have a connection to.�

�What kind of plane is it?� Greg asked.

�It�s an Avanti 180,� Jake said.

�Never heard of it,� Obie said.

�Neither had I until I started talking to the pilots that fly the charter plane for G and the band. I told them I was looking to upgrade my plane to something with a bathroom in it and the copilot told me that basically the only plane that has a bathroom and can be flown by only one pilot is the Avanti. It�s built by an Italian company.�

�Italian, huh?� Obie said. �I hope they build their planes better than those fucking Fiats.�

�Yeah,� Jake agreed. �That is a good point and something to consider. Anyway, Jeff, he�s the copilot, knows a guy that flies an Avanti out of a muni field in Phoenix. He�s the pilot for the CEO of that new pet store chain, PetShop.�

�Oh yeah,� Obie said. �They�re the motherfuckers that are putting all the independent pet shops out of business.�

�They are,� Jake said with a shrug. �In any case, this pilot�his name is Austin�is an Intemperance fan as it turns out. Jeff gave him a call and told him I was interested in checking out the plane. It just so happens that Austin is flying the plane empty to Denver on Monday for a major maintenance check. He invited me to come along with him for the ride.�

�Phoenix to Denver on a little plane?� asked Obie. �How long will that take?�

�Not as long as you think,� Jake said. �The Avanti is a twin-engine turboprop, like my Chancellor, but its speed and range is comparable to a Citation or a Lear jet. Jeff tells me it cruises at over three hundred knots and can fly as high as forty-one thousand feet. And it has a bathroom.�

Obie nodded approvingly. �Not bad,� he said. �What would something like that cost?�

�I�m not sure,� Jake said. �I would guess I could get a used one for around half a million or so, depending on the avionics it has.�

�That�s almost reasonable, I suppose,� Obie said.

�This all sounds rather intriguing,� Greg said. �Listen, Jake ... uh ... I wonder if I could possibly impose upon you.�

�For what?� Jake asked. �Your wine glass is still full.�

�No, not that,� Greg said. �Would you consider taking me along with you on your adventure to Phoenix and Denver?�

This request caught Jake completely out of left field. Greg wanted to go to Phoenix with him? And then fly with him to Denver on a small aircraft? What the hell was this about? �You ... want to go with me?� he asked.

�If it�s not too much of an imposition,� Greg said. �I mean ... I understand I was not invited on the maintenance flight, but if there is any way I could go along, I would like to.�

�Why?� Jake asked. He was not opposed to the idea of Greg accompanying him on the trip, but the request itself was very out of character.

Greg gave a shrug. �I feel like I need to get out of LA for a few days,� he said. �And this trip of yours sounds like fun.�

�You understand that I�ll be flying my Chancellor to Phoenix, not a commercial flight?� Jake asked him.

�Yes,� Greg said. �Laura told me that. Is that a problem?�

Jake raised his brows a bit. �You�ve always told me that you wouldn�t fly in an aircraft as cramped as mine with an amateur at the controls.�

�That was in the past,� Greg said, �before I worked on Others. I�ve gotten used to small aircraft and have even learned to enjoy them. And besides, I flew with you from Catalina back to Santa Monica after we did that promo flight with Helen, remember?�

�You did,� Jake agreed. �And you didn�t even scream once, if I recall correctly.�

�You see?� Greg said. �So ... what do you say?�

Jake simply shrugged. �I�ll give Austin a call tomorrow and see if he�s okay with it. If he is, you�re welcome to come along.�

�Thank you,� Greg said, obviously pleased.

�Have you talked to Celia about this?� Obie asked the actor.

�Not yet,� he said dismissively. �I�m sure she�ll have no problem with it though.�

Jake�s smoked turkey turned out quite well and the guests demolished it (as well as a good percentage of Mary�s oven-cooked turkey). After dinner was cleaned up (Jake instituted Rule 1 for his guests) they had homemade pumpkin pie and cherry cream cheese pie with snifters of aged Courvoisier. After this, they played some music, Jake, Obie and Celia strumming guitars and singing some of the classics (Obie�s rendition of Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain brought tears to a few eyes). Jake�s father joined in, playing and singing some of the classics from his heyday as well (everyone was particularly impressed when he sang Hanky Panky). Jake had purchased a used Steinway piano from a shop in Santa Maria not long before, and both Cindy and Nerdly took turns playing on it as well. They ended the impromptu concert with a rendition of Hey Jude, with Cindy on the piano, Jake and Celia trading off the verses, and everyone joining in for the lengthy string of �na na na, na na na na�s� at the end.

After the singing, Greg mentioned to his wife that he wanted to go along with Jake on his aircraft inspection trip. She was not upset or objectional to the plan, but she was confused by it.

�That sounds like a good time to you?� she asked, her wifely gaze upon him.

�It does,� he assured her.

She shrugged. �Whatever floats your boat, I guess,� she said.

Everyone was in bed by eleven o�clock. The next morning, Jake and Mary prepared a large breakfast for everyone. After consumption and clean up, Jake dialed the number for Austin Grover, the Avanti pilot in Phoenix. Austin had no problem with Jake bringing a passenger along for the ride, especially when he was told that the passenger in question was Greg Oldfellow.

�I can�t wait to meet him,� Austin said. �I loved what he did in So Others May Live. That was one of the most realistic flying movies ever made.�

�Be sure to tell him that when you meet him,� Jake said. �Only, don�t say �movie�. It�s a �film� or a �project�.�

�If you say so,� Austin said. �I�ll see you at Deer Valley at nine o�clock Monday. Be ready to turn and burn.�

�I�m always ready for that,� Jake assured him.

�Great!� Greg said enthusiastically when told the news. �Where are we staying?�

�I booked a suite at the Hyatt downtown,� Jake said. �It�s big enough for both of us, but I assume you�ll want your own room?�

�Of course,� Greg said. �I�ll have my people book me a suite as well.�

�I have the number right here on my desk,� Jake said. �You could call them right now.�

Greg wrinkled his brow. It was obvious that the idea of booking his own room was about as foreign to him as changing the oil in his car or repairing his own toilet. �I�ll have my people handle it,� he said.

The parents were the first to leave. After hugs and goodbyes all around, the four of them climbed into their car just after eleven o�clock to start their long, rambling drive home up the Pacific Coast Highway. They planned to drive to Monterey and stay overnight there and then resume their drive the next morning.

Shortly after the mothers and fathers pulled away, it was time to make a trip to the airport. Celia, Greg, and Eric the violinist got into Jake�s car while Obie, Pauline, and Tabby got into Laura�s. They caravanned to Oceano Airport where the chartered Sikorsky S-76 helicopter was waiting to take them back to LA. While Obie and Pauline fussed with the luggage and Laura carried Tabby, and while Greg walked over to the pilot to discuss the preflight check (after all, he had a flight lesson in his logbook), Celia found her way over to Jake.

�So?� she asked him, her voice low. �Did he seem strange to you? Did you see what I was talking about?�

�Not really,� Jake said. �Other than asking to go along with me to Phoenix, he seemed pretty much like Greg to me.�

�And that in itself didn�t strike you as strange?� she asked.

�Yeah,� he admitted. �It kind of did. What do you think it�s all about?�

�I have no idea,� she said. �But I expect you to keep me informed.�

�I�ll do what I can,� Jake told her.

�Now remember,� Jake told Greg as he taxied to Runway 30 at Whiteman airport just past noon on Sunday, �you are not to touch a single knob, dial, switch, or control, no matter what happens.�

�What if you pass out in flight?� Greg asked, his hands gripping the sides of the copilot seat.

�You still don�t touch anything,� Jake told him. �You try to wake me up if that happens, but I�m not going to pass out. There�s a reason we have to have physical exams every two years.�

�But what if...�

�Not a single knob, dial, switch, or control,� Jake cut in. �No matter what. And keep your feet off the rudder pedals too. They�re not footrests.�

�All right,� Greg said, perhaps a bit dejected.

It was a beautiful southern California fall day, so Jake was flying VFR. He took off to the northwest and then followed the standard eastern departure route, setting his climb for nine hundred feet per minute and his altitude for 15,500 feet so he could make it over the San Bernardino Mountains with a good clearance margin. The plane bounced and bumped a little as it ascended over the eastern suburbs of Los Angeles. At 8000 feet, the bleed air from the engines was fed into the cabin to keep them comfortably pressurized. Greg watched the passing scenery with apparently genuine interest, though every jolt of turbulence they encountered made him jump a little and grip his seat tighter.

Greg said little until they passed over the heavily forested San Bernardinos and were flying in the smoother air high above the desolation of the Mojave Desert. That was when Jake finally got an idea of what this trip was all about.

�This plane ... uh ... it doesn�t have a cockpit recorder in it, does it?� Greg asked.

Jake looked over at him, remembering that Laura had once asked him that same question. He gave the same answer. �No. This is not a commercial aircraft so a CVR is not required. And, since it�s not required, I�ve never had one installed.�

Greg nodded thoughtfully.

�Is there a reason you asked?� Jake prodded.

�Uh ... well ... kind of,� he said.

Jake let a full minute pass before asking, �Are you going to tell me what it is?�

Greg sighed. �Yes, I guess I am,� he said. He shook his head. �I must be crazy telling you this considering how close you are to her.�

�Close I am to who?�

�To Celia,� he said. �Who else?�

�I don�t know,� Jake said carefully. �I�m not sure what we�re talking about here.�

�Jake,� Greg said, �I consider you my best friend.�

�Uh ... okay,� Jake said. �I�m flattered, of course. And I think you�re a pretty cool guy as well.�

�Thank you,� he said. �But what I�m getting at is that I have something I need to talk about and you�re the only one I think would understand what I�m going through. I trust I can count on your discretion?�

�If you have to ask, you can�t count on it,� Jake said simply.

Greg nodded. �A fair point. I don�t think I have to ask.�

�I do,� Jake said. �What the hell are we talking about?�

Greg looked down at his feet (which were well clear of the rudder pedals, as instructed). �Mindy Snow,� he said softly, so softly that his voice barely made it into Jake�s headphones.

Jake had been looking at his instruments. Now he turned his head and looked at the actor again. �Mindy Snow,� he said slowly. �Please tell me that you�re not trying to tell me what I think you�re trying to tell me.�

Greg kept his head hung low, but he nodded slowly. �I had sex with her,� he said, �while we were out on that promotional tour we took last month.�

�Jesus fucking Christ, Greg!� Jake said. �What the hell did you do that for? Didn�t I warn you about that shit?�

�You did,� he said softly. �And I didn�t heed your warning. She got to me.�

�She got to you?�

�She got me drunk in Chicago,� he said. �Kept feeding me drinks; on the flight there, at the hotel when we arrived, in the limo on the way to the premier, and at the premier itself. And she was matching me drink for drink!�

�Yeah, Mindy can put them away all right,� Jake said. �Almost as good as Helen. So ... you got drunk and fucked her?�

�No ... it wasn�t like that,� he said. �I�m not that easy.�

�Forgive me,� Jake said. �What did she do then?�

�She talked me into having one last shot at the end of the night,� he said. �That was after she spent the whole premier sitting next to me and rubbing my arm with her breasts and feeling my leg and ... and ... she even touched my ... you know...�

�Your dick?�

�Right,� he said. �My dick. She touched it right there in the theatre. By the time we got to my room ... I didn�t know what I was doing.�

�Uh huh,� Jake said. �What did she do then?�

�She ... she ... put me in her mouth.�

�She gave you a blowjob?� he asked.

�That�s right,� he said. �She got down on her knees in front of me, opened up my pants, and started sucking me.�

�And you just let her?�

Another sigh. �I let her,� he said. �She knew about ... well ... a weakness of mine.�

�What kind of weakness?�

�Celia does not ever let me ... you know... finish when she�s doing that. Mindy knew that and she told me...�

�Whoa, hold up a minute,� Jake interrupted. He was surprised to hear that Celia didn�t let him �finish� during that act, but that was not the current issue. �How did Mindy know that?�

�From Cheryl, the makeup girl I had that ... uh ... encounter with in Alaska. She ended up being Mindy�s makeup girl on a subsequent project and ... well ... the two of them developed a relationship.�

�Ahhh,� Jake said, things becoming a little clearer now. �Mindy did mention the makeup girl to me at the LA premier.�

Greg looked over at him sharply. �She did? And you didn�t tell me about it?�

�I didn�t really have a chance,� Jake said. �We both left town the next day. And it didn�t seem that relevant anyway.�

�Christ, what a mess I�ve made,� Greg said, shaking his head again.

�So ... you told the makeup girl that Celia wouldn�t let you come in her mouth and the makeup girl told Mindy and Mindy used that to get you to let her give you a blowjob?�

�More or less,� Greg said. �I was not in a rational state of mind at the time. You have to understand that. I was extremely intoxicated and very ... aroused. When she said that she would let me ... do that ... well ... I let it happen.�

Jake nodded. He took another look at the view outside, another scan of his instruments, and then looked back at Greg. �Mindy is very seductive,� he allowed. �Trust me, I know.�

�That�s one of the reasons I wanted to talk to you about this,� Greg said. �You have experience with her.�

�And she does give a hell of a blowjob,� he said, a strong hint of nostalgia in his tone.

�I have never had a better one,� Greg admitted.

�Did she put her fingers up your ass?�

�What?� Greg asked, appalled. �No! That�s disgusting! She didn�t do that to you, did she?�

�Uh ... no, of course not,� Jake said. �Anyway, she gave you a blowjob. That�s not so bad, is it? I mean, technically, it�s cheating, but...�

�That�s not all we did,� Greg said.

�It�s not?�

�No. The next night ... well ... she got me a little drunk again and we started talking about ... well ... about other things that Celia won�t let me do, and ... again, I�m not exactly sure how it happened, but I ended up ... you know ... performing anal sex with her.�

Jakes eyes widened almost comically. �You ass-fucked Mindy Snow?�

�I�d never done that to any woman before!� Greg cried, as if that was a valid defense. �I�ve always wanted to try it, and ... and ... she offered, and I was drunk, and so ... I did it.�

�Jesus, Greg,� Jake said.

�Didn�t you ever do that to her?� Greg asked.

�Of course I did,� Jake said. �Multiple times! Mindy takes it up the ass like a champ. She loved it! But I wasn�t married when I backdoored her. You were!�

�I know,� Greg said miserably. �And, in truth, it wasn�t even all that enjoyable. The friction was almost unpleasant. And the mess afterword...�

�I�m sure Celia will be happy to know you didn�t enjoy your Mindy Snow buttfuck all that much,� Jake told him.

�A valid point,� Greg allowed.

�Is that all?� Jake asked.

�No,� Greg said miserably. �There was one more incident.�

�You fucked her?�

He nodded. �On the last night,� he confirmed. �She came into my room and basically raped me.�

Jake raised his eyebrows again. �Raped you?�

�Perhaps a poor choice of words,� he said. �She was very aggressive�again, something that Celia does not typically do�and I responded. I allowed her to do it.�

�And that was the end of it?� Jake asked.

�That was the end of it,� he confirmed. �We�ve seen each other multiple times at the promos since then, but she hasn�t even been flirtatious with me. She�s back to being a staunch professional.�

�Interesting,� Jake said. �Usually when Mindy gets her hooks in someone, she doesn�t let go until she gets whatever she�s after.�

�Maybe having sex with me was what she was after?� Greg theorized.

�Maybe,� Jake said doubtfully. �But that�s not the Mindy I know.�

�Then what is her game?� Greg asked.

�Only Mindy knows that,� Jake said. �Did any of this happen in a place where she might have had a photographer stashed? Her friend Paul Peterson, perhaps?�

�No,� Greg said. �All three times it was in my hotel room. Unless she somehow managed to get him into my suite ahead of time...�

�I wouldn�t put anything past her,� Jake said, �but if getting blackmail pictures was her game, I would think she would have just had you come to her room instead. You would have gone there, wouldn�t you?�

�Probably,� Greg admitted.

�It must be something else then. Or maybe you�re right and she just wanted to bone you. She does have quite the sexual appetite and you are a good-looking guy.� He shrugged. �It still seems too simple though.�

�I truly hope this ordeal is over and done with,� Greg said.

�For your sake, I hope you�re right. Tell me though; why did you feel the need to tell me all this?�

�Because I needed to talk to someone,� Greg said miserably. �This is eating me alive.�

�And you know that Celia would not tolerate another incident of this sort,� Jake said. �Particularly not with Mindy Snow, the puta of all putas.�

�That�s part of it as well.�

�How do you manage to keep Celia from knowing about this?� Jake asked. �She is of the opinion�and I would have agreed with her until just now�that you would be incapable of hiding infidelity from her, that your guilty conscious would give you away as easily as a signed and notarized confession.�

A miserable smile formed on Greg�s face. �That�s the irony of all this,� he said. �Mindy herself taught me how to conceal it from Celia. She reminded me that I�m an actor. All I have to do is act; put myself in the character of the Greg Oldfellow who has not had sex with Mindy Snow. So far, it seems to be working.�

�Mostly working,� Jake told him.

�What do you mean?�

�Celia knows something is off about you,� he said. �She�s mentioned it to me on several occasions and she even pins the start of it as when you returned from the cross-country premier trip.�

Greg�s eyes widened in alarm. �What did she say, exactly?� he demanded.

�She said, and I quote: �It�s almost like he�s playing a role for me, putting on a false face�.�

�Wow,� Greg whispered.

�In your favor, however, I did actually ask at one point is she thought that something might have happened between you and Mindy, and she thought the idea ridiculous, once again repeating her assurance that there is no way you could pull off a secret like that.�

�Thank God,� he said.

�I suppose,� Jake said, making a check of his instruments again. Everything remained exactly as it should. �What are you going to do now?�

�Now? I�m not going to do anything now. I just needed to get this off my chest. Like I said, it�s eating me up inside. Here I am, at what should be one of the best times of my life; I have a hit movie that�s blowing up the box offices and will undoubtedly be nominated for multiple Oscars next year and maybe even win a few; I have a beautiful wife who is making almost as much money as I am; yet I�m popping antacid pills like they�re going out of style and drinking far too much alcohol.�

�And did talking to me about this help any of that?� Jake asked.

�I don�t know,� Greg replied. �I think maybe it did, assuming you�re not going to tell Celia about this conversation.�

�The bro code prohibits me from doing that,� Jake said.

�The bro code?�

�The unspoken rules of male friendship,� Jake clarified. �We don�t rat each other out about stuff like this.�

�Oh ... I see,� he said. �The bro code. I like it.�

�That same bro code, however, also prohibits you from telling Celia that I know about you and Mindy if she should find out by some other means. Remember, I have to keep working with her for the foreseeable future.�

�I understand,� Greg said. �And I will comply.�

�Excellent,� Jake said.

Deer Valley Airport was a large, general aviation facility fifteen miles north of the Phoenix city limits. Jake had never been there before and was unaware that it was one of the busiest general aviation airports in the world, averaging more than a thousand takeoffs and landings every day. He found this out when he had to circle in the landing pattern for nearly thirty minutes before he was cleared to touch down on Runway 25R.

He was directed to a parking area nearly a half mile from the operations office. After tying down the Chancellor and making sure it was locked, Jake and Greg took their baggage in hand and made the hike. Fortunately, the weather was pleasant. Late November is one of the more pleasant times of the year in the Phoenix metropolitan area.

Jake paid his landing and tie-down fees and then secured a BMW 5 series from the rental car agency. He spent a few minutes perusing the map in the vehicle and then they made the drive to the Hyatt Regency in downtown Phoenix.

He and Greg hung out at the hotel for the rest of the day. They went down to the pool for a bit but had to retreat when some of the patrons recognized them and they got mobbed by autograph seekers and the just plain curious. They signed a few autographs, answered a few dumb questions about why they were here, and then returned to their rooms. Jake took a nap and then they met for dinner in the hotel restaurant and had a few drinks at the bar. Greg did not mention Mindy Snow or the conversation they�d had on the flight in. Jake did not bring it up either.

They climbed into the Beemer at 8:00 AM the next morning and made the drive back to Deer Valley, where the CEO of PetShop kept his plane. The arrived a little early and had to wait a few minutes before Austin Grover, the CEO�s pilot emerged from the airport office.

Austin was a short, stocky man who sported a mustache and a goatee, probably because he would have looked ridiculously young without them. His dark blonde hair was cut short on the sides, spiked on the top with some sort of gel, and he wore a simple pair of blue jeans and a white, button-up shirt. He seemed very starstruck at meeting the two celebrities and was a bit tongue-tied initially, until they were able to assure them that they were mostly normal people who put their pants on one leg at a time, just like him.

�How old are you, Austin?� Jake had to ask as they strolled toward the hangars.

�Twenty-eight,� he said. �Been flying since I was sixteen.�

�No kidding?� Jake asked.

�Yep,� he said. �Got my private license just after my eighteenth birthday and started working as a CFI shortly after that, working for peanuts, you know. Gradually got enough hours in and got my commercial license. Started doing a lot of odd flying jobs after that; flying mosquito abatement runs, cloud seeding over the San Joaquin Valley, photography runs over the agricultural regions. Got to fly a lot of different planes doing that. Eventually got my multi-engine and pressurization certs and then, three years ago, got my passenger transport cert.�

�How long have you been working for the PetShop guy?� Jake asked.

�A little over a year now,� he said. �It�s a pretty sweet gig. He�s a cool enough dude, not all that much older than me, really. He pays me seventy per flight hour plus standby wages and full benefits. And the 180 is a sweet fuckin� aircraft. Have you ever seen one, Jake?�

�I have not,� Jake said. �I understand it�s a pusher, not a puller, right?�

�That�s right,� Austin said.

�A pusher?� Greg asked. �What does that mean?�

�The props face to the rear instead of the front,� Austin explained. �That means that the thrust pushes the plane forward instead of pulling it like a traditional prop setup.�

�What is the reason for that?� Greg wanted to know.

�There are several advantages,� Austin said. �It�s a quieter ride since the engines are in the back. It�s a smoother ride since the thrust is not passing over the wing, and it�s less vulnerable to foreign object damage.�

�Then why don�t all aircraft do that?� Greg asked.

�Well ... there are some disadvantages too,� Austin said with a shrug. �You need a longer takeoff roll because you don�t have the thrust passing over the wings, and, though it�s quieter inside the aircraft, it�s noisier outside of it. If you�re on the ground near the airport, the 180 sounds like a goat getting its balls squeezed in a vice when it takes off. Also, it�s more vulnerable to icing on the wings and the ice can break off and damage a prop.�

�I guess we try not to allow any icing then?� Jake asked.

�You know it,� Austin agreed. �How many hours do you got in your logbook, Jake?�

�Eleven twenty-five as of my landing at Deer Valley,� Jake said. �Most of that in the Chancellor.�

�That�s a pretty sweet aircraft too,� Austin said. �I would assume you�re IFR, multi-engine, and pressurized rated then.�

�I am,� Jake confirmed. �No commercial rating though. Never needed it.�

�Out of fuckin� sight,� Austin said.

They reached the large hangar where the aircraft was stored. Austin produced a keyring from his belt and unlocked the door. He then slid it open. Jake looked at the red and white twin engine plane for the first time. It was not a case of love at first sight, but it was definitely a case of lust at first sight.

It looked like something out of a science fiction story. The fuselage was curved from nose to tail in an airfoil shape (Austin would later explain that a sizable fraction of the aircraft�s lift came from the fuselage itself). Just behind the nose was a small wing that made it look like the business end of a hammerhead shark. The primary wings were mounted in the middle of the fuselage behind the passenger cabin, just forward of a large T-tail. The engines were mounted atop the wings with the five-bladed propellers facing the rear.

Greg was not so impressed. He looked a little fearful as he took it in. �This thing actually flies?� he asked.

�Like a motherfucker,� Austin assured him. �It�s the fastest, most fuel-efficient twin-engine prop-driven transport aircraft in the world. It�ll climb at 3K per minute and soar up to flight level 410 if you want it to. Once up there, it�ll cruise at three hundred and twenty knots and carry you more than sixteen hundred miles if the tanks are full. The way my boss has it configured, it�ll hold up to ten passengers, not including the pilot.�

�And it has a bathroom?� Jake asked.

Austin gave him a strange look. �Yes, of course it has a bathroom. You think the CEO of Pet-fucking-Shop pisses in a urinal while I�m hauling him and his fellow suits to Vegas or Houston?�

The primary door for the aircraft was on the left side, just behind the cockpit. Austin opened it and then pulled a small staircase out of a hollow on the bottom side. He invited them to climb aboard and take a look. They did so.

The passenger compartment was compact, with a ceiling too low for Jake or Greg to stand up straight (although Austin, at around five foot seven inches was able to do so, which meant that Laura, Pauline, Nerdly, Sharon, and Elsa would all be able to do so as well). There was no door between the cockpit and the passenger compartment, although it appeared there could be one there if one wished there to be. The passenger seats were situated on either side of a central aisle. They were plush, luxuriant chairs that each had a video monitor mounted in front of them and a retractable table that slid out from an inset in the wall. The chairs immediately behind the cockpit were oriented to the front while the other four were oriented facing each other. Behind the chairs were two couches that could each sit two people. Behind that was a small bar and refrigerator setup. Behind that, was a small door that was currently closed.

�Not bad, huh?� Austin asked. �There are other configurations, of course, but this is the most popular one for executive transport.�

�It�s very nice,� Jake said. �Just like the business jets we ride on.�

�This basically is a business jet in all but propulsion,� Austin said. �And you only need one pilot to fly it. Let me show you the flight deck.�

�Hold on a second,� Jake said. He pointed to the door in the rear. �Is that the bathroom?�

�Uh ... yeah,� Austin said.

�I want to check it out,� he said. He lowered his head and started walking that way. The height of the cabin gradually decreased as he moved aft.

�Dude,� Austin said to Greg, �what is up with him and the bathroom?�

�His wife wants a bathroom on the plane,� Greg explained. �That�s why he�s upgrading.�

�Just for a bathroom?� Austin asked, amazed.

�Seems like a good reason to me,� Greg said.

The bathroom was tiny and cramped, about half the size of an airliner bathroom and much shorter. But it had a mirror and a sink and a toilet that could be flushed (presumably anyway, once the engines were on).

�All right,� Jake said, smiling as he saw it. �I like it.�

He closed the door, made sure it was firmly latched, and then they walked forward again and took in the flight deck. All of the instruments were currently dark since the power was off, but it was only slightly more complex than that of his chancellor. There were the yokes and a bank of analog instruments that would back up the digital display instruments in case of failure. There was a map screen and, something that his aircraft did not have, a Garmin GPS.

�Is the GPS linked to the autopilot?� Jake asked.

�Hell yeah,� Austin said. �I love that thing. I still use the VOR signal as a backup, but it keeps you steady as a rock on course once you program in your flight path. It�ll take you all the way to the landing threshold if you want it to.�

�Nice,� Jake said, envisioning himself behind the controls.

He did not have to envision for long.

�I already filed my flight plan,� Austin said. �Let�s roll this bitch out of here and head to Denver.�

�Let�s do it,� Jake said enthusiastically.

Greg was not quite as enthusiastic�he was, in fact, starting to look like he regretted his decision to come along�but he echoed the sentiment.

They pulled the aircraft out of the hangar and Austin started going through the preflight checks. Jake followed him around happily, watching everything he did, but asking no questions, not wanting to distract the pilot from this important duty. In all, it took the better part of fifteen minutes before the exterior check and the interior check were done. Austin then radioed for a fuel truck to come pump eleven hundred pounds of fuel into the tanks.

�That�s all?� Jake asked. �For a flight to Denver? That�s about six hundred miles, right?�

�Six hundred and eighteen on the route we�re taking,� Austin said. �And we already have four hundred pounds aboard, but yeah, that�s all we need.�

�That�s not that much more than my Chancellor would need.�

�This baby is very fuel-efficient,� Austin said.

�It runs better than a Fiat though, right?� asked Greg from the seat behind them.

�A little bit,� Austin assured him.

After fueling, Austin went through the final preflight check and everything was copacetic. He activated the IFR flight plan he had filed (since they were flying above eighteen thousand feet, they had to fly IFR) and then received permission to taxi to Runway 25L, the longer of the two runways.

�What�s the takeoff roll on this thing?� Jake asked, technically violating the sterile cockpit, but it was a minor infraction.

�Thirty-three fifty at this temperature and altitude,� Austin said mechanically. �Thirty-one at sea level.�

That was the first bit of bad news. If he bought one of these, he would not be able to fly into or out of Oceano any longer. Its runway was only twenty-three hundred feet in length. He would have to base out of San Luis Obispo Airport, which was another fifteen minutes away from his home by car.

Austin pulled up to the hold line and had to wait for one aircraft to take off and two to land. While he was waiting, he configured the aircraft for liftoff, setting the flaps to fifteen, setting his airspeed bugs for V1 and VR. Finally, they were given clearance to depart.

�All right,� Austin said. �Let�s fuckin� do it.�

�Hell to the yeah,� Jake said enthusiastically.

�Please don�t say that,� Greg said.

Austin turned onto the runway and slowly pushed the throttles forward. The engine noise increased but remained negligible. You could still converse without headsets if you wished. The aircraft accelerated nicely down the runway. At 94 knots, Austin pulled gently back on the yoke and they broke contact with the ground.

�Nice,� Jake said, feeling the thrilling moment where the miracle of flight was achieved. He always enjoyed it.

�You gotta be careful with a pusher on takeoff,� Austin said, his hand pushing the gear lever up. �You pull up too sharply, you don�t get a tail strike, you get a fuckin� prop strike, which is infinitely worse.�

�That makes sense,� Jake said. Destroying your props as you were lifting off the runway was not just a recipe for disaster, but an absolute guarantee of it.

They climbed rapidly through three thousand feet and Austin pushed the nose down a bit and retracted the flaps. They began to pick up speed. He then turned and looked at Jake.

�All right, my man,� he told him. �Take it.�

�Take what?� Jake asked, genuinely confused.

�The aircraft,� Austin said. �Take it.�

�I�m not checked out on this plane,� Jake said.

�I�ll talk you through it, bro,� Austin told him. �It�s easy. Not that much different than your Chancellor.�

�But...�

�Uh ... this sounds like a bad idea,� Greg added nervously from his seat behind them.

�Naw, it�s a good one,� Austin said. �Come on, Jake. Take it. Just follow the line on the GPS display.�

Jake took it. And that was the moment that he passed from lust to love.

�My aircraft,� he said.

�Your aircraft,� agreed Austin.

Jacksonville, Florida

December 22, 1995

Jim Ramos, personal paramedic for Matt Tisdale, was buckled into the first-class seat immediately behind his boss/patient as the Boeing 737-300 lifted off from Jacksonville International Airport at 11:30 AM. It was to be a five hour and ten-minute flight, nonstop, to Los Angeles International�pretty much the maximum range of the aircraft. Though the plane was owned and operated by United Airlines, it was not a regularly scheduled passenger flight. It was a charter, arranged for by Matt himself. The tour had finished the last show of this leg the night before in the Jacksonville Coliseum and they were now on Christmas break until January 5^th, when they would start the next leg in New Orleans and then work their way through the south and southwest during the winter months.

National�s plan had been to fly Matt, the band, Greg Gahn, and Jim himself home by commercial air but leave the road crew and all the support personnel in Jacksonville and house them in cheap motels until it was time to head to Louisiana. Matt, upon hearing about it, had declared this plan �fucking bullshit� and tried to get National management to pay for the charter they were now on so everyone could �be home with their fuckin� families and tappin� their primary gash�. National refused, so Matt, in a rare display of Christmas spirit (aided by a half a bottle of Jack Daniels and several lines of Bolivian cocaine) decided to pay for the charter himself. Thirteen thousand dollars for each hour of flight time (or fraction thereof) was how much it cost to charter a 737. That was seventy-eight thousand dollars (plus applicable taxes and booking fees) for the flight to LA and then another seventy-eight thousand (plus applicable taxes and booking fees) for the flight back after the break was over. Matt did get National to kick in about twenty-five thousand of that�the amount it would have cost them to house sixty-eight roadies, techies, truck and bus drivers, and other support staff in double occupancy Motel 6 level accommodations for two weeks�but he paid for the rest out of his own pocket. He could have simply paid for everyone to have round-trip commercial tickets to LA and back for much less�around fifty-five grand total�but elected to go charter instead because it was pretty much impossible to get everyone booked on the same flights to and from. He even let Greg Gahn come along for the ride, despite the fact that Gahn was the one who kept passing along National�s denials to him.

Jim, by now a veteran of air travel, planned to sleep the entire way back to LAX. Life as part of a touring rock group was fun, exciting, and everything he had ever dreamed it would be (and quite a bit more), but it was exhausting. The days and nights rolled by in an endless stream of arenas and hotel rooms, charter flights and catered food, booze and groupie sex. Sleep was sometimes left on the back burner, particularly when they had multiple travel days in a row. Jim had fucked some of the most beautiful and uninhibited women imaginable throughout this adventure (though he had not kissed a single one after Matt advised him why he should not), sometimes two at a time, and, on one occasion, three at a time. But the trip was also taking a toll on his body. He hadn�t weighed himself since the trip started�he didn�t want to know the real number�but he was pretty sure he had put on at least ten pounds, maybe more. The lack of exercise combined with the catered food and the booze had stretched his waistline out and added a noticeable spare tire at his midsection. He had to buy a whole new set of jeans and shirts back in Baltimore because his old ones didn�t fit anymore.

I really need to hit the gym over the break, he thought as the plane climbed into the sky and settled on its first leg of the journey. Cut out the booze too. God only knows what this is doing to my blood pressure. That was something else he had not measured during this adventure, again, because he really did not want to see what the number was.

By the time the plane leveled out and started its cruise phase, Jim was asleep and snoring lightly. He did not wake up when the front flight attendant came around asking for drink orders. He did not wake up when the plane hit a particularly nasty pocket of clear air turbulence just north of Mobile, Alabama and several carry-on bags came tumbling out of the overhead compartments. He descended all the way down into REM sleep and likely would have remained there until at least New Mexico or Arizona, had duty not called.

�Jim!� a voice said into his ear. A hand was shaking his shoulder. �Wake up, dude! Matt needs you!�

Sleep fell instantly away from him, jerking him out of dream in which he had been trying to find his way out of a large house because something was after him. He blinked his eyes a few times and stared into the face of Austin Jefferson, the bass player. Austin looked scared. The words he had just said were processed and understood and Jim sat up straight in his seat. �His heart again?� he asked.

�Yeah,� said Matt�s voice from the seat in front of him. �It�s fuckin� doin� it again, dude. This shit is getting old.�

�It� was the supraventricular tachycardia that Matt was plagued with, the reason Jim was employed by him as a personal paramedic. This was not the first time Matt had gone into SVT since Jim had joined him on the tour. He had had a brief episode after the show in Virginia Beach two weeks ago (right after snorting some post-show cocaine) but it had stopped on its own before Jim could even start an IV on him. And then, just the week before, before the show in Charlotte (more than ten hours after Matt�s last line of coke) it happened again. This time Jim was able to start an IV and give him six milligrams of Adenosine, which converted him back to a normal rhythm in about fifteen seconds. Despite Jim�s stern advice to the contrary, Matt had gone on with the show after the conversion, performing the entire set and then snorted coke and bagged himself a two by four afterword.

Jim quickly unbuckled and stood up. In addition to Austin, Greg Gahn, Corban, Steve, Jack Ferguson the security chief, and Diane the cute blonde flight attendant, were all standing around the general area, their faces worried.

Jim stepped forward and looked at his boss/patient. Matt was pale, a little sweaty, his seat reclined slightly, his expression one of resigned fear. A half empty glass of Jack and Coke stood on the tray table before him and the video screen was showing a movie with lots of scantily clad women in it.

�Did it just start?� Jim asked, reaching down and grabbing Matt�s wrist.

�Yeah,� Matt said softly. �About two minutes ago; started out of fuckin� nowhere. It�s running like a freight train. I can feel it.�

Jim found Matt�s radial pulse with his fingers. He did not need to count it. Matt was right. It was running like a freight train. It was time to earn his money.

�Austin,� he said, �grab my football out of the overhead.�

�Right,� Austin said, reaching up and unlatching the compartment.

�How are you doing otherwise, Matt?� he asked. �Any chest pain?�

�A little tightness,� Matt said. �Not too bad.�

�How�s your breathing?�

�I feel a little winded,� Matt admitted.

�You do seem to be a bit tachypneic,� Jim agreed. �The air pressure at cruise altitude is kind of low. It�s like standing on top of a mountain. That might be what triggered it.�

�I don�t give a fuck what triggered it,� Matt said. �Just fuckin� fix it.�

�I�ll do my best,� Jim said, taking the football from Austin. He set it down on the floor of the aisle and opened it. He pulled out the LifePak monitor and turned it on. While it went through its self-checks, he opened the pockets and pulled out the cables and a package of electrodes. �All right, Matt,� he said. �You know the drill by now. Get your shirt off.�

Matt pulled off the Gator Bar t-shirt he had picked up in St. Petersburg three nights before, revealing his bare chest and the upper parts of his full sleeve tattoos. Jim quickly applied the sticky electrodes to the front of both shoulders and to both sides of his lower abdomen. He then looked at the monitor screen, which was, by now, showing a display. He did not need to print out a strip to analyze the rhythm (but he did so anyway, for documentation purposes). It was a classic SVT, trucking along at 210 beats per minute.

�Yep,� Jim said. �It�s the SVT all right. Let�s see how the blood pressure is doing.�

He pulled the blood pressure cuff and the stethoscope out of the football and fastened the cuff around Matt�s left upper arm. He put the stethoscope in his ears and the bell to Matt�s inner elbow. He pumped up the cuff to 180 and then slowly released the air, listening for the beat of the artery to return, his eyes watching the needle of the gauge. The beat returned at 106. It disappeared again at 62. Jim nodded happily and let the rest of the air out of the cuff.

�Well?� Matt asked.

�You�re not hypotensive,� he reported. �One-oh-six over sixty-two.�

�You won�t have to light me up then?� Matt asked.

�Not as long as you convert with the Adenosine,� Jim told him. �Let me get an IV started.�

�Do it, dude,� Matt said holding out his arm.

Jim reached back into the football and pulled out a bag of normal saline and a set of IV tubing. He opened the packages and started to assemble them.

�Should I let the captain know we have a medical emergency?� asked Diane, the flight attendant. She looked even more nervous about all this than Matt.

�Naw, baby,� Matt told her. �I�ll be all right in a few minutes, as soon as my man here gives me the shit.�

�The shit?� she asked.

�He should be okay,� Jim told her. �We�ve been through this before.�

�That�s why Jim is here,� said Austin. �He fixes hearts.�

She looked doubtful about this but stayed where she was.

Jim handed the IV bag with the tubing now dangling out of the bottom to Corban. �Here,� he said. �Hold this up.�

�Right,� Corban said.

Jim opened the clamp until the saline started to drip out of the end of the tubing and then closed it again. He then pulled a 10ml saline flush and saline lock out of the football. He screwed the latter onto the former and then flushed the lock of air. He set it down next to him and then pulled out an IV start kit and opened it. Inside was a blue latex tourniquet, a couple of sterile 2x2 pads, two alcohol preps, a sterile transparent dressing, and a small roll of medical tape. He tore three strips of the tape and stuck them to the leg of his pants, right at the thigh. He then took the tourniquet and tied it around Matt�s upper arm, above the elbow. Matt had good veins and he had a variety to choose from. When giving Adenosine, however, the closer the vein was to the heart, the better the medicine worked. It only had a half-life of a few seconds once injected, so the shorter the trip and the faster it was infused, the better. He touched the large antecubital vein right in the crook of Matt�s elbow. It was fat and springy. It was the same place Jim had started the IV last week as well. The fading bruise of that cannulation was still visible.

He opened one of the alcohol preps and swabbed the area vigorously, making the vein stand out even more. He then pulled one of the 18-gauge IV catheters out of the holder and opened the packaging. �Here we go, Matt,� he said. �Big poke. Hold still.�

Matt held still. Jim got an immediate flash of blood in the catheter�s chamber, indicating he was in the vein. He slid the catheter downward, until the hub was flush against the skin, and pulled out the needle, leaving the catheter behind. Needles that safed themselves after use were still a few years in the future, so Jim dropped the sharp on the floor and put his foot over it to keep anyone�particularly himself�from getting accidentally poked with it before it could be secured in the sharps container. God only knew what kind of nasty bloodborne diseases Matt Tisdale might be carrying. He pushed forcefully down on Matt�s vein above the catheter to keep blood from oozing out and then, with the mechanical skill of one who has performed the maneuver hundreds, maybe thousands of times before, he picked up the saline flush and popped the cap off of it with one hand. He then plugged the end into the catheter and released the pressure on the vein. Carefully, he flushed a little bit of saline in, making sure the IV was patent. It was. He then disconnected the syringe part of the flush, leaving the flush tubing and the catheter in place. He dropped the syringe next to the foot covering the exposed needle�it would be placed in the sharps container as well�and then covered the catheter portion with the transparent dressing from the start kit. He then taped everything in place with the tape strips from his leg.

�All right,� he said. �Give me the end of that IV tubing.�

Corban reeled it in and handed it over. Jim removed the cap and screwed it into the hub on the saline lock he had just installed. He then reached over and opened the clamp on the tubing. He looked at the drip chamber and saw the fluid was infusing rapidly. Another confirmation that the IV was correctly placed in a vein. He then looked at Matt�s arm and felt the area just downstream of where the catheter was. There was no swelling or other signs that the IV fluid was extravasating. It was a good line.

�I�m in,� he said. He then looked over at the monitor. Matt was still in SVT at 210.

�Let�s do this thing, dude,� Matt told him. �Give me the shit.�

Jim reached in the football and got the shit. He pulled out a vial of Adenosine and a 10ml syringe. He put a needle on the end of the syringe and then popped the cap on the vial. He drew up two milliliters, which contained six milligrams of the drug. He then recapped the needle, removed it from the syringe, and set it aside in case he needed to use it again. He opened the second alcohol swab from the start kit and used it to sterilize the hub on the IV tubing, the one closest to the end that plugged into the catheter. He then screwed the syringe of Adenosine onto that hub.

�You ready, Matt?� he asked.

�Yeah,� Matt said softly, taking a deep breath. �I really hate this part.�

�Me too,� Jim said. He pinched the IV tubing just above the hub and then rapidly pushed the entire syringe full of Adenosine into the tubing. As soon as it was in, he un-pinched the tubing and glanced at the drip chamber to make sure it was flowing again. It was. He then turned his eyes to the monitor. The Adenosine usually worked in less than ten seconds.

Ten seconds came and went, and nothing happened. The tracing continued to blast along at 210 beats per minute.

�What�s happening?� Matt asked. �I don�t feel that funky shit in my chest like before.�

�It didn�t work,� Jim said.

�What the fuck do you mean, it didn�t work?� Matt barked.

�I mean it didn�t work,� Jim said. �It happens sometimes. Your heart doesn�t want to convert this time.�

�What the fuck do we do now?� Matt demanded.

�I�ll give you another dose,� Jim said. �Twelve milligrams this time.�

�Jesus fucking Christ,� Matt said, shaking his head. �You�re not earning your fuckin� Christmas bonus here, dude!�

Jim screwed the needle back on the syringe and opened another vial of Adenosine. This time he drew up four milliliters of the drug. He swabbed the hub with the alcohol prep again and fastened the syringe.

�All right,� Jim said. �Let�s hope it works this time.� He pinched the tubing, injected the medication, and then un-pinched. A quick glance at the drip chamber and then his eyes went back to the monitor screen.

This time, something happened. Matt�s heartbeat stopped completely for the better part of five seconds. Jim glanced over at him and saw he was even more pale.

�Ohhhh, fuck, I hate this shit,� Matt groaned.

Jim understood. It undoubtedly felt terrible when your heart was no longer beating. But at least the medicine had worked this time. As long as Matt�s heart started back up, everything should be good.

Two wide-complex beats fired off on the monitor screen. There was another long pause and then two more fired. A shorter pause and then three narrow, inverted beats fired in rapid succession. After that, normal complexes began to fire at a reasonably regular rate of ninety-two per minute. Jim breathed a sigh of relief.

Matt�s sigh of relief was even bigger. �Fuck me,� he said. �My chest feels normal again and I can breathe. Did it work?�

�It seems like it did,� Jim said. �You�re back in a normal sinus rhythm.�

Matt nodded. �My man,� he said. �That�s why I keep you around.�

�He�s better now?� Diane, the flight attendant, asked carefully.

�It seems like it,� Jim said. �Let me just check his blood pressure again.�

Jim put the stethoscope back in his ears and pumped up the cuff once again. This time, Matt�s reading was 162/90, which Jim suspected was his normal pressure that he walked around with day in and day out.

�How are you feeling, Matt?� Jim asked him.

�Better,� Matt said. �Much better. Go ahead and get all this shit off of me now.�

�No way, Jose,� Jim said. �I�m keeping this monitor on you and that IV in your arm and this football open until we�re on the ground. And when we get there, I want you to go to the hospital immediately.�

�Fuck that shit,� Matt said. �I just want to finish my drink and then catch a little sleep.�

�I�m going to have to insist this time, Matt,� Jim said. �You�re having these episodes way too often now and they�re getting harder to break. You need a cardiology workup.�

�You don�t get to insist anything, dude,� Matt told him. �You�re here to do what you just did, and I thank you for it.�

�Listen, Matt,� Jim said. �This is some serious shit you�ve got going on here. Do you want to die? Because this might very well kill you one of these times.�

�We all gotta go sometime,� Matt said.

No one had noticed that Diane had disappeared. At least no one noticed until she came back with a middle-aged balding man in a white uniform in tow.

�Hello,� the man said, his voice stern and unamused. �I�m Michael Bordon, the captain of this aircraft.�

�Shouldn�t you be flying the fuckin� plane then?� Matt asked plainly.

�My copilot has got it under control at the moment,� Bordon said stiffly. �Right now, I�m a little more concerned that one of my passengers is having a medical emergency involving his heart.�

�It�s cool, dude,� Matt assured him. �It�s happened to me before. My man Jim here fixed me up. Everything�s back to normal now.�

Bordon looked at the monitor beeping away, the IV bag that Corban was still holding aloft going into Matt�s arm, the opened packages and debris lying on the floor of the aisle. �It doesn�t look like everything is cool to me,� he said. �It looks like a serious medical issue is occurring on my aircraft and that makes me responsible. I think it would be in everyone�s best interest if I were to make an emergency landing as soon as possible and have an ambulance waiting for you on the ground.�

�How fast could you make that happen?� asked Austin.

�Austin!� Matt barked. �What the fuck, dude?�

�I think the man�s right, boss,� Austin told him. �We�re way up in the fuckin� sky here. And Jim�s the shit, I�ll be the first to agree, but this is your heart, man!�

�We�re flying over southeastern Texas right now,� Bordon said. �I can have us on the ground at Houston Intercontinental in twenty-five minutes.�

�Texas!� Matt nearly screamed. �No fuckin� way! Bad shit always happens to me in Texas!�

�I�m sorry,� Bordon said. �I�m afraid I don�t have a choice here.�

�You don�t understand, dude!� Matt told him. �Texas is a fucked-up place! I had a bunch of good old boys kick the shit out of me at a truck stop in Texas and then me and Jake Kingsley got sent to jail for it. And, once in that jail, a couple of cops beat my head in with a telephone book just because I asked one of them if his daughter took it up the ass!�

�That�s all very unfortunate,� Bordon said, �and perhaps even understandable if you indeed asked the man that, but the fact of the matter is...�

�That ain�t all though!� Matt interrupted. �My bud Darren�God rest his soul and may Kingsley rot in hell�fuckin� blew himself up on stage in Texas! And he fucked up the end of our show there too! And, as if that shit ain�t enough, the first time my heart ever did this SVT shit and some medic had to light me up like fuckin� Hiroshima 1945, was in Texas! In Houston, Texas as a matter of fact! You can�t take me down there!�

�Those are all incidents that sound regrettable and traumatic,� Bordon allowed, �but nevertheless, I don�t really have a choice. When I am told that one of my passengers has a heart condition and it was required in-flight that he receive intravenous cardiac medications because of a life-threatening arrythmia, my hands are kind of tied. We�ll be landing in Houston in about twenty-five minutes. An ambulance will be there waiting for you at the terminal. It is your choice whether or not to get in that ambulance, but you will not be going any further on this aircraft than that.�

With that, Bordon turned around and walked back to the cockpit. He closed the door behind him.

�Man, what a rip,� Matt said, shaking his head.

�I think it�s for the best, Matt,� Jim told him. �Truth be told, I wasn�t that thrilled about finishing out the flight after what just happened.�

�I would�ve been fine,� Matt grumbled. �I always have been before, right?�

The captain used the overhead intercom to announce that the plane was making an emergency landing at Houston Intercontinental due to a medical emergency aboard, that descent would start immediately, and ordered everyone to buckle back into their respective seats. Diane, the flight attendant, tried to get Jim to stow the monitor back in the overhead compartment but he refused.

�No way,� he told her. �I�ll string it back here and buckle it into the seat next to me, but it�s going to stay attached to Matt so I can monitor him.�

She agreed to this plan as long as she got to inspect how it was buckled and the rest of the football was closed up and stowed back in the overhead. They had hardly even begun this task when the sound of the engines decreased and the nose of the aircraft dipped downward, reducing everyone�s weight by an eighth of a G or so.

Matt�s heart rhythm continued to bound along at a rate that, while not quite sedate, was at least not dangerous. Matt himself continued to insist that he felt fine and that all of this shit was unnecessary.

�But you�ll go to the hospital, right?� Jim asked him several times.

�Yeah,� Matt grumbled. �I�ll fuckin� go, if only to get you to stop nagging me about it like a bitch.�

�Deal,� Jim agreed.

The plane landed normally and taxied to one of the gates in Terminal C. As promised, there was an airport fire crew and an ambulance crew from the City of Houston Fire Department waiting for them. The EMS crew and two of the firefighters boarded the plane and, at Diane�s direction, stopped at Matt�s seat. Jim, by now, had unbuckled and was standing up, the LifePak back on the floor. The paramedic�a young male in his late-twenties with short, neatly cropped hair�looked first at the monitor and the IV bag (raising his eyebrows a bit at the sight of them) and then took a good look at his patient. It was plain to see that he recognized him.

�Matt Tisdale?� he asked, surprised. �No way!�

�Way,� Jim told him. �We were on our way back to LA from Jacksonville and had to make an emergency landing here. I�m Jim Ramos, Matt�s tour paramedic.�

�Tour paramedic for Matt Tisdale?� the Houston medic asked. �That�s tight! How�d you get a job like that?�

�I just kind of stumbled into it, really,� Jim told him. �Anyway, Matt is a thirty-six-year-old male with a history of PSVT episodes, sometimes requiring cardioversion, sometimes treatable with Adenosine. He is also a habitual cocaine user, heavy marijuana smoker, heavy cigarette smoker, and a card-carrying alcoholic.�

�Damn, dude,� Matt said. �That�s harsh. Ain�t you got anything nice to say about me?�

�I�m giving report to the medic who is going to be taking care of you,� Jim told him. �I have to give him your history.�

�I�m down with that,� Matt said, �but can�t you throw in some of my good attributes as well?�

�Uh ... sure,� Jim said. He turned back to the Houston medic. �He�s also a badass guitar player, a great singer, a boss who pays me quite well for the job I do, and he scores more and better pussy than a firefighter like yourself could probably even imagine.�

�That�s saying a lot,� the medic said respectfully.

�Isn�t it?� Jim asked. �Anyway, this is what happened today:� And, with that, he explained about Matt�s latest episode of SVT and what he, Jim had done about it.

�You have Adenosine, huh?� the Houston medic asked. �That�s cool shit. We�ve been trying to get the EMS authority to give us that for years.�

Jim did not mention that the legality of him carrying and using the Adenosine was questionable at best. �Yeah, the doc who oversees me is onboard with all the latest. Anyway, the captain insisted that we land here and get Matt to the hospital. Matt is reluctant, but he agreed to go.�

�Sounds good,� the medic said. He then went over the entire story with Matt one more time, just to make sure they were all on the same page. While he assessed the guitarist, his partner and the fire crew took a set of vital signs on Matt and then replaced Jim�s Lifepak with one of their own. Jim handed the medic several printouts he had recorded when Matt had been in the SVT.

�Do you want us to stay with you, Matt?� asked Austin as the medic got ready to walk Matt off the aircraft.

�Fuck no,� Matt said. �You all just stay on the plane and get home to those you want to rail. I�ll be all right. I�ll let them do their thing at the hospital and then I�ll be on another plane later tonight.�

�I�ll stay with you, Matt,� said Greg Gahn. �It�s my job as...�

�No fuckin� way!� Matt said. �The last thing in the world I want to deal with now is a hypocrite Mormon tour manager. You stay on the plane with everyone else.�

�But who is going to arrange for hotel rooms and travel for you?� Greg asked.

�I can do that shit myself,� Matt said.

�But...�

�Don�t worry, Greg,� Jim said. �I�m going to stay with Matt through this.�

Greg looked at him. �You are?�

�I am,� Jim said. �It�s my job.�

�You don�t have to stay with me, dude,� Matt told Jim, though he seemed rather touched that the paramedic had made the offer.

�I know I don�t,� Jim said, �but I�m going to. It�s what you pay me for, right?�

Matt smiled. �Right,� he said.

The ambulance took him to Houston Methodist Hospital, the same facility he had been taken to after his first bout of SVT during the Next Phase tour. The trip took a little over thirty minutes. Jim rode in the back, in the airway seat behind the driver�s compartment, but offered no contributions to the care being given by the Houston Fire medic. It would have been uncouth. Instead, they talked mostly about their jobs, the Houston medic giving Jim a rundown on how their department and the Houston EMS system worked and Jim giving the Houston medic a rundown on how it worked in his little corner of southern California. He then told a few anecdotes of his travels with Matt Tisdale. The Houston medic was much more interested in these tales�in which he was told why you should never kiss a groupie and what exactly a two by four or a three by six entailed.

As fate would have it, the same doctor who had treated him before�Dr. Goldstein�was on duty in the emergency room when they wheeled Matt in.

�Hey, doc,� Matt greeted him. �Bet you never thought you�d see me again, huh?�

�As a matter of fact, Mr. Tisdale,� Goldstein said, �I�m amazed it took so long.�

They went through a standard cardiac workup. An EKG was done. Matt�s complete blood count, electrolytes, and a dozen other labs were checked. They checked his urine for infection and drugs of abuse. His labs came back remarkably similar to the last time he had been there. Red blood cells, white blood cells, and electrolytes were all normal. His hepatic enzymes were elevated to a level that indicated Matt�s liver was not particularly happy with him. His drugs of abuse screen came back positive for marijuana and cocaine. His cardiac enzymes were just a point below what would be considered positive for heart damage. His chest x-ray, however, revealed something quite significant.

�You have cardiomegaly,� Goldstein told him.

�What the fuck�s that?� Matt asked.

�It means your heart is enlarged,� the doctor clarified. �It is quite apparent on the chest x-ray.�

�What�s wrong with having a big heart?� asked Matt. �The more the better, right?�

�Wrong,� Goldstein told him. �A big heart is a less efficient heart. It doesn�t pump blood as well as a normal heart. The condition, if allowed to continue, will eventually lead to heart failure and more than triples your risk of sudden cardiac death; particularly when you add in your correctable risk factors.�

�My correctable risk factors?�

�That would be your cocaine use primarily, but also your smoking of cigarettes, your alcoholism, and your poor diet.�

�Oh ... I see,� Matt said. �Well ... how did my heart get so big in the first place?�

Goldstein looked at him pointedly. �Again, that would be your cocaine use, primarily, but also your smoking of cigarettes, your alcoholism, and your poor diet.�

�No shit?� Matt asked.

�No shit,� Goldstein assured him. �In effect, you have aged your heart decades past your physical age. The constant use of stimulants and tobacco have caused your heart to have to work harder than it was designed for. This causes gradual and cumulative stretching in the cardiac fibers and enlargement of the heart.�

�What a rip,� Matt said, dejected.

�Rip or not,� the doctor said, �that is the situation you are now facing. Last time you were here, you refused admission and cardiac workup.�

�I had a show to do in Dallas,� Matt said.

�I remember the conversation,� Goldstein said. �Will you allow me to admit you this time? I really think a complete cardiac evaluation is warranted so we can tell you exactly how bad the damage is.�

�Well ... I was planning to catch a plane home tonight,� Matt said. �I�ve been away for a few months now and Kim�that�s the bitch I fuck�is expecting me to come home and slip her some schlong for Christmas.�

�Slip her some ... schlong,� Goldstein said slowly, as if pondering the meaning of the phrase.

�He�ll stay,� said Jim, who was sitting in the visitor�s chair next to the bed.

Matt gave him a dirty look but did not contradict him. �All right,� he sighed. �I�ll stay.�

�Very good,� Goldstein said. �I�ll get our cardiologist involved and we�ll get you tucked in for the night.�

The cardiologist was a balding man in his late thirties, fit, handsome, with skin that was almost, but not quite, olive colored. He had a strange accent but spoke English flawlessly. He wore a shirt and tie underneath his sparkling while doctor�s coat and had an expensive looking stethoscope hung around his neck. He introduced himself to Matt and Jim as Doctor Rostami.

�Rostami?� Matt said, repeating the name back. �You a wop?�

�I beg your pardon?� the doctor said.

�Italian,� Matt clarified. �Rostami sounds like a wop name.�

�Uh ... no,� Rostami said. �I am from Iran originally.�

Matt�s expression darkened. �Iran? Home of the ayatollahs and the jihads and death to America and all that?�

�My family are Christians,� Rostami told him. �We fled Iran after the Islamic Revolution and I was educated here in the United States.�

�Oh,� Matt said. �I guess that�s okay then.�

�I�m glad you approve,� Rostami said blandly. �Now then ... how about we discuss your heart?�

They discussed his heart, and his cocaine use, and how the latter had undoubtedly led to the problems he was now having with the former. Matt did not really want to hear this.

�All you doctors keep trying to tell me that the coke is what causes all this,� he grumbled.

�Do you think, perhaps, the fact that we�re all telling you that might be meaningful?� Rostami asked.

�Well ... maybe,� Matt allowed.

�Here�s what is going to happen,� Rostami said. �You�ll spend the night in the telemetry unit and the first thing in the morning, we�re going to give you a nuclear stress-echo exam. That�s a test where we inject you with some mildly radioactive dye and then have you exert yourself on a treadmill until we get your heart rate up above one hundred and fifty beats per minute. We will then put you in a machine that will measure your cardiac output and blood flow so we can determine how bad the damage is.�

�That doesn�t sound like a lot of fun,� Matt said.

�You�re here to have your cardiac function evaluated,� Rostami told him, �not to have fun.�

Rostami left to go make the admission arrangements. Matt, now wearing a hospital gown and hooked up to a beeping monitor, sulked and grumbled for a bit and then seemed to return to at least a shadow of his former self.

�Well, you might as well get out of here, dude,� he told Jim. �Find yourself a nice hotel and use the credit card in my wallet to pay for it. Book a suite. That�s what you�re used to.�

�Uh ... okay, sure,� Jim said. �I�m sure there�s something near the hospital.�

�One other thing,� Matt said, lowering his voice to a whisper.

�What�s that?�

�There�s a couple hundred dollars in my wallet. Take it and see if you can score me some coke.�

Jim looked pointedly at his boss. �You�re not talking about the cola, right?�

�Fuck no,� Matt said. �Cocaine. I�m gonna need some to get me through this shit.�

Jim closed his eyes tightly and then slowly reopened them. �Matt,� he said softly, �putting aside the fact that I would never deliver cocaine to someone admitted to a hospital for a cardiac workup, I would not even know where to find cocaine, how to buy it, how much to pay for it, or whether or not it is real cocaine. And even if I did, if I were to be caught buying or possessing cocaine, my license to practice as a paramedic would be permanently forfeited.�

Matt looked at him. �You�re not going to do it then?�

�No, I�m not going to do it.�

�What a rip,� Matt grumbled. �Maybe I should�ve let the fuckin� Mormon stay after all. He would�ve scored for me�especially if I told him he could pinch a little.�

�I�m going to leave now, Matt. I�ll come check on you in the morning.�

�Fine,� Matt said with a sigh.

As Jim reached the door of the ER room, Matt called his name one more time. Jim turned around and looked at him.

�Thanks for saving my ass,� Matt told him.

�It�s what I do,� Jim said with a smile.

Dr. Rostami did a very thorough workup of Matt the next day. He did the nuclear echo test twice, once under resting conditions and once under stress. Both tests indicated that there might be some areas of Matt�s cardiac muscle that were not receiving adequate blood flow. He then got him to the cardiac catheterization lab and inserted a catheter into the femoral artery in Matt�s groin.

�My schlong is usually a lot bigger than that,� Matt told the nurses during this procedure (after being floored with a combination of fentanyl and Versed in his IV line). �You should see it when it�s ready for action.�

�I�m sure it�s impressive,� replied the cute brunette nurse who was monitoring the medications and the IV. �Now hold still.�

�Have you ladies ever heard of a two by four?� he asked them.

They had not, but before he could explain it, they put a little more Versed in his IV and he drifted off into a twilight sleep.

After the procedure, Matt had to lay still on his back for three hours to make sure the artery in his leg had closed up properly. He was then taken back to his room, where Jim was now waiting for him, freshly shaved and showered (and with no fucking cocaine!).

Matt ate his tasteless dinner of some kind of pressed chicken breast with vegetables and longed for a Jack and coke. Just after the dinner dishes were taken away, Dr. Rostami came into the room to discuss the results of the day�s testing.

�The first thing,� he explained, �is that you have significant arteriosclerotic plaque occluding most of your major coronary arteries, including the left anterior descending artery, which provides blood flow to the majority of the left ventricle. It�s actually quite remarkable for the buildup to be that significant in someone your age�even with your stimulant use, diet, and cigarette smoking taken into account.�

�When I do shit, I do it right,� Matt said with a frown.

�Apparently so,� Rostami agreed. �The second thing is that you have significant cardiomegaly, or enlargement of your heart. Only a change in lifestyle is going to make that situation any better.�

�I�ll take that into consideration,� Matt promised. �What about the fucking SVT episodes? Did you figure out why that shit is happening?�

�Well ... again, the underlying cause is undoubtedly your habitual cocaine use, but I was able to identify an area in the atrioventricular node of your heart where the tissue has been damaged due to the stretching of the myocardium.�

�What the fuck does that mean?� Matt asked.

�It means that as your heart stretched and grew in size, an area of the AV node, which is where the electrical signal that makes your heart beat is regulated, became damaged due to a small loss of blood flow to the region. This created an area of non-conduction that causes the signal from your sinus node to occasionally bypass the AV node, which creates what we call a reentry loop, which is what causes your heart to beat so rapidly.�

�Oh ... well, now that you explained it,� Matt said sarcastically, �is there anything I can do about it?�

�The standard first-line of treatment for PSVT episodes is pharmacological,� Rostami said. �We can put you on Verapamil or perhaps another of the calcium channel blockers and hopefully that will...�

�I tried that shit before, doc,� Matt interrupted. �I couldn�t perform on stage when I was taking that shit. I�d get out of breath.�

�I see,� Rostami said. �Well ... there is also a new procedure, something developed at Stanford that we�ve been working on here at this facility. It�s called cardiac ablation.�

�What�s that?� Matt asked.

�It is still kind of experimental at this stage,� Rostami said, �although it is receiving more and more acceptance across the country. The idea is to insert a catheter inside of you, much like we did in the Cath lab earlier today, but the goal is to advance the tip to the area of damage in your AV node and then ablate that region, restoring the signal path.�

�Ablate? What exactly is ablating?�

�Ablation,� Rostami corrected, �and it means to burn away.�

�You want to burn my heart?� Matt asked, just to be clear.

�That is the idea,� Rostami told him. �The problem is that the insurance companies are reluctant to cover the procedure at this point in time. It is still considered experimental and they won�t authorize it until a year�s worth of pharmaceutical therapy has been completed and determined to have failed. That is why it would be in your best interest to start back on the medications and give them a chance. If you take the calcium channel blockers for a year and continue to have these episodes, then the argument for ablation becomes much more compelling and harder for the insurance company to reject.�

�You�re telling me that the insurance company is the one who gets to say whether nor not I get this ablation?� Matt asked.

�Unfortunately, that is the way the system works in the United States,� Rostami said.

�Fuck that shit,� Matt said. �How about if I just paid for this thing myself? Can you do it then?�

Rostami seemed taken aback by this suggestion. �Pay for it yourself? I don�t think that is feasible, Mr. Tisdale. A cardiac ablation is quite expensive.�

�How expensive?� Matt wanted to know.

�Uh ... I don�t have the exact figures in front of me,� he said, �but I would think that the use of the Cath lab, the procedure itself, the two-day stay in the CICU after ... that would have to run pretty close to a hundred thousand dollars.�

�Shit,� Matt scoffed. �Is that all?�

�Is that all?� Rostami asked, astounded.

�I�m a rich motherfucker, doc,� Matt told him. �I just paid more than that to fly the roadies and the rest of the crew home and back for Christmas. Have your people shoot me an estimate and I�ll have my accountant wire the money in. Let�s get this thing booked.�

�Are you serious?� Rostami asked.

�Dead serious,� Matt assured him. �Let�s do this thing.�

Meanwhile, in Los Angeles, Laura Kingsley was on her way to a hospital as well. In this case, the facility was Cedars-Sinai Medical Center, but Laura herself was not the one who needed medical attention. She was going in response to a phone call she had received on her cellular phone from Eric Pale, Celia�s violinist. The young musical prodigy had gone to the emergency room by ambulance six hours before after suffering a severe panic attack. He was doing better now and was being discharged, but, since they had given him medications to chill him out, and since he had no car with him anyway, he needed someone to drive him home.

�What about that chick he lives with?� Jake had asked after she told him what her mission was.

�She�s at work,� Laura said.

�So ... that makes this your problem?�

�I don�t mind,� Laura told him. �I like Eric. He�s like ... I don�t know ... a little brother or something.�

�He�s kind of weird,� Jake replied. �Not weirder than Charlie�that would be saying a lot�but weird all the same. And this panic attack thing. He is unable to cope with day-to-day life without going to the hospital. Are we sure he�s going to work out on a long tour?�

�He�ll be fine,� she said. �He just has breakthrough attacks every once in a while. It sounds like he had a bad one today.�

Jake had simply shaken his head. He did not understand the whole panic attack thing. How could you panic over nothing? And if you realized that you were, in fact, having a panic attack, shouldn�t that go a long way toward solving the problem?

The traffic was heavy as Laura made her way slowly to the west on Santa Monica Boulevard. Rain came down in a steady pour and the windshield wipers on her Lexus thumped rhythmically back and forth, barely keeping up. The defroster vents blew warm air, keeping the condensation from forming on her windshield and cutting the chilly air.

It was this winter storm, blown in from the Gulf of Alaska and moving inland earlier this morning, that was the reason she and Jake were still in LA at all. Rehearsal for the upcoming tour was now done. The road crew would begin practicing the roll-in/roll-out procedures the day after Christmas and would leave for the first show in Miami on December 28, but the band itself was free until New Year�s Day, when they would hop on a plane for the cross-country trek. Jake and Laura had planned to spend that time at their Oceano home on the cliff, but the storm and the winds it brought were a little more than Jake was comfortable flying in. And the snow on the mountain passes made the thought of driving home unpleasant as well�that and the fact that if they did drive home, they would have to drive back at some point to get the plane. And so, they were staying in their Granada Hills house until the weather cleared. And that was why Laura was in a position to pick up Eric when he called.

She had never been to Cedars-Sinai before but the facility was well marked with directional signs and she had no problem finding the emergency room. She parked in a small parking garage and then strolled across a hundred yards of open area, gripping her umbrella tightly to keep the wind from ripping it away, but getting fairly wet anyway. She went inside the building and found herself in a crowded waiting room full of people of all walks and stations in life, of all ages, of all races and creeds. There were businessmen in suits sitting next to homeless ragpickers. Some were holding bloody bandages to body parts. Some were holding green vomit bags to their faces. Many were in wheelchairs looking miserable. In one corner was a family of five that were eating fast food from the local McDonalds franchise. It was unclear at a glance which of the five was here to be seen in the ER.

She waited in a line for a few minutes until she was able to speak to a clerk behind a pane of bulletproof glass. The clerk directed her to another line where she was finally able to talk to a uniformed and armed security guard. He took her name and her driver�s license, gave her a large green sticker that read VISITOR for her to put on her jacket, and then made a phone call to the back. She was asked to step aside. A few minutes later, another armed guard came through a secure door and called her name. He then led her into the bowels of the emergency department until they reached a hallway lined on both sides with gurneys, most of which contained a human being having some sort of real or perceived emergency. One of these people was Eric, who was laying under a white blanket and snoring lightly.

�Are you here to pick up Mr. Eric?� a voice asked her.

She looked up to see a dark-skinned black woman of healthy proportions. She was in her mid-thirties or so and wearing dark blue scrubs. Her name badge declared that she was Barbara Jenkins, RN.

�Yes,� Laura told her. �I�m here to take him home.�

�Perfect,� Barbara said with a smile. �Are you family?�

�No, a friend and a colleague,� she said. �Eric and I are musicians.�

�He did mention something about being a musician,� she said. She then chuckled. �He tried to convince me that he plays violin for Celia Valdez.�

�Uh ... well, actually...�

�I�m assuming he has schizophrenia?� Barbara asked. �It wasn�t in his medical history, but he�s obviously having some delusions indicative of it. In addition to playing violin for Celia Valdez, he claims he flew on a helicopter to Jake Kingsley�s house on an ocean cliff and had Thanksgiving dinner with Kingsley and his wife and Kingsley�s parents.� She shook her head a little. �Where do they come up with this stuff?�

�That does sound rather fantastic, doesn�t it?� Laura asked lightly.

�It does,� Barbara agreed. �Is he supposed to be taking medication for this? Some Risperdal or Zyprexa maybe?�

�No,� Laura said. �He�s not schizophrenic.�

�Schizoaffective then?�

�No,� she said. �He has social anxiety disorder and that�s about it.�

�But what about the delusions?�

�They�re not delusions,� Laura said.

�Excuse me?�

She smiled. �Maybe I should introduce myself. I�m Laura. Laura Kingsley.�

Barbara�s eyes widened. �Laura ... Kingsley? You mean... the Laura Kingsley? Jake Kingsley�s wife?�

�That�s right,� she said, showing Barbara her left hand, upon which she wore her wedding ring, which�though Jake had never told her the price of it�undoubtedly had cost more than Barbara Jenkins RN made in a year. �I play saxophone for Celia Valdez and Eric is the violinist. We�re getting ready to go out on tour on New Year�s Day.�

�No kidding?� Barbara said.

�No kidding,� Laura assured her. �How is he doing?�

�Who?�

�Uh ... Eric?�

�Oh ... right, him,� Barbara said, chuckling again. �Sorry. I guess I�m a little star-struck just now. Who would�ve thought all that stuff he was telling me was true? Anyway, he�s doing fine. He had himself a good old panic attack with hyperventilation. The medics got him mostly talked down by the time he got here, then we gave him a little ride on the van and fixed him right up.�

�A ride on the van?�

�Ativan,� Barbara clarified. �We gave him two milligrams intramuscularly and then topped it off with a Xanax. He will panic no more, at least for the rest of the night. He is rather sleepy though, as you can see.�

�I see that,� Laura said.

�That�s why we had to have someone come pick him up, and why I had to verify someone was here for that.�

�Well ... I�m here now,� Laura said.

�You certainly are,� Barbara agreed. �Let me go get his paperwork and I�ll get you going.�

�Thank you,� Laura said.

Barbara disappeared for a few minutes, leaving Laura to watch the show in the ER hallway. It was a rather interesting show with an interesting cast of characters. Finally, she returned, a clipboard and a sheaf of papers with her. She walked over to Eric�s gurney and put the side rail down. She then gently shook him awake.

�Hey, love-muffin,� she said softly in her nurse voice. �Laura�s here to take you home.�

�Laura?� he said sleepily, his eyed creaking slightly open.

�That�s right, hon,� Barbara said. �Looking just as pretty as a flower too. And you know what? She tells me you really do play violin for Celia Valdez.�

�You ... you didn�t believe me?� Eric asked.

�Well ... let�s just say I hear a lot of stories in this place. I hope you forgive me. Now then, how about we get you on your feet and I�ll go over your discharge directions.�

�Right,� Eric said with a yawn. �On my feet.�

She went over the discharge directions with him, but Laura doubted he was going to remember any of it. He remained quite groggy. As for the panic, however, he was miles away from that.

�All right, Mrs. Kingsley,� Barbara said. �Get him home and tuck him into bed for the night. And good luck on your tour.�

�Will do,� Laura said. �And thank you for helping him.�

�It�s what I do,� Barbara said. �God bless.�

Laura smiled and led Eric back through the bowels of the ER. She had to ask for directions twice, but eventually found her way back out to the waiting room and, from there, back to the parking lot. The rain was still coming down and the wind was still blowing as they made the walk back to her Lexus in the parking garage. Once again, the umbrella offered only marginal protection from the deluge and both of them were moderately damp by the time they made it.

Eric got into the front passenger seat and immediately tried to go back to sleep.

�You need to stay awake,� Laura told him as she started the car and got the defroster working.

�How come?� he groaned.

�Because I don�t know where you live,� she said.

�In Toluca Lake,� he said with a yawn. �Take the 101 to Vineland.�

�And then what?�

�Wake me up at that point,� he said, and then promptly fell asleep.

Laura sighed and put the car in gear and started heading for the 101.

The house where Eric rented a room was in a well-established suburban community tucked into the middle of Toluca Lake, a fairly well-to-do neighborhood in the San Fernando Valley. It was a single-story bungalow with a well-maintained front yard and a couple of tall palm trees. Eric�s car, a ten-year-old Honda Civic, was parked in the driveway. Laura pulled her Lexus to the curb and then stepped out into the rain. She had to shake Eric, who was trying to go back to sleep, to get him out of the passenger side.

They trotted to the front door, which was locked tightly.

�Where�s the key?� Laura asked.

�Uh ... I left it inside when the paramedics took me to the hospital,� he said.

�I see,� Laura said slowly. �What about your landlord? Do you think she�s home now?�

�What time is it?� Eric wanted to know.

Laura looked at her watch, finding that there was a layer of condensation inside of the glass. She sighed. You had to love rain in Los Angeles. It didn�t happen very often, but when it did ... She peered closer and found she could just see the hands through the blur. �Six-fifteen,� she said.

�She should be home then,� Eric said, yawning again. �She leaves the clinic at five-thirty and usually is home by six.�

�All right then,� Laura said. �How about we ring the bell?�

�Okay,� he said, his eyes drooping shut again.

Laura pushed the button and heard the sound of chimes from inside the house. A moment later, she heard footsteps approaching. There was the clanking of several locks and then the door opened, revealing a short-haired brunette woman who appeared to be in her early-thirties. She was dressed in a pair of grey sweatpants and a long t-shirt. Her breasts were moderately sized and the way they jiggled made it obvious to Laura that she was not currently wearing a bra. The dampness of her hair and the smell of apples about her seemed to indicate she had just finished taking a shower. Her expression went from one of puzzlement to one of concern when she saw who was standing on her front porch.

�Eric?� she said. �I was wondering where you were and why your car was still here. What happened? Another panic attack?�

�Yes,� he said meekly. �Around ten o�clock this morning. I called the ambulance.�

�Oh, you poor thing,� she said in a motherly tone. �Get inside out of the rain. Are you better now?�

�Yes,� he said. �They gave me Ativan and a Xanax. I�m just sleepy.�

�I�m sure you are,� she said, hustling him inside. �Now, go get changed out of those clothes and into bed.�

�Okay,� Eric said, wandering in the direction of the hallway, his gait not entirely steady.

The woman then turned her attention to Laura. She looked her up and down for a moment and then smiled. �Hi,� she said. �I�m Molly Stevens. I own this house and rent a room to Eric.�

�Nice to meet you, Molly,� Laura said. �Eric�s told me a lot about you. I�m Laura Kingsley.�

�You certainly are,� Molly said. �He�s told me a lot about you too. Thank you for taking care of him.�

�Absolutely,� she said. �Luckily, I was still in town. The storm you know. We couldn�t fly back to Oceano today.�

�I guess it all worked out in the end then. Why don�t you come in and sit down with me? Get warmed up.�

�I really should be getting back home,� Laura said.

�I was just going to open a bottle of chardonnay,� Molly said with a smile.

�Well ... maybe I could stay for a bit,� Laura said.

Molly nodded happily and then stood aside to let her enter.

The house was small, but tastefully decorated and very clean. The furniture was modern, with leather couches and glass tables. The flooring was polished wood with several strategically placed throw-rugs. A thirty-two-inch television was sitting on an oak entertainment center along with a stereo system and a couple of speakers.

�You can hang your jacket on the coat rack there,� Molly told her, pointing at the foyer. �And then grab a seat. I�m going to go check to make sure Eric made it into bed and then I�ll pour us some wine.�

�Sounds good,� Laura said, stripping off her wet jacket.

She found a seat on the leather couch and made herself comfortable. Molly was gone for the better part of five minutes. When she returned, she had a chilled bottle of white wine and two glasses in her hands. She sat down on the couch next to Laura and poured them each a glass.

�Sorry for the way I�m dressed,� she told Laura as she handed her the glass. �I just got home from work and showered.�

�I understand,� Laura said. �And you look just fine.�

�Thank you,� Molly said, seemingly pleased. �I�m officially off work now until after Christmas. You gotta love that.�

�Eric told me you�re a physical therapist,� Laura said.

�That�s right,� Molly said. �I work over in Pasadena at the Stromsburg clinic.� She shrugged. �It�s a good job. The pay is decent, and I feel like I�m actually helping people every now and then. It�s not as depressing and soul-sucking as working in the hospital.�

�How long have you been doing that?� Laura asked.

�Let�s see...� she said, pondering that for a moment. �I finished my masters when I was twenty-four and started working in the hospital when I was twenty-five ... so ... I guess that�s fifteen years now.�

�Fifteen years?� Laura said, surprised. �That means you�re ... you�re...�

�I turned forty last month,� Molly told her.

�You�re kidding me,� Laura accused. �You look like you�re in your early thirties at best.�

�Thank you,� Molly beamed, �but I assure you, I�m forty years old. I have a twenty-year-old son in college to prove it.�

�Wow,� Laura said. �That�s hard to believe. You do not look old enough to have a son in college. Not even close.�

�I try to keep myself in shape,� Molly said. �I�ve always been a runner. And these last few years I�ve gotten into aerobics and kick-boxing.�

Laura took a drink of her wine. It was not bad, but it was not quite up to the standards of what she normally drank. She shrugged this off. Not everyone could afford seventy-dollar bottles of wine for everyday drinking. �How did you and Eric meet?� she asked.

She shrugged. �He answered an ad I put in the paper for a room to rent,� she said. �I was really not looking for a male roommate, I can tell you that, but I gave him an interview just so I wouldn�t be accused of sexual discrimination or anything. After I talked to him, I realized he was actually the perfect roomie�if you know what I mean.�

�That he�s a very polite kid?� she asked.

�There�s a lot to be said for that,� Molly agreed. �But most important, he�s gay. Gay men make wonderful roommates for a single woman. They�re not always hitting on you or trying to peep on you while you�re in your bra and panties, and they tend to be neat and fastidious.�

Laura smiled. �My roommate I had when I met Jake was gay too,� she said. �And he was the best roommate I ever had�even though he wasn�t all that neat and has a terrible sense of fashion.�

�No kidding?� Molly said. �I guess we have a lot in common, huh?�

�It seems like it,� Laura said, taking another sip.